Page 62 of Wicked Devotion
“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,PrivateHunter,” 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 walksfast, 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 lockit.
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.
23
LOGAN
Ipush past Max to enter Sanders’ pathetic office, scrunching my nose at the smell of useless bastard lingering in his office. Upon seeing his meticulously arranged desk, I’m tempted to tie him up and test which of his pens is best for stabbing. He can align them all neat and tidy in his fucking guts after I’m done with him.
“Bring Lily back to our quarters,” I tell Charlie. “Now.”
“Mrs. Holton is going to stay with us until we’ve cleared up the situation,” Sanders says, sitting up straight. “I am aware you don’t have rules where you come from, Mr. Cabrera. But this an army base, and not a—how is it called? Ah,barrio.”
He meets my gaze, obviously very proud of his sad attack. I grew up in a small town near Oklahoma, but I’m sure the racist son of a bitch also thinks that Cabrera is my actual last name.
“Heard you touched my girl,” I say, smiling as I take a step toward him. “Wanna find out how we handle shit like this in the—ah,barrio?”
