27. June

Chapter twenty-seven

June

T he shackles bite into my wrists, cold and unyielding as the eyes that follow me into the courtroom. I feel their stares like brands on my skin, searing through the thin fabric of my jumpsuit. They're here for a show, to watch the freak dance for their amusement. But I'll give them more than that. I'll give them the fucking truth, raw and bloody and screaming.

I take my seat on the stand, the hard wood digging into my ass. The bailiff shoves a Bible under my nose, but I wave it away with a sneer. I've got no use for fairy tales and false promises. The only god I believe in is the one staring back at me from the mirror every morning.

"State your name for the record," the prosecutor says, all slick hair and shiny shoes.

"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."

St. Clair's eyes harden, his pleasant mask slipping. "Think carefully, Deveaux. Cara's due in four months. And once that baby's born... well, accidents happen, don't they?"

Ice floods my veins, a sickening dread settling in my gut. "If you lay a finger on her, on either of them, I swear to God-"

"You'll what?" St. Clair cuts me off, his voice sharp as a razor. "Rot in this cell? Watch helplessly as your precious little family is ripped apart? Because that's exactly what will happen if you don't cooperate."

I lunge for him, my hands outstretched, ready to wrap around his throat and squeeze until his smug face turns purple. But he's too quick, stepping neatly out of reach.

"Think it over, Deveaux," he says, straightening his tie. "But don't take too long. Cara's clock is ticking."

With that, he's gone, the cell door slamming shut behind him with a clang of finality.

I slump against the wall, my legs giving out beneath me. Despair, heavy and suffocating, presses down on my chest. They have me cornered, trapped like a fucking rat in a maze with no way out.

But even as hopelessness threatens to drown me, a flicker of defiance sparks to life in my chest. No. Fuck that. Fuck them. I won't let them win, won't let them break me.

Dante and the others, they're out there. Working to unravel Elaine's web, to bring her poisonous empire crashing down. I have to believe in them, in Cara's strength. I have to hold on, to keep fighting. For her. For our child.

With a grunt of effort, I push myself to my feet. I close my eyes, picturing Cara's face. The stubborn set of her jaw, the fire in her storm-grey eyes. She's a warrior, my girl.

My Cara Mia won't go down without a fight.

My whole fucking heart, stomping around in the big wide world without me. I'd rip apart heaven and earth to keep her safe, to keep our child out of Elaine's clutches. And that's exactly what I'm going to do.

But first, I need to rest. I need to gather my strength for the battle ahead. I stretch out on my bunk, my muscles aching with tension and fatigue.

As I drift into a restless sleep, I dream of Cara. Of her soft skin under my fingertips, her laughter ringing out like bells on a clear summer day. I dream of our child, a perfect blend of her and me, untouched by the shadows that have haunted my life.

In my dreams, we're free. Free of Elaine, of Faulkner, of all the darkness that's tried so hard to tear us apart. It's a beautiful fantasy, a glimpse of the life I'm fighting for.

But even in the depths of sleep, I can feel it. A presence, lurking just beyond the edges of my consciousness. Watching. Waiting. I try to shake it off, to sink deeper into dreams of happier times.

I should've known better.

Should've trusted that instinct that's kept me alive all these years.

Then, the attack comes out of nowhere, a flurry of movement and searing pain. I try to fight back, but I'm groggy, disoriented. A hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my shouts. And then the knife, plunging into my gut like a hot poker.

I look up into the face of my attacker, his features blurred by agony and the creeping darkness at the edges of my vision.

"Mrs. Deveaux sends her regards," he hisses, his breath fetid against my cheek.

And then he's gone, leaving me to choke on my own blood, my life leaking out onto the cold concrete floor.

As I lay there, my strength fading with every ragged breath, I think of Cara. My love, my light, my reason for everything. "I'm sorry," I think, the words a desperate prayer into the void. "I'm so sorry, baby. I tried. I tried so fucking hard."

I think of all the moments we'll never have. The lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, the laughter-filled dinners with friends and family. I think of our child's first steps, first words, first day of school. All the milestones I'll miss, all the memories I'll never get to make.

It's a pain worse than any knife could inflict, a sorrow so deep it steals the breath from my lungs. I've failed them. Failed Cara, failed our baby. And now I'll never have the chance to make it right.

The darkness is closing in now, cold and final. And I know, with a clarity that pierces through the pain, that this is the end. The end of Juniper Deveaux, the boy who never had a chance. The man who loved too deeply, fought too hard.

But even as I feel myself slipping away, even as the last vestiges of light fade from my world, I cling to one final thought. One final truth, bright and shining amidst the encroaching dark.

I love you, Cara. You and our little one. More than my own life, more than anything in this godforsaken world. And though I won't be there to see it, I know you'll give our child the life they deserve. The life I always dreamed of.

Be happy, my love. Be free. And know that wherever I am, whatever comes after this... I'll be watching over you. I'll be loving you, always and forever.

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. Sorry I couldn't be the man you needed me to be. But I hope, in the end, you can forgive me. Forgive me for leaving, for failing.

Forgive me for loving you too much to ever let go.

The pain is fading now, replaced by a numbness that starts in my fingers and toes and creeps inward, wrapping around my heart like a lover's final embrace. It's almost peaceful, this slipping away. Like falling into a dream from which there's no waking.

I'm not afraid. Not anymore. Because I know, with a soul-deep certainty, that this isn't the end. That someday, in some other life, some other world... I'll find my way back to you.

Wait for me, Cara. Wait for me on the other side of forever.

I'm coming home.

And then there's nothing.

Just the black, yawning abyss, and the fading echo of a love that even death can't conquer.

A final thought, tender and true.

I'll see you again, my wild brave beauty. In the next life, and every incarnation after.

That's a promise.