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Chapter Six
Ialways knew I could end up here, but I didn’t choose this path. In fact, I had no choice at all. Now it’s here, the bitter end to my tragic story…I thought I would be terrified, but I’m just numb, relieved even. As if I have been waiting for this to happen. The cuffs bite into my wrists as I’m led into the reception area of the police station and shoved into a chair.
“Wait here,” the officer barks as he heads over to the desk and hands the stolen jewelry to the officer behind it. Sighing, I wait like a good girl, knowing I can’t do anything else. Instead of contemplating my future behind bars, I focus on the uncomfortable position I’m sitting in and the chafe of the cuffs, forcing myself to keep my breathing even and the tears at bay. I don’t allow myself to think, keeping my mind blank as I stare at the stained gray tile floor, the beat-up chairs, the gray walls… Anything to avoid thinking about what’s to come.
The door opens to the reception, and I crane my neck to look over curiously. A man strolls through, folding up his sunglasses and placing them in his pocket. He has an air about him that I immediately dislike. He’s wearing a striped blue shirt tucked into black trousers and shiny shoes, and he has a shield at his hip. I instantly know what he is—a detective. He has a black bag slung over his shoulder, and his gun is clearly on display.
His brown hair shines under the light, thinning from age, and he has laugh lines running across his square face. He must be in his early forties. He’s quite good-looking, and a big man for sure, his clothes straining from his size. He’s tall too, intimidating. I bet he scares a lot of criminals. His lips are thin and unsmiling, and I wonder if that’s on purpose or if he prefers to look like he’s got to take a shit. He brings a sense of power to the room, and all the officers here straighten as he strolls through.
So he’s someone important.
I watch him as he greets some of the officers and heads straight past me to a brown door leading into the station. He yanks it open, pausing to look back as someone calls his name. Bronson. He nods and laughs at whatever they say, his eyes catching on me for a moment. He frowns and stares at me before shaking his head and slipping through the door. It slams shut behind him with a resounding bang.
“O’Brien, on your feet!” comes a yell.
Forgetting the detective, I stumble to my feet and am brought before the desk where I’m read my rights a second time and informed of the charges against me, but I simply nod, not really listening. I’m shaking in fear, and the officer behind the desk notices my terror and smiles in sympathy as I’m led to what they call processing.
Time passes quickly, it’s all a blur, my fear and exhaustion from the day setting in. My fingerprints are taken, and I’m given a breathalyzer too. Then they take my picture. I bet I look like a scared little lamb with my face slack, my lips trembling, and my red eyes wide. After that, I’m led to a private room and ordered to strip after my cuffs are removed.
I close my eyes for a moment and turn my back on the female officer. I knew this was coming—a strip search. Probably to make sure I haven’t concealed anything elsewhere. It’s mortifying and my cheeks heat in shame. My fingers tremble as I stretch down and pull off my shoes. I toss them in a pile to the side before reaching back and unzipping the dress. For a moment I freeze, but I let it drop to my feet before stepping out of it and adding it to the pile.
“Bra and panties too,” the harsh female officer barks, sounding impatient. I hear her snapping on some gloves and bite my lip to stop from crying.
Unhooking the bra, I let it fall to the floor before looping my fingers in my panties and yanking them down. I kick them off and onto the pile, and then I cover my breasts with my hands. “Turn,” she commands, her voice softer now. I do, and for a moment, I blink in shock as she runs her eyes across me hungrily.
But that can’t be, right?
Stepping closer, so her body is touching mine, she leans around me and places her hands on my head. I keep my eyes on the gray wall over her shoulder, hoping this will be over fast. She’s smaller than me, wider too, with a harsh, almost masculine face that I can see out of the corner of my eye. Her flat chest is pressed against mine as she leans into me.
Her hands sift through my hair as if looking for weapons. Once she’s satisfied there is nothing concealed there, she runs her hands across my body.
Her hands linger on my breasts for a moment too long, and her eyes flicker up to mine. I spot the slight smirk on her lips as she squeezes. I jerk back, and she narrows her eyes. “Don’t move,” she snarls.
I have no choice but to stand there as she basically feels me up, her hands dragging down my thighs and to my pussy. Tears form in my eyes as she slips a finger inside of me with a chuckle. Grinding my teeth, I force the tears back, unwilling to look weak as she touches my body as if she has every right to.
When she turns me around and bends me over, my anger starts to build. “Spread your ass and cough for me.” I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I pull myself open for this woman’s perusal, and cough. A couple of moments and some pain later she steps back. “Done,” she declares.
I turn, glaring at her. “Hope you got a good feel and enjoyed the view because that’s the closest you will ever come to somebody that looks like me,” I snap haughtily. Her eyes flare as she steps closer, and her mouth opens on a retort before a banging knock comes at the door to hurry us. I smirk at her, and she turns away angrily, throwing a jumpsuit, some underwear, and a bra at me.
I rush to get dressed, not wanting to be vulnerable with her for another second. As I’m zipping up my jumpsuit, the door opens, permitting a male officer. “Cell twelve, let’s go,” he barks as I am re-cuffed.
They pull me down a corridor to a metal door with twelve stenciled on it. “Open twelve!” the officer calls.
It buzzes before it opens, and I hurry inside before they can push me. Once there, my cuffs are unlocked, and I rub my wrists as I look around. “Bang if you need anything,” the male officer informs me before leaving and slamming the door behind him. I hear the lock engage and I step back, standing with my arms wrapped around me as I take in my holding cell.
It’s the size of a closet. Beige walls and floors are covered with dirt and grime. A small, metal bench rests against the left wall and a filthy toilet sits stinking from the back right corner. That’s it.
Nothing else.
I sit on the edge of the cold bench and my lip begins to quiver, so I lie down and close my eyes, trying to resist the urge to cry, even as my eyes burn. I know they will have a camera in here watching me, and I should act tough…
But alone in my cell, all I have is my brain and the questions filling it, roaring back with a vengeance, despite how hard I try not to think about them.
Who will pay for Mitch-bitch?
The answer guts me like a knife. No one. He will be tossed out and sent back into the system. It will kill him.
And what about Mischief? He will think I’ve left him. He’s fucking stuck in my shitty trailer with no food or water. He’ll die in days if no one goes for him.
