Page 52 of Submitting to Daddy
“She’s theonlywitness they had on the Kings,” I mutter. “And she stopped reporting weeks ago. They lost their last play, and now they’re retaliating.”
“Exactly.” Enzo’s eyes sharpen. “They’re trying to punish her. And you.”
This isn’t just about justice. It’s about control. They lost their hold on her, so now they’re making an example of her.
“Do we know where she is?” I ask.
“They’ll have taken her to FBI Headquarters in the city,” Reuben informs the room. “Holding for processing and interrogation.”
I nod once. “Then I’m going there. Today.”
Nikolai’s head snaps up. “You can’t justwalk intoFBI Headquarters.”
“I’m not walking in alone.”
I turn to Reuben. “You’re coming with me.”
“I’ll file the motion for visitation and emergency legal representation. But Cillian, if they’re charging her formally, it’s going to get ugly.”
“Then we get ugly first.”
Two hours later, I’m dressed in a charcoal suit, with Nik driving me toward FBI Headquarters. It’s a visit I always thought would’ve included handcuffs and armed escorts. Rueben sits beside me in a crisp three-piece, carryinga briefcase full of motions, case law, and enough paper to intimidate a small country.
I don’t say much. I can’t. Because every time I think about her face—about the fear in her eyes when they dragged her out—rage burns through me so hot I can barely breathe.
They touched her. Theyhandledher like she was disposable. Like she wasn’t worth even the illusion of dignity. And now she’s in a room somewhere, alone, cold, probably still in my shirt, and they’re trying to break her.
She’s strong,I remind myself.But even the strongest can only take so much.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” Reuben says as we approach, “but if they deny us access, we need to remain calm. Losing your temper won’t help Madison.”
I glare out the window. “If they put one more bruise on her skin, calm won’t be in my vocabulary.”
Wisely, he doesn’t respond.
The black SUV turns the corner, and FBI Headquarters comes into view, stone and glass, towering over the city like a monument to bureaucracy and fear.
I flex my hands in my lap.
“I’m coming for you, firecracker,” I whisper under my breath. “I’m going to burn the whole fucking city down before I let them keep you.”
The FBI didn’t just take me from Cillian’s apartment. They stripped me of my dignity. The second they slapped the cuffs on me, I stopped being anything but a criminal.
When we arrive at FBI Headquarters, I find myself being fingerprinted, cataloged, and photographed—every inch of me. The agent notices blood seeping through Cillian’s T-shirt, and I’m forced to remove it so they can ensure I wasn’t brutalized during my arrest.The term apparently being considerably looser than I remember during my training.
After pulling the shirt over my head, without being afforded privacy or a curtain, I am met with cold eyes and gasps as they see Cillian’s mark.The mark I willingly let him leave on me.Crossing my arms over my chest, I hold their stares and letthem gawk. I’m not ashamed of what the crimson letters on my chest mean: I belong to Cillian King.
Satisfied with their documentation, I’m thrown my shirt and a pair of FBI-issued sweatpants, which are cheap and scratchy. Once back in cuffs, I’m led barefoot down the hall to a sterile, windowless interrogation room. My wrists are restrained to the metal loop in the center of the table, and I’m left under the flicker of the fluorescent lights.
I’m joined by a middle-aged man with a loose tie and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I remember him from my training at Quantico. Agent Warner. He’s one of the top interrogators in the Bureau. He’s also the same as every other asshole I worked with, cold, smug, and convinced he’s always the smartest man in every room.
He leans forward, speaking slowly with a well-practiced tone. “Let’s start simple. Did they flip you? Or were you on their side from the beginning?”
I don’t answer, and he tries again with a different question. “Where is Agent Frankford?”
I stare straight ahead, my lips pursed and my fingers laced together on the table.
He sighs. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, Agent Roark.”
