chapter 180

chapter 180
Maverick's POV:
"You fucking psychopath!"
The words exploded out of him the moment I came into view, all bravado and venom despite the way his body shook—whether from cold or chemical need, I neither knew nor cared.
He strained against the chains, metal rattling uselessly, his face contorting with impotent rage. "When I get out of here—"
"If you don't shut the fuck up," I said, still in that same conversational tone as I moved closer, letting him see the absolute emptiness in my eyes, "I'm going to have Daniel come down here with pliers and remove your tongue. Slowly. Would you like that? "
The threat landed exactly as intended—his mouth snapped shut mid-curse, teeth clicking together audibly as he seemed to finally grasp that this wasn't a negotiation or a power play he could manipulate his way out of.
I circled him slowly, hands in my pockets, taking in every detail of his deterioration with the clinical interest of someone examining a particularly interesting specimen.
"You know," I mused, "I thought the last lesson would have been enough. I really did give you chances to walk away, Sebastian. Multiple chances. But you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
"Fuck you," he spat, but there was less heat in it now, more desperation.
"You tried to kill me," I continued, ignoring his outburst entirely. "Hired someone to run me down in the street. And you know what the truly stupid part is?"
I stopped directly in front of him, leaning down until we were eye level, until he could see every ounce of contempt I felt.
"You thought David could protect you from the consequences. You actually believed that our father—" I invested the word with every drop of sarcasm I could muster, "—would somehow shield you from what you'd earned."
Sebastian's jaw worked, his gaze darting away from mine before snapping back with a defiance that was more muscle memory than actual courage.
"So what, then? Are you going to kill me?" He tried for mockery, but his voice cracked. "Grace will never forgive you. She'll know what you are, what you're capable of—"
My eyes dropped deliberately to his crotch, lingering there with the kind of assessment that made his face go pale, then gray.
"Oh wait—I forgot. You're functionally impotent now, aren't you? Interesting that you still have the capacity to think about women," I observed, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve. "Don't worry, Sebastian. You're not going to die. Death would be far too easy, too clean."
I let that sink in for a moment, watched the confusion and mounting terror war across his features as he tried to parse what I meant, what could possibly be worse than execution.
Then I turned toward the stairs where Daniel stood waiting in the shadows, patient and professional as always.
"Is everything arranged?" I asked him.
"Yes, sir." Daniel's voice was neutral. "The paperwork's been filed, the doctors are expecting him, and the transportation is standing by. Everything's legal and above board."
"Perfect." I glanced back at Sebastian, whose confusion had shifted into something closer to panic as the implications began to register.
"Sebastian Cross," I said formally, like I was delivering a verdict from on high—which, in a way, I was, "you're being committed to Thornfield Psychiatric Hospital under an emergency detention order. You should consider yourself lucky, actually. When the police learned about your... condition, they decided that a psychiatric facility would be more appropriate than a prison cell. Very humanitarian of them, don't you think? "
"What? No—you can't—" The chains rattled violently as he thrashed, all pretense of control shattering. "I'm not fucking crazy! You can't just lock me up—"
I moved closer again, crouching down so I could look up at him, so he could see the smile that curved my mouth—cold and satisfied and utterly without mercy.
"You wanted to know what I'd do to you? This is it, Sebastian. You're going to spend the foreseeable future in a place where no one will believe a word you say, where every protest will be taken as further proof of your instability, where the days will blur together into one endless nightmare of medication and monitoring and absolutely no fucking escape."
I paused, letting that sink in before delivering the final blow. "And don't waste your energy hoping for rescue. David can barely save himself at this point—I'm done playing nice with either of you. You're exactly where you deserve to be."
His breathing had gone ragged, hyperventilating now as the full scope of his fate crystallized.
"Maverick!" Sebastian's scream followed me up the stairs, raw and broken and so satisfying I had to suppress a shiver of dark pleasure. "Maverick, please! Please, you can't—I'll do anything, I'll disappear, I'll—"
The heavy door at the top of the stairs cut off his pleas mid-word, sealing him away into the darkness where he belonged.
I stood there for a moment in the clean, bright hallway of the warehouse's administrative level, letting my heartbeat slow, letting the rage that had sustained me through the confrontation drain away until I felt almost empty, almost clean.
My phone buzzed with another message from Grace: Missing you. Come home soon? I'll make dinner.
The contrast was stark—her gentle words existing in an entirely different world from the darkness I'd just left behind in that basement.
The moment I read her message, warmth flooded through me, chasing away the last vestiges of cold fury. My lips curved upward without conscious thought, something tight in my chest finally loosening.
On my way home now, I typed back, already moving toward the exit where sunlight streamed through the glass doors.
Each step felt lighter than the last, as though I were physically leaving the shadows behind me, walking toward something bright and clean and hers.
The threats were gone now. Every last one of them eliminated, neutralized, locked away where they could never touch her again.
Finally, after everything, we were safe. She was safe.