Page 91 of Say You're Mine

"Juniper Deveaux," I rasp, my voice rough from disuse. "But you can call me June. People call me Juniper, right before they fuck me over."

A titter runs through the crowd, quickly silenced by the judge's glare. The prosecutor clears his throat, shuffling his papers like they hold the secrets to the universe.

"Mr. Deveaux," he begins, all false sympathy and barely concealed disdain. "Can you tell us, in your own words, about the events that led to your arrest?"

I lean back in my chair, the chains around my ankles rattling. "Oh, I'll tell you a story, all right," I say, my lips curling into a blade of a smile. "But fair warning - it ain't for the faint of heart."

And so I begin, the words pouring out of me like pus from a festering wound. I tell them about the "treatments" at Faulkner's hands, the needles and the shocks and the sickly sweet lies dripped into my ears. I tell them about the endless hours strapped to that fucking chair, my mind and body torn apart and stitched back together in all the wrong ways.

I tell them about the visions they pumped into my head, perverted mockeries of my love for Cara. How they tried to twist and taint the purest thing I've ever known, to make me believe that our bond was nothing more than a delusion.

But even in the depths of that hell, even as they stripped me down to my basest parts, I held onto her. Onto the memory of her smile, her touch, the way she looks at me like I'm something precious and good. They could never take that from me, no matter how hard they tried.

I tell them about Elaine, about the twisted games she's been playing since the day I was born. The way she'd pit us against each other, me and my siblings, like dogs fighting for scraps of her affection. The way she'd build us up just to tear us down, her love always conditional, always just out of reach.

I tell them about the scars she left, not just on my body, but on my soul. The way her cruelty seeped into my bones, poisoning me from the inside out. How even now, with miles and prison walls between us, I can still feel her icy fingers wrapped around my throat.

The words come faster now, spilling out of me in a torrent I can't control. I tell them about the night terrors, the flashbacks, the constant, gnawing fear that I'll never be free of her. That no matter how far I run, no matter how hard I fight, she'll always be there, lurking in the darkest corners of my mind.

I lay myself bare, every scar and every secret, until there's nothing left but the ugly, pulsing truth of what I've survived. And through it all, my eyes never leave Cara's.

She sits in the front row, her hands cradling the swell of our child. My whole fucking world, right there in one perfect package. She's the only thing keeping me tethered, the only light in the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole.

I see the tears streaming down her face, the way her body shakes with silent sobs. And it breaks me, knowing that I'm the cause of her pain. That my broken pieces are cutting her to ribbons, even as she tries to hold me together.

But I can't stop. I can't back down. Not now, when the truth is so close I can taste it.

"Elaine Deveaux isn't a mother," I say, my voice cracking with the weight of it all. "She's a monster, plain and simple. And it's time the world saw her for what she really is."

The prosecutor tries to trip me up, to poke holes in my story. But I won't be shaken. I've lived this truth, bled it and breathed it until it's all I know. And I'll be damned if I let anyone take it from me now.

When the judge finally calls for a recess, I'm shaking, my skin clammy with cold sweat. The guards escort me back to my cell, their hands rough on my arms. But as I pass through the crowd, a flicker of movement catches my eye.

A man, his face shadowed beneath a cap pulled low. He meets my gaze, and something in his eyes makes my blood run cold. He knows something, something about Elaine and her fucked-up plans. I can feel it in my bones.

But before I can call out, before I can demand answers, the guards are dragging me away, back to the cold embrace of my cell.

I pace like a caged animal, my mind racing with possibilities. What does the man know? What secrets is he hiding behind those dark eyes? I'm so lost in my own head, I almost don't hear the cell door creak open.

I whirl around, ready for a fight. But it's not a guard or another inmate looking to make a name for himself. It's him. The man from the courtroom.

It's Lucius St. Clair. Amethyst's father.

"Well, well, well," he says, a cold smile on his lips. "Juniper Deveaux. The man of the hour."

I tense, my fists clenching at my sides. "What do you want, St. Clair?"

He steps closer, his expensive shoes clicking against the concrete. "I have a proposition for you. A way out of this mess you've found yourself in."

I laugh, the sound harsh and grating. "And what's that? Sell my soul to the devil? Oh wait, I'm looking at him."

St. Clair's smile doesn't falter. "Always the wit, aren't you, Deveaux? But you might want to hear me out. Your freedom, your future with Cara and your child... it's all within reach."

My heart stutters in my chest at the mention of Cara's name. "I'm listening," I grit out.

"It's simple, really," St. Clair says, inspecting his manicured nails. "Give Elaine what she wants. A grandchild. Breed with Amethyst, and all of this... the trial, the charges, it all goes away."

Revulsion rises in my throat, hot and acidic. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'd ever agree to that."

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