Chapter 37 Adeline
Adeline’s POV
"Name?" the booking officer barks, not moved by his glare.
Mason spits a glob of blood on the floor, which earns him a kick on the shin. "Go to hell."
"Name!" the officer shouts, slamming a heavy hand on the counter.
Mason flinches. He looks up, his eyes darting around the room until they lock onto the one-way mirror. He can't see us. The glass reflects only his own ruined face, but he knows we’re on the other side, watching his downfall.
"You win," he rasps, his voice rough to the ears. He stares right at where I’m standing with dead eyes. "You win, Akilov."
Percy’s hand tightens instantly on my waist, he can feel the hatred, too. "Adeline?"
"I'm okay," I whisper. "I’m not trembling from fear, Percy. It’s relief."
I step closer to the glass, resting my palm against the cool surface. "He looks small," I realize. "He used to feel so big, but he’s small."
"He is small," Percy agrees. "He was always small. He just made you feel small so he could feel big."
We watch in silence as they process him. The process is so humiliating, and by the time they get his belt and he has no other choice than to hold his trousers with his hand, the arrogance is gone. His spirit has been crushed, and I've never watched a more satisfying end.
"Captain," Percy says, not taking his eyes off Mason. "I want to make sure the District Attorney knows we are pressing full charges. Attempted murder. Stalking. Hit and run. Violation of an NDA. I want everything thrown at him. If there is a law he broke, I want him charged for it."
"Don't worry, Mr. Akilov," Captain Miller says grimly. "With the video evidence from the crash site and his flight attempt? He’s not seeing daylight for twenty years."
"Good."
Percy turns to me, his expression softening instantly. "Are you ready to go?"
I look back at the holding cell one last time to find an officer leading Mason into the shadows.
The sound of the lock engaging echoes through the room, and I let out a long, shuddering breath. I feel almost weightless.
I turn to Percy. My eyes are bright with unshed happy tears.
"It’s over," I say.
"It’s over," he confirms, pressing a kiss to my temple.
He wraps his arm around my waist, supporting me as we walk out of the station. When we get back outside, the weather is perfect and crisp.
Without another glance at the police station, I condemn Mason to his life behind bars.
The Next Morning
I wake up without an alarm. The penthouse is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few months. I stretch, testing my leg beneath the duvet. It’s sore, but it feels stronger, plus the bruises are fading.
I roll over. Percy is asleep beside me, one arm thrown over his eyes and the sheet pooled at his waist.
I watch him for a moment. He saved me in every way a person can be saved. Physically, emotionally, and professionally.
I get up quietly and walk to the kitchen. I'm slowly trying out walking without my cane.
I make coffee and carry the mug out onto the balcony and lean against the railing, looking out at the city. For the first time in years, my mind is quiet.
My father is in prison. Mason is being denied bail, and my mother, well, she's surviving. She's made hating men her entire personality, but I know she will move on soon. Our relationship is getting better, though.
"A penny for your thoughts?" Percy steps onto the balcony, shirtless and still sleepy. He wraps his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my neck. "How did you sleep, baby?"
"Like the dead," I admit, leaning back into his warmth. "No nightmares."
"Good, because you're going to need your energy for the wedding tonight."
I groan, sipping my coffee. "Don't remind me. I still don't have a dress."
"You look good in anything," he murmurs. "Or nothing."
I turn in his arms, raising an eyebrow. "This isn't a gala, Percy. It’s Marco the mechanic's wedding. I don't think a silk gown is going to fit the vibe."
"True," Percy laughs. "It’s going to be beer and barbecue. I know it's not so much our scene, but Marco insisted on our presence. He said he wouldn't be getting married if it weren't for the five grand I paid him for your bike that night. Apparently, it paid for the ring and the bride's wedding dress."
"I’m glad something good came out of that ride."
"We came out of it," Percy says seriously. "That’s the only good I care about." He looks at me, searching my face. "Are you sure you’re up for this? Being back around the crowd and all that noise?"
"I’m sure," I say. "I miss it. I miss the sound of the engines, and we deserve a celebration, so this will do."
"Okay," he agrees. "As long as you're okay with it."
Marco’s wedding is exactly what I expected, and it’s perfect. It was held in a converted garage in Queens. The "aisle" was marked by rows of motorcycle tires painted white. The music is a live rock band, and the guests are a mix of mechanics, street racers, and adrenaline junkies.
I eventually settle on a simple black slip dress with my leather jacket over it, leaning on my man. Holding the cane would ruin my dress' effect. Percy, himself, is in dark jeans and a t-shirt that fits him like a second skin. He looks relaxed. If anyone from his firm should see him now, they would have a hard time believing this was the same man that worked them hard at work.
"Ghost!" Marco shouts, spotting us. He’s wearing a tuxedo t-shirt and holding a bottle of champagne. "You made it!"
"Wouldn't miss it." I smile, accepting his crushing hug. "Congratulations, Marco. Where’s the bride?"
"She's over there." He points to a woman in a white dress currently sitting on a bike, laughing. "God, I love that woman."
We spend the next few hours drinking, laughing, and eating tacos from a food truck parked outside. It's the perfect way to unwind.
Around midnight, the party winds down. Percy and I step outside for some air. I lean against a brick wall, resting my bad leg, while Percy stands in front of me, his hands on my hips, swaying slightly to the music drifting from inside.
"Happy?" he asks.
"Very," I hum. "This was a good idea."
"Excuse me." The cultured voice comes from the shadows, completely out of place here.
Percy spins around and instantly puts himself between me and the intruder. A man of about fifty years old steps out into the light of the streetlamp, smoking a cigar. He looks distinguished.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," the man says, his gaze flicking from Percy to me. "But I’ve been waiting for a chance to speak with the Ghost."
Percy steps forward. "Who are you?"
"My name is Dante."
"Okay?"
"I would like to invite Ghost to a competition happening next month."