Page 93 of Vicious Betrayal

They separate us immediately. They put Cormac in the back of a van with two armed agents, while Brennan drives the black SUV with me locked in the back seat. The rain beats a steady, merciless rhythm against the tinted glass as the miles tick away. I sit curled against the cold vinyl seat, my boots pulled up beneath me, wrapping my arms around my middle.

What have I done?

I wanted to be brave. I wanted to be the girl who fixed everything, who shielded her family from her sister's reckless mistake and kept the man she loved from paying for crimes she brought down on his head. Instead, I led the wolves straight to his throat.

By the time the convoy pulls off the highway and weaves through the gray concrete of downtown Chicago, the sky has turned darker. It fits how I feel right now.

The vehicles descend into the parking garage beneath the federal building. Two female marshals open my door, unbuckling me and taking me by the elbows. They don't use handcuffs, but their grip is harsh as they guide me toward the elevator. Across the garage bay, I catch a brief glimpse of Cormac being pulled from the back of the van. Brennan and three officers are flanking him, pushing him toward a separate, heavy steel door. Cormac twists his head, searching through the gloom until his eyes find mine across the concrete floor.

He doesn't look afraid. He just looks at me, as if he wants me to be the last thing he ever sees in this life.

Then the elevator doors slide shut, cutting him off from view.

—

They don't put me in a cell. Instead, they take me to a windowless interrogation room. The walls are painted a sterile beige, lit by fluorescent lights that give me a headache. There's a metal table bolted to the linoleum floor, three chairs, and a one-way mirror stretching across the far wall, reflecting my pale face and my messy blonde hair falling in tangled strands over my shoulders, my clothes rumpled.

I sit in the chair, shivering despite the heat blowing from the ceiling vent.

Twenty minutes later, the door clicks open. Reyes walks in, carrying a thick folder and a paper cup of water. She sets the cup in front of me and pulls out the chair across the table, sinking into it with a heavy sigh. "Drink," she says. "You look like you're going to pass out."

I don't touch the cup. I keep my hands clasped tightly in my lap beneath the edge of the table. "Where is Cormac?"

"Murphy is being processed into federal custody," Reyes says, opening the folder. "He's seeing a medic to clean up those stitches, and then he's going into an isolated holding cell pending his arraignment."

She pulls out several sheets of paper, neatly stapled, and slides them across the smooth metal surface toward me. At the top of the first page, bold black letters screech at me: IMMUNITY AGREEMENT.

"What is this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"This is your life back, Oksana," Reyes says, tapping a black pen against the table. "Full federal immunity. Protection for your family members. All of them. No prosecution, your family's assets will not be seized, and you will be given a witness security placement once the trial concludes."

My heart stutters against my ribs. "And what do I have to do?"

"You sign the papers," Reyes says simply. "Then you sit in front of a grand jury and testify to everything you know about Cormac Murphy's operations. We'll seize his computers, and you give us any passwords you know. You tell us everything you remember. If we can retrieve those photos you took of the documents from your phone's cloud, we'll use those. You help us every step of the way with anything you have, and you and your family go free."

She leans forward, her dark eyes pinning me. "You give us Cormac, and you walk out of this building today a free woman. You keep your baby. You raise your child somewhere safe. Nobody goes to prison except the men who already belong there."

I look down at the paper. The black text swims before my eyes.

Give us Cormac.

I think about the night I met him at the club, before all of this happened, and how he looked at me. I think about how he's the only person who has ever made me feel truly wanted and needed, who has ever paid enough attention to me to make me feel like I mattered to them. How loved and cherished he made me feel, even as I was trying to dismantle his life.

He gave himself up for me this morning. He believed me, even after everything. And now they want me to send him to a life locked away behind bars, a fate worse than death for a man like Cormac.

"No," I whisper.

Reyes blinks, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her features. "Excuse me?"

I push the papers back across the metal table toward her. "No. I won't do it."

"Oksana, don't be a fool," Reyes says, her voice rising and losing its patient edge. "Do you understand what happens if you refuse? You're not a victim here anymore. You harbored a fugitive. You misled federal agents during an active investigation. If you don't sign this agreement, we will indict you as a co-conspirator. You will be transferred to a federal detention facility, you will give birth in handcuffs, and the state of Illinois will place that infant into foster care!"

I can't breathe. I feel like I'm going to be sick, the threat tearing all the bravado straight out of me. They'll take my baby. The terror is a suffocating weight crushing down on my chest. But looking at the woman sitting across from me, I know that if I sell Cormac out to save myself, I will never be able to look my child in the eye anyway.

"I won't betray him," I say, my voice trembling, but holding firm. "I won't do it. Put me in a cell if you have to. But I'm not testifying against my husband."

Reyes stares at me for a long, silent moment, her jaw working as frustration tightens the corners of her mouth. Then, she lets out a harsh breath and stands up, grabbing the folder. "Fine. If you won't listen to reason, maybe you'll listen to him."