Page 60 of Wicked Devotion
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 seethe 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 itfaraway.
“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.”
