Chapter 22 Lily #2
Wide-eyed, he stares at me as if my words sucked the air out of his lungs.
Throughout our entire relationship, we never had a single fight. Not even a little argument, despite Brady giving me plenty of reasons to start one. But I never did. Instead, I swallowed my frustrations and tried to fix things I didn’t break.
“If I ever meant anything to you, you’re going to tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?”
Brady remains silent for what feels like hours until he leans back against the wall with a deep sigh.
“What exactly?”
“Wow.”
I wonder what I saw in him back then. All that talk about building the life of my dreams with me, about treating me better than anyone else ever could—lies, lies, and more lies.
“The gambling.”
“On and off,” he mumbles, and I shoot him a glare. “Started before we were even dating, but I had it under control, for fuck’s sake. Can’t a man have a hobby? Other guys spend their paychecks on hunting gear and cars. Or hookers,” he adds, as if it would help his case.
“Their money, Brady. Not the entire household budget. Shows how much you had it under control. What’s with that gang? Another hobby?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Kinda stumbled into it. I was out with some friends, and there was a guy who kept bragging that he had information about rigged games. It was supposed to be easy money; I wanted to surprise you with a vacation,” he says, and I shake my head.
“Get to the point.”
“I lost. A lot. So I called your dad, but he refused to send me more money until I paid back the five grand he had lent me. And someone must have overheard the call because then a guy sat down next to me at the bar. Said he had a friend named Randy who gives out loans, fair conditions, and—“
Anger boils in my stomach, and I straighten my shoulders. “You took money from my dad?”
From my dad, who still works over sixty hours per week at his age, just to provide for my family.
“I planned to redo the kitchen, you know, since you kept complaining about the stove not working properly.”
“Keep your sad excuses. Just so that we’re clear, you used the money from my dad to gamble?”
“It’s like you’re not even listening. I could have easily doubled it.”
I rush toward him, and before Brady can react, my punches rain down on his face and body.
“Who do you think you are, treating me like this?”
He grabs my wrists and yanks me down to his level. The movement causes my sweater to slip, exposing the side of my neck.
“Now it makes sense,” Brady seethes, and I try to free myself out of his grip to put my hand over the hickies Max left me as a farewell present.
So you don’t forget me while I’m gone.
“Makes me wonder what you’ve offered them so they’d let you out. What a great wife, spreading her legs for fucking war criminals the first chance she gets.”
“You are the only criminal I see,” I spit out, and he tightens his grip on my wrists.
“They aren’t here to help you, Lillian. You’ll see what you get for trusting them.”
“Can’t be worse than what I got for trusting you.” I dig my nails so hard into Brady’s hand that I feel the skin tear under my nails, and with a hiss, he lets go of me.
“Could have shown me your true colors sooner. If I knew you were such a cheap whore, I would have handed you over to Randy’s men without a second thought. Would have solved a lot of problems at once,” he yells while I take quick steps toward the door.
Tears cloud my vision as I take one last look at the monster I married.
“You can rot in here for all I care. You’re fucking dead to me, Brady.”
Closure. Garnished with more discoveries I could have lived without.
The dark hallway stretches out in front of me, getting more narrow with every step I take.
I feel hot and cold at the same time, and my sweaty fingers slide over the edge of the keycard while I try to ground myself.
All I want is to be back in Logan’s room, to hear Max’s voice on the phone as he tells me everything is going to be okay.
But all I hear is the sound of the keypad granting someone access to the cell block. I hold my breath and pray it’s Charlie who came looking for me, but the man entering the corridor is a stranger.
Short brown hair, already going gray at the sides. A clean-shaven face with unremarkable features. The type to disappear in a crowd like a phantom if it wasn’t for his sharp gaze. He looks at me, and there isn’t a hint of surprise showing on his face. If anything, he seems amused.
“Mrs. Holton.” His voice drips with fake kindness as he walks toward me. “Shouldn’t you be back at home? This isn’t the place for a civilian to roam around.”
“I’m sorry, I’m going to—“
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, stepping closer to block my way.
Neither fight nor flight is an option, and despite that, I squeeze past him. After two pathetic steps, his ice-cold hand closes around my arm.
“Wrong decision,” he says before he turns around and drags me with him.
As he opens the door leading to the stairwell, we stand face-to-face with Charlie.
“Lieutenant General Sanders,” Charlie says, sounding as displeased as the other man looks. “Thank you for taking care of Mrs. Holton. I’ll take her from here on.”
“Get out of my way, Private Hunter,” Sanders snarls, pushing Charlie aside to stalk over to the elevator.
“I have the specific order to keep Mrs. Holton at our quarters,” Charlie tries to reason while he squeezes himself through the closing doors of the elevator.
“Whose order? As far as I am concerned, I am your superior.”
Cursing under his breath, Charlie gets his phone out. Once we reach the ground floor, the call goes through, and judging by the screaming on the other end, I think I know who he called.
Lieutenant General Sanders walks fast, and I almost trip over my own feet more than once while he leads me over the training grounds and over to a much bigger and more modern building. He makes sure to push me through the door before he pulls it close behind him to keep Charlie out.
Now that Charlie is no longer near, my blood runs cold, and the way Sanders is looking at me isn’t helping. He keeps staring me down while we stand in the elevator and doesn’t stop until we reach his office, where he guides me to a chair before he goes back to the door to lock it.
Even through my stuffy nose, I notice the unpleasant smell. Sharp, almost stinging my eyes, as if the office had just been cleaned with liters of disinfectant.
Sanders straightens his jacket and gets comfortable in his office chair. When tears run down my face, a smile tugs at his lips, and this time, it looks genuine.