Page 105 of Breakaway

I take a steadying breath, my two-toned eyes connecting with each of the guys’. I pull my strength from them alone, refusing to look in the direction of Ada Stillwater and the other members of Veritas. Seated on the row behind them are Mia and Bel, the former giving me a tentative smile of encouragement. Steeling my spine, I focus my attention on the victim impact statement I’ve spent the last three weeks preparing.

“For twenty-two days, this courtroom has heard every manner of depravity we were subjected to at the behest of modern-day Pharisees. You’ve listened to countless victims relive the horrors they were forced to endure, but today, I’d like to speak about something I struggle to acknowledge, much less articulate. It’s difficult to say the quiet part out loud, and for so long, I’ve worn a mask, making demands of my body that were impossible to reconcile. I thought if I appeared apathetic, I’d be able to convince myself I actually was. That what I experienced during my years of captivity didn’t affect me on such a visceral level that it altered my brain chemistry. But it did, and admitting that felt like I was conceding defeat.

“For weeks after being rescued, I didn’t know if I wanted to lock myself inside or run as far as my feet would take me. I was filled with a mixture of anger and devastation after finding out I was pregnant, because once again, my autonomy had been stolen from me against my will. It took months for me to admit the truth out loud, and if it weren't for my support system, I’m not sure I would’ve had the strength to accept my new reality. I want to be clear–I wouldn’t trade my child for anything, but that doesn’t erase what happened to me, nor does it make it okay.”

My hands tremble as I shuffle the papers that contain my innermost thoughts. Swallowing thickly, I take another cleansing breath before mustering up the courage to continue speaking.

“I tried, valiantly, to ignore the changes within myself, but it was a futile attempt at clinging to who I once was. I had this idea that if I could get free from the monsters caging me, things would return to normal. Or at the very least, I could move on with my life and act as if it never happened. That notion couldn’t have been further from the truth. It absolutely changed me, and pretending otherwise was doing myself a major disservice. Voicing this aloud felt akin to waving a white flag, or an admission that Veritas had succeeded in what they set out to do–breaking us so profoundly that we were no longer capable of being functioning members of society.

“It took me far too long to realize that accepting they’d had a lasting impact on my life didn’t mean they’d won. Quite the opposite, actually. I want each of you to know,” I trail off, looking every member of Veritas in the eye, saving Ada for last. I hold her gaze, resolve bolstering my spirit and giving me a renewed sense of power. “Try as you might, you didn’t break me. You certainly changed me, but who I am now is infinitely stronger than the girl who was forced under your thumb by people who were meant to protect me. Your so-called teachings went in one ear and directly out the other. I never, not once, believed in your ludicrous ideologies. The tainted and demonic vessel you reduced me to managed to outwit every single one of you. It must vex you considerably to know that your superiority complex was ultimately your downfall.”

A slow and pleased smile curls my lips as I watch Ada’s eyes darken with malice. It’s incredibly liberating to know I can say every disparaging thought I’ve ever had in regard to such a vile and evil woman, and there’s nothing she can do but sit there and listen. I have no fear of retaliation holding me back. No promise of pain for daring to step out of line. Just pure, unadulterated relief in knowing that I can finally speak my mind without any repercussions.

“Regardless of the sentence you’re given today, it will never be enough. There is no amount of time you could serve that would equate to the punishments you meted out in the name of some omnipotent power, but spending the rest of your lives locked inside of a prison cell with your every move scrutinized is a good place to start. I’ve heard that forgiving someone who’s wronged you is more for your benefit than theirs. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but you’ll find no absolution with me. I do not forgive you, and I certainly won’t forget. My only solace is knowing that if such a place exists that even remotely resembles the eternal misery of Hell, every one of you is destined to call it home.”

I give my attention to the judge, allowing him to see the cracks in my armor. To see beyond the facade I’ve crafted so I’d have the strength to stand before the very people who’ve irrevocably altered the way I see the world. I allow the weariness I’m now saddled with to bleed through, desperately needing him to understand–without words–how fundamentally changed I am because of their deplorable and inhumane actions.

“I plead with you to give these monsters the maximum sentence possible. After everything we’ve had to overcome, it would be a shame if our abusers were granted leniency, especially when they’ve never shown their victims a modicum of basic human decency. They deserve nothing less than to spend the rest of their miserable existences sequestered from the rest of society, much like we were. Being stripped of their freedom is an incredibly small price to pay in comparison to the physical and mental abuse they inflicted on each of us at every opportunity. I have complete trust that what you’ve heard over the past few weeks lends credence to our perpetrators never again venturing beyond a heavily guarded prison fence. However, regardless of what your decision is, I’d like to thank you for giving me the space and time to speak my mind.”

With that, I gather my rumpled papers, noting how the ink is smeared in places from my nervous fidgeting. I walk directly to my seat, refusing to spare Ada another glance, despite feeling her eyes tracking my every move. I said what I needed to. As far as I’m concerned, she, as well as the others, will be completely irrelevant to me the moment I walk free of this courthouse today. Settling between Dayton and Col, I take their hands in mine, uncaring that my palms are sweaty from how anxious I am. We sit through numerous victim impact statements, giving them our full attention. I’m under no illusion that the members of Veritas will actually take any of our words to heart. If we were in the privacy of an empty room without onlookers analyzing every microexpression for cracks in their stoic veneers, I have no doubt they’d be sneering and calling us a litany of degrading names.

When Catalina Carver is called to speak, I watch in awe as she strides to the front of the room, shoulders back and chin lifted defiantly. There’s no waver in her single-minded focus, and she certainly doesn’t cower under the hate-filled gazes of the people responsible for her disfigurement. She proudly bears the jagged scar along her left cheek, uncaring that it distorts her upper lip. It doesn't detract from her beauty in the slightest, and when I glance back at Marshall, tears prick my eyes at the proud grin he gives her. Catalina doesn't speak about the day she was mauled, preferring to bring attention to the strides she’s made in her recovery. She talks passionately about the canine rescue she’s now an avid supporter of, making it clear that the weapon Veritas used when attempting to bring her to heel didn’t work as they’d hoped.

We all know who the real monsters are, and it was never the dogs they captured and used to their malevolent benefit.

Being the last to give her statement, the entire room falls silent as she takes her seat. There’s a pregnant pause that precedes the judge clearing his throat. Whether it’s purposeful or not, his stalling builds the expectation of what’s to come, making my chest tighten from holding my breath. When his monotone voice pierces the quiet, I slowly exhale, mentally preparing myself for disappointment. As he reads the verdict, the tension I’ve been carrying since stepping foot inside the courthouse dissipates with the utterance of a few words.

Multiple life sentences without the possibility of parole.

As chaos erupts around me, I can only sit there, completely overwhelmed by the notion that justice has finally been served. Maybe not in the brutal and permanent fashion the guys would’ve preferred, but I never have to fear walking amongst my captors one day. The air they breathe will be tainted with the pungent scent of regret as they learn to cohabitate with people who are just as violent as they are, and some of them won’t take too kindly to the crimes they’ve committed against children. As my tears flow freely, I turn back to meet Catalina’s eye. Our smiles mirror one another–both unsteady, but more grateful than words could ever explain.

The following minutes pass in a dizzying rush, but I pay no mind to Ada being led from the courtroom, kicking and screaming. Moving on autopilot, I let Briggs lead me down the corridor and through the front doors. Stepping outside, dozens of reporters are ready and waiting, hoping to hear from one of the victims who were in attendance today. Ignoring their questions, I lean my head back and close my eyes, allowing the warmth of the sun to wash over me. The smile tilting my lips is impossible to repress, and I’m sure there’s a photographer getting a perfectly clear shot of my contentment, which will likely be plastered across a multitude of news sites before the day ends. I can’t be bothered to care, though. Not when the sweet feel of relief is still pumping through my veins.

“Let’s go home, minha luz. Mia and Bell will meet us there later,” Raiden whispers against my ear. I take his offered hand, wading through the sea of people bombarding us from every direction, but the typical claustrophobia I’d feel from being surrounded is blessedly absent. I doubt anything could bring me down from the high I’m feeling.

As we draw closer to where we parked, a deep voice behind us calls, “Ms. Adams?” Something in his tone makes me stop, despite the firmness of Dayton’s hand resting against my lower back, urging me forward. I spin to face the stranger, my eyes widening at the imposing form looming over me. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted the opportunity to speak with you myself before leaving town.” At my look of confusion, he quickly extends his hand and introduces himself. “Scott Denvers, Deputy Director of the FBI.” My lips part in shock as I robotically place my hand in his. Beside me, Briggs swears under his breath, smoothing a hand over his hair and down the front of his shirt. I cut my eyes in his direction, my brows knitting together at his odd behavior.

“Quit acting like a criminal, you fucking delinquent,” Raiden whispers harshly, making the Deputy Director chuckle. My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I rush to apologize.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Deputy Director,” I start, wanting to throttle Briggs when a barely contained snort is audible over the racing of my heart.

“Just Denvers is fine.” His smile is open and honest, showing no signs of irritation. “I just wanted to commend you for your bravery. I worked a lot of cases as a field agent, but none that have affected me as immensely as yours and one other.” His eyes warm with fondness, making me curious as to who he’s thinking about. His focus returns to me, noting the guys positioned protectively at my back. A knowing smile teases his lips as he shakes his head. “Is there something in the water down here?” Denvers mutters to himself.

“I’m sorry?” I query, tilting my head to the side.

“Nothing at all, Ms. Adams.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll let you be on your way.” With that, Denvers strides in the opposite direction, not once giving us a backward glance.

“That was weird, right?” I ask to no one in particular.

“Absolutely,” Dayton responds.

When several reporters turn their sights in our direction, my guys close ranks around me, their guards on high alert until we’re safely tucked inside Briggs’ SUV and leaving the pain of my past in the rearview mirror. Our drive is quiet, and I lean my head against Dayton’s shoulder as I watch the landscape speed past us. Sometime later, the bump of gravel beneath our tires stirs me from my inner musings. A smile creases my cheeks as we come to a stop in front of our house. Just as I expected, the front door flies open a moment later, Hudson barreling down the steps to greet us. Climbing free of the backseat, I drop to my knees just in time to catch our very rambunctious three-and-a-half-year-old. It’s been a year since his adoption was finalized, but not a day passes that I’m not eternally grateful for the gift I was given.

“Mama!” Hudson exclaims, his megawatt grin one of my favorite sights. “Lolli and PopPop helped me with my ABC’s! I matched all my letters on the first try!”

“That’s so great, honey!” I kiss his cheek, amazed by how far he’s come.

Hudson’s speech has improved so much you never would’ve known he struggled as much as he did. He’s become a chatterbox these days, always talking our ears off, and an entirely different child than the one I was initially entrusted to raise as my own. As proud as I am of Hudson’s achievements, I frequently catch myself wishing that time would slow down. I want to savor every second, but life seems to move at warp speed, refusing to bend to the whims of us mere mortals. Just next week, he’ll be starting preschool, which is a bittersweet reminder of the capable little boy he’s grown into.