Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

brISTOL

M y stomach sinks at the sound of shouts echoing from the front of the clubhouse. I peer out the door holding the bag of my new clothes in one hand and a bottled water from the room in the other. I was in the bathroom freshening up and just taking a breather when the noise grabbed my attention. Blue and red flashing lights dance across the walls. Before I can process what's happening, three SWAT agents come barreling toward me.

"Hands in the air!" One of them shouts, each with a gun aimed at my direction.

I quickly put my hands up and tears begin streaming down my face. I don't know what's going on and I've never been in trouble at all, much less had guns pointed at me by the fucking FBI. The shouts I heard earlier haven't stopped and I realize it's Sebastian yelling at the agents.

One of the guys cuffs me and shoves me down the hall and out the door. He's reading me my rights or some shit, I don't really know. My ears are ringing and I can't focus on what he's saying .

"Let her fucking go!" Sebastian shouts as they all but drag me past him. His eyes are wild with rage and they have him cuffed and bent over the front of a cop car.

"I'm gonna get you out! Don't worry!" he yells, his eyes trying to promise me something that even he himself doesn't seem sure of.

All I can do is cry. I don't know what's going on or why I'm being arrested, much less by the FBI. And then I see it. That smug little bitch standing in the corner of the parking lot talking to one of the agents dressed in a pressed suit. The smirk on her face reminds me why I beat the hell out of her to begin with. I should've broken her fucking jaw, then she wouldn't be running her mouth.

"Have fun in jail, charity case. I knew something wasn't right about you from the start. You killed your whole family and you deserve to be locked up." She sneers as I'm shoved into the back of an unmarked sedan.

I sit there, handcuffed, alone, and in the deafening silence. The man in the suit that was talking to Princess gets into the driver's seat.

"I'm Agent McCreary. I'll be in charge of your case."

I let his words bounce off the roof of the car. The black metal gate between him and I does nothing for a sound barrier. I sit in silence, unsure of what to say. These people think I killed my family and just ran off, living my best life for the last six years.

Agent McCreary doesn't say anything else. The drive to the police station is short but it feels like forever. When we arrive, he opens the door and as soon as I step out, he grips my cuffed hands and shoves me forward. I stumble but catch my balance, not without giving him a side-eye of disapproval. Prick. He hands me off to one of the officers who brings me to a small holding cell. He closes the gate, leaving me caged inside like an animal. There's a small cot to the left and a toilet and sink to the right. If I thought my room at Patrick's was bad, this is much worse. It's cold. Isolated, yet noisy as hell.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes but that urge quickly fades and morphs into terror when I realize just how alone I am. I want to scream, but instead, I just sit here. Silent tears continuously stream down my face while sobs wrack my body without my permission. I don't know what to do. This feels like being captive all over again. The last few days feel like a dream that I'm forcibly being woken from.

I am fed two small, mostly unappetizing meals that I pick at each day for two days. On the third day, I'm finally acknowledged. One of the officers retrieves me from the holding cell and brings me into a small room with one of those two-way mirrors. In the center of the room is a rectangular metal table and two metal chairs.

The door opens abruptly, making me jump. Agent McCreary enters holding a few manilla folders in his hand. I'm surprised they didn't have him bring in an empty box with my name on it as a scare tactic. His grey suit compliments his light features. Dirty blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a clean-shaven face with a sharp jawline and perfect teeth. If he wasn't such a prick, I could see how someone might say he's attractive. However, I can't see that at the moment, all I can see is the person who is taking my freedom away from me all over again, but in a different capacity.

He sets the manilla folders down on the metal table between us and sits down in the chair opposite me.

"So, you murdered your family then ran off to enjoy your life with your boyfriend," he begins and opens the manilla folder. He didn't ask a question. He made a statement. He's already decided that I'm guilty .

Images of my mother and father lying lifelessly on our kitchen floor covered in blood are thrown in front of me.

I can't control the wail that escapes my throat as my body shakes with pain at the sight. My chest feels like it's going to explode from the pressure. I scream and cry and shake until Agent McCreary closes the folder.

"I didn't do that!" I shout through the tears. I know enough to know that I probably look guilty because I'm crying but I can't control it. The feeling building inside my chest is overwhelming.

Agent McCreary stares at me, dumbfounded. "If you didn't do this, then who did?"

"You're not going to listen to me anyway," I whisper.

I'm crying so hard that there's snot running down my nose, I'm still handcuffed so I can't even wipe my face, and this bastard is just sitting there looking at me like I'm some sort of science experiment that he's afraid is going to explode at any moment.

"Try me."

I try to calm my breathing so I can speak clearly, but it isn't working.

He gets up and exits the room without a word. I remain sitting at this cold, metal table, in this cold lonely room, waiting. On what, I'm not sure. I'm able to calm down and slow my breathing enough where I'm no longer sobbing, and I manage to wipe my nose on my shoulder, so now there's snot on my shoulder but at least it isn't all over my upper lip anymore.

Agent McCreary re-enters the room with a set of keys. Without a word, he kneels behind me and uncuffs my hands. I instantly pull them to front of my body, rubbing them where the cuffs bit into my skin.

He takes his seat across from me again and offers me a folded handkerchief from his pocket .

"So what happened? What happened on the day that your family was murdered?"

"I was kidnapped by a man named Patrick, transported to a warehouse here in Mississippi that he owns and runs some sort of business out of, and held captive for seven years. I was rescued a month and a half ago and found out after I escaped captivity that my whole family was murdered. I had no idea that this whole time they haven't been alive and well and missing me just as much as I was missing them."

"Who is this Patrick guy?"

"I don't know. I was walking home from my friend Tracie's house and he asked me to help him with his radio. I was a seventeen-year-old, na?ve little girl. I never met a stranger and I was always willing to help anyone in need. It was stupid. I got into his vehicle to help and he knocked me out. Next thing I knew, I was tied up in the back of the van for hours on end, mouth duct-taped, circulation cut off to my fingers and toes from how tight I was bound. It was a nightmare. Then I was held in an industrial warehouse in a room with concrete floors for the last six years."

"Do you know where the warehouse is?"

"I don't know how to get to it, but I know someone who does."

"Who?"

"I'm not telling you! You're dragged me in here, isolated me for two days when I already have been through so much, and you want me to give you the names of the only people who have given a single solitary fuck about me over the last six years? Nah ."

"So how exactly do you expect me to believe anything you've said if you won't give me proof?"

"I'll give you proof. I'll just get it my damn self." I cross my arms, and though it makes me feel more like a child than an adult, I feel in control of something for the first time.

Agent McCreary closes his eyes for a beat and places his thumb and pointer finger on either side of the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident. I don't care.

"Don't I get a phone call or something?"

He looks up at me and sighs. "Yeah. Eventually."

"Am I being charged with anything? Or are you just going to keep me in solitary confinement in that holding cell until you figure out what it is you're going to do with me? Cause that doesn't seem very fair…"

He scoffs. "Criminals aren't treated fair, Miss Tullier."

I roll my eyes at the formal use of my last name.

"I'm not a criminal."

"That is yet to be determined."

A knock at the door has me ready to jump out of my skin. Agent McCreary seems to notice that I'm on edge but simply gets up to open the door without commenting.

He nods as the officer outside whispers something to him. He remains standing at the door after the officer walks away.

"We aren't done with you."

My face contorts with confusion at his statement. He stands with door open and motions for me to go out. I stand slowly and cross the room, exiting through the door.

Sebastian is waiting in the hallway, looking like a manic wild man that hasn't slept in three days.

"You're free to go. Don't leave town, though. We'll be back."

I fight the urge to give him the bird, but the thought quickly fades as I barrel into Sebastian's arms. Any composure that I had has been completely stripped and I cry so hard in his comfort. His hands run over the back of my head in almost a petting motion as sobs continue to wrack my body. My chest hurts. My heart hurts. My eyes hurt. Everything fucking hurts.

" Shhh . It's okay. I got you, Bristol."

We stand there for a few minutes and I work so hard to bury every emotion I am feeling that is threatening to ruin me right here in this police precinct.

"Mo is outside in the truck. Let's go and we can figure all this out once we're away from here."

I nod and run my hands over my face, wiping the tears away.

Sebastian takes my hand and I follow him out to the parking lot where Mo sits in his copper-colored Dodge Ram.

Sebastian opens the back door and I climb in. He climbs in behind me. Seeing Mo's face makes me feel a little bit better about everything going on. His face signifies freedom. It signifies my savior. The man who has forever changed my life for the better. A peace washes over me, helping bury the overwhelming pain that is swirling in my chest.

"Hey, girl." His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror and I offer him the best smile I can manage.

"Hey."

"We're going to set this all straight. Don't you worry."

Sebastian closes the door and I lean into his side, resting my head on his shoulder. Maurice drives us to the clubhouse and no one is there. I don't even know what day of the week it is. When we pull in, the only vehicle I can see is Sebastian's truck parked off to the side. No one else is here. Good thing. I'm pretty sure if I have to look at the blonde headed little bitch, I'm going to beat her until everything I feel is nothing but pain in my fists from pounding her scrunched up little face .

I haven't had a chance to feel anger throughout the last few days because all I could focus on was the fear that clouded my mind. The feeling of being captured again and restrained. I almost drove myself mad. I want to get away and be alone but I want the safety and security of Sebastian at the same time. He makes me feel safe. Validated. Heard.

"Come on, darlin'. Let's go home." He says the word darlin' with so much affection it makes my heart swell. I am overwhelmed by all of the emotions that are racing through my heart, my mind, my body.

I hop into the passenger seat after giving Mo a quick hug and telling him thank you. He reassured me that everything would be okay and that they were going to do everything they could to get this set straight.

As soon as we're alone, the first words out of Sebastian's mouth are, "I'm sorry".

"It's okay. You didn't do it."

"No, but if it weren't for Princess, you wouldn't even be in this situation. She's been 86'd. She's done. Never allowed around here again. And if she knows what's good for her, she won't be seen in this fucking town or at least not where any of us get wind of it. I have never in my life wanted to put my hands on a woman the way I wanted to strangle the fucking life out of her when she stood by while you were being shoved into that car looking so fucking smug."

His face reddens as he speaks and I can tell this has fucked him up. Maybe not in the capacity that it's fucked me up, but enough for it to show.

"She'll get what's coming to her. Karma will handle her."

Sebastian nods and is quiet for the rest of the drive. We arrive at his apartment and I go straight into the bathroom to shower. I can't wait to wash the last two days off of me.

I step into the stream of hot water and let it beat down on my back. Before I got out of that terrible industrial warehouse, a bath was all I got. Now, the thought of getting in the bathtub makes me want to fight people. A good shower though? I could stand under this stream until the water has long been cold.

I dip my head under the water, letting it beat down on my face then the top of my head. Somehow, standing in this shower gives me a security I didn't expect. A security that I can feel all of the things that I've been feeling. A low whimper slips out of my mouth as tears begin to freefall from my eyes that are already swollen from all of the crying over the last few days.

Images flash through my mind of the day I went missing, the day that my family was murdered, those photos that were placed so insensitively in my face. I see flashes of my mother, cooking in the kitchen and dancing with my father. My little brother running around as a small child. These images haunt me and that familiar pressure in my chest rises. It's suffocating. I feel like I can't breathe.

I slowly slide down to the floor of the shower and pull my knees into my chest while my body betrays me and begins to tremble. It hurts so fucking bad and I just want it to stop. I wish this was all a giant nightmare and that none of this was a reality. I don't understand how this is my life now. How did it come to this? This isn't how it was supposed to be!

The shower curtain is pulled back, drawing my attention. I must look like an absolute trainwreck, but Sebastian doesn't seem to mind. He steps in behind me and slides down to the floor with me, fully clothed. Boots and all. He pulls me into his arms and lets me cry into him until the water is so cold I can't stand it anymore. He stands up and turns the water off, wraps me in a towel, and carries me to the bed. I lay there recovering from everything that I've felt the last few days and Sebastian goes back into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower turning back on makes me wonder what Sebastian is doing, but exhaustion beats curiosity and I am lulled to sleep by the sound.

I wake briefly when he crawls into the bed beside me, pulling my back into his front. The smell of him engulfs me and I fall asleep in the comfort of his arms.