Page 119 of Beneath His Robes

His words stung, but they didn’t hit me the way they used to. I was done with him, done with how he manipulated everything, and I twisted it all until I didn’t know which way was up.

“Yeah, well,” I said, my voice low and steady now, “I’m done with you, Jack. You can sit here and think whatever you want, but I’m never going to be like you. Not anymore. I’m not you. I never have been.”

Jack’s face twisted with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You think this makes you different? You think that makes you some kind of hero? You’re just a man with blood on his hands. Just like me.”

I felt my anger rising again, but I held it back. I wasn’t going to let him drag me down again. I wasn’t going to lose control. Not now. I had too much to do.

The officer at the front desk called Jack’s name, and he turned, giving me one last look—a look that said everything I needed to know. He was still the same, still twisted and manipulative, but it wasn’t my problem anymore.

The officer walked Jack out, the heavy sound of his footsteps receding into the distance, leaving me behind in the cold, empty booking room.

I exhaled, my body sagging against the bars, the weight of the situation crashing down on me.

He was right about one thing—I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a good guy. I was a man with his own scars. Too much shame. Too much guilt.

And the blood of the man I loved on my hands.

I had been sitting in the holding cell for hours, but it felt like days. The walls were closing in, the sterile, dimly lit room pressing against me as I waited for something—anything—that might give me a glimpse of hope.

But deep down, I knew it was probably over. I’d been here before. I’d been the guy who always ended up back in this same spot: arrested, locked away, with nothing but time to stare at the mistakes I’d made.

I had come so close this time. Close to walking away from all of it. Close to feeling like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance at redemption, a chance to make up for the things I’d done. But Elias was gone. My mother was dead. And now, here I was again, in the same place I had spent so much of my life.

I slumped against the cold metal bench, my hands still cuffed, eyes staring blankly at the floor. The silence in the room was deafening. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above was the only sound, and it was enough to drive anyone mad.

“Ronan Saint Clare?” a voice suddenly interrupted the silence, sharp and authoritative.

I looked up, blinking in surprise. A detective stood at the door, his stern gaze meeting mine as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Detective Weston, I remembered his name from the hospital. He had been with the case from the beginning. He didn’t seem like the type to be lenient, but I could see something in his eyes now. Something that told me he wasn’t here to throw me back into prison.

“You’re coming with me,” he said curtly, unlocking the cuffs from my wrists.

I barely had time to process his words before I was standing up, following him out of the holding cell. The hallway seemed longer now as if everything in the world had slowed down.

My heart was racing in my chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask what was going on. I could only follow the uncertainty clawing at me with every step. The last time I followed an officer like this…

As we reached the main lobby, I saw him. Father Franklin. He was standing near the entrance, his expression calm, but there was a slight tension in his posture—something that told me he had been waiting here for a while. His robes hurt to look at because they were like the ones Elias wore so proudly.

“Father Franklin?” I murmured, still trying to wrap my head around what was happening.

“Ronan,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of relief. “I’ve come to get you out.”

My breath caught in my throat. “But…I thought I was going back to prison. I thought?—”

“You were…” Detective Harris interrupted, cutting me off. His voice was still no-nonsense, but there was an edge of something different in his tone. “But there’s been a change. We’ve got enough evidence now to close the case on Jack.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

Father Franklin stepped closer, his hand gently resting on my shoulder as he looked me in the eye.

“The charges against you—there’s enough to prove Jack was the one who set everything in motion. We’ve got witnesses, we’ve got his history with your mother, and now we’ve got the final piece: his confession.”

I blinked, my mind struggling to keep up.

Jack had confessed? How?

I had seen him walking around like he was invincible. Like nothing would touch him. He was a monster who had ruined so much of my life, and now…he was going to pay for it?

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