Chapter 22 Lily
LILY
A few hours earlier…
“Be good for us,” Logan says through gritted teeth, and Max nods as if to make sure I know the order is coming from both of them.
His eyes are heavy-lidded, a few tears running down his flushed face while he bites down on the piece of fabric in his mouth, and I can’t keep my gaze from trailing down to his throbbing cock, my mouth watering with the need to taste him.
“Promise me.”
“I promise I’ll be good,” I say, smiling when Logan winks at me.
He yanks Max up by his hair, showing him off like a hunting trophy before he pulls the fabric out of his mouth. He whispers something in his ear, and an intense thrust causes Max to whimper.
“Bye, baby, love you,” he pants, and Logan’s expression darks as he rushes to end the call.
Love you.
Seven letters.
Seven letters that turn the arousal inside my body into panic.
Maybe he didn’t realize he said it, I reason with myself. Max looked as if he wasn’t able to tell anyone his full name right now, so it could have been a slip-up. Or he simply meant it in a friendly way. In the way you love your favorite movie or a piece of cheesy pizza after a night out.
In a way that doesn’t mean anything.
My attempts to calm down are fruitless. I put my sweats back on, and as my toes catch on the material, I’m close to screaming. I can’t, though, because screaming would alert Charlie, just like a lot of things alert Charlie.
I still don’t know if it’s because of his caring nature or because he’s afraid of Logan, but in the past two days, he insisted on eating every single meal together with me, and he made me take one walk per day.
My mood hasn’t been the best since Max and Logan left.
All the things I couldn’t do were running through my head, along with the things I shouldn’t do, no matter how much I want to.
My heart is filled with feelings I won’t allow myself to feel because it’s going to make the situation even more confusing.
But then Max said those two words, destroying the house of cards I tried so hard to build.
Pacing up and down Logan’s room doesn’t help, and when I feel blood getting sticky on my fingertips, I rush over to the bathroom. By now, I’m honestly surprised there’s any skin on my hands left.
Logan’s cabinet is filled with orange containers, and I push them aside to search for a box of bandaids. Sedatives, antidepressants, and various sleep medications are standing neatly lined up, all of them full and expired.
I push a little too hard, and something falls down into the sink, making a metallic sound. Golden and shiny as it rolls up and down the stained ceramic before landing on the plug with mocking precision.
Well, if that isn’t a sign.
I shake my head at myself, grab my wedding band, and shove it deep into the pocket of my pants.
Of course, the damn thing has to reappear now.
Instead of wondering how the ring ended up in Logan’s cabinet, I try to focus on my mission to find bandaids.
When I finally succeed, I take care of my finger and lurch back to bed.
Pulling the blanket over my head, I can still feel the teddy’s all-observing eyes on me.
Not even an hour later, I wake up because my heart races like I just ran a marathon. A stinging pain shoots through my lower lip, and after wiping over my mouth with the back of my hand, I see red. Again.
This has to end, and it has to end right now.
In one swift motion, I throw my blanket over the teddy, hoping that Logan thinks I tossed and turned in my sleep.
Something digs into my back, and when I move my hand, my fingers close around the goddamn wedding band. I get up, holding the ring that feels like a chain binding me to a life I no longer want, and rush to the bathroom. Watching it disappear in the toilet is relieving, but it’s not enough.
As if Logan can smell my thoughts over miles of land, my phone beeps. The display lights up, showing a text from him. I don’t bother reading it. He already knows something is up, so if I want him to believe I’m asleep, I need to act accordingly. And I have to act fast.
I crouch down next to the mattress, searching for something I hid beneath the scratchy plastic cover.
Max didn’t answer me when I asked him for the code to Logan’s office, but I work with kids.
Knowing how to open doors that shouldn’t have been closed in the first place is basically a survival skill in my job.
It didn’t take me long to get into his office, and neither was his keycard hard to find. Hidden under a pile of office supplies in one of his drawers, it left me wondering if he even uses it.
Unfortunately, the keycard wasn’t in the first drawer I opened. I started searching in the top right drawer because that’s where I keep essential items.
I still don’t know what kind of stuff Logan deems important, but all that I found was an evidence bag, the shirt inside neatly folded.
No writing on the bag, as if it was just a way to contain the small shirt with blood stains all over it.
The moment I realized what exactly I was looking at, I swallowed the lump in my throat and slammed the drawer shut.
Taking the card was a mistake. Both men made it very clear that they don’t want me to talk to Brady, but I have to set things straight. Our marriage stood on its last legs before I even walked into our home that day. Still, I want a clear cut, and I want to hear him apologize for what he did to me.
When I first took the card, this was all I wanted, and once I talked to Logan and Max on the phone, I decided to bring the card back to Logan’s office and ask, or maybe beg, for them to accompany me to the cell block.
But then Max dropped the L-bomb, and now I can’t wait any longer. Because I want to say it back.
I change into a pair of jeans I bought on my shopping trip with Charlie and one of Max’s sweaters before I brush my hair and put it in a tight ponytail.
There’s this extreme need inside of me to control my appearance right now, probably because I can’t control the outcome of my conversation with Brady.
The hallway is dead silent while I make my way to the stairwell. I rush down to the second basement so fast I get a little dizzy, knowing I’ve reached the right floor as soon as I see the reinforced door. Unlike the one in the first basement, this one doesn’t have a window, but a keypad next to it.
I hold Logan’s card up to the sensor, and a ‘32’ appears on the small display, replacing the ‘00’ it had shown until now. The three tiny lights above the keypad turn green, and I push the heavy door open just enough to slip into the dark corridor.
My steps seem to echo off of the stained concrete, each one louder than the last, and as I walk past all those dark and empty cells, my stomach churns.
I’m so convinced that I won’t find Brady in here that I flinch when a sound comes from my left the moment I reach the end of the corridor. I turn my head right in time to see Brady jump up from his bed.
Relief washes over his features, over the face I once found so handsome. But now, his lies are all I can see, and the pain he put me through sticks to him like tar.
He takes quick steps toward the cell door until the shackles around his left wrist yank him back. Brady isn’t meek, but he’s also far from being a danger to the men of the task force, and seeing him restrained like this makes little sense to me.
He’s saying something, but the thick cell door muffles all sounds, so Brady starts frantically pointing at the keycard in my hand. Bruises bloom on his face, most of them already healing, but there’s a cut on his lip that looks rather fresh.
“Put it on the fucking pad,” he yells, banging his fist against the small window of his cell door.
Breathing in deeply, I press the card against the terminal and wait for the hissing sound of the releasing lock.
I enter his cell, and Brady’s hands are on me before the door even closes. A tiny part of me had wondered if I’d feel comfort and solace in his embrace. I don’t. Instead, I’m disgusted, and all I feel is remorse for letting him touch me.
“Don’t,” I say, stepping so far back into the corner of his cell that he can no longer reach me.
“Babe? What’s going on? What did they do to you?”
I huff at the irony of his statement, and he shakes his head, looking me up and down.
“Now you’re worried about me?”
“We’ll get through this together,” he says, his voice so sickeningly sweet it almost makes me laugh. “Just help me remove these, and we’re out of here.”
He lifts his left arm, and the chain connecting the shackles around his wrist to the wall rattles as it’s pulled over the floor. I don’t move an inch.
“Lillian, I don’t know what happened to you, but I promise it’s all going to be okay. We don’t have a lot of time, so please open the locks,” he says, struggling to keep his voice down.
“I can’t.”
These shackles don’t have a fancy display. They have a lock and I have no key. And if I had it, I would throw it far away.
“Besides, I’m fine with them.”
“Are you being serious right now?” Brady yanks on the chain, hissing when the sharp metal digs into his skin.
“Dead serious. There’s a reason you’re here.”
“Whatever they told you, it’s nothing but a big, fat lie. Someone’s trying to set me up, baby. Just get me out of here, and I’ll explain everything.”
“Go on, explain yourself. We’ve got plenty of time. Should we start with your gambling debt? The credit cards? Or would you like to talk about your new gang member friends? No, wait, let’s start with an easy question: Have you lost your goddamn mind, Brady?”
“It’s not like you think.”
“Yeah, it’s probably worse than I think,” I say, bile rising in my throat.
“What happened to being true to each other in good times and in bad, Lillian?”
I let out a strangled laugh. “You’re talking about being true to somebody? I was almost shot in my own home because of you. Because you are a lying, selfish piece of shit.”