Page 50 of Submitting to Daddy
Cillian lifts his hands slowly. “Easy,” he says, voice calm but deadly. “I’m unarmed.”
An agent in plain clothes yells something, but I can’t hear it over the pounding of my heart. I’m pressed beneath Cillian, half-naked and still shell-shocked. The agent, in his mid-forties, steps closer, but he doesn’t look at Cillian. His gaze immediately falls on me, heated and disgusted.
“Can I at least get my shoes before we go?” Cillian smirks, wiggling his bare feet against the hardwood floor. “Maybe a shirt.”
“We’re not here for you, Mr. King,” the agent informs him, looking smug. “We’re here for Agent Roark.”
I freeze. “Wait… What!?”
Without the slightest sign of emotion, the agent gestures toward me. Before either of us can say another word, hands are already on me, rough and brutal. Firm hands yank me from behind Cillian, dragging me over the couch like I’m nothing. He twists to stop them, reaching for me, but a rifle slams into his chest and shoves him back into the couch.
“Don’t fuckingtouchher like that!” he roars, his tone homicidal.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream, but it’s no use. They shove me hard, pinning me against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The cold glass bites into my skin as they wrench my arms behind my back. I struggle until an elbow jams against my spine, demanding my compliance.
“Madison Roark,” the plain-clothes agent says from behind me as I gasp for breath, “you’re under arrest for obstruction of a federal criminal investigation, witness tampering, and the murder of Agent Carl Frankford.”
I barely register the words as the cold, metal cuffs dig painfully into my wrists. My vision tunnels. A roaring fills my ears. Frankford.They think I killed him.
“No,” I gasp. “No, I didn’t—I didn’t do anything?—”
“You have the right to remain silent,” he recites, monotone. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
“Get off her!” Cillian snarls. “You don’t have to cuff her like that!”
The same agent slams him away again, gun aimed squarely at his chest. “One more step, Mr. King, and you’ll be joining her.”
“Youfucking touchher again—” His voice breaks like he’s barely containing the rage burning through him. “You’re not going to get away with this.”
They pull me off the glass, dragging me past the wreckage of the front door, my bare feet scraping against debris. I look back. Cillian’s eyes are locked on mine, jaw clenched, chest heaving.Helpless.And it kills me.
“Don’t say a word, Madison,” he calls after me. “It’ll be okay, firecracker. I’ll come for you. I swear on my life.”
They throw me in the back of a blacked-out SUV, buckling me into the cold leather seat like I’m a threat to national security. They didn’t even afford me any dignity. I’m still in Cillian’s shirt and panties. The ride is silent except for the softclickof the doors locking and the hum of tires on asphalt. Two agents sit on either side of me, stone-faced, guns holstered but close.
I try to breathe. To think. But my mind is muddled.
Frankford.
Witness tampering.
Obstruction.
I’ve been falling in love while the fucking FBI was building a case against me.
The agent on my left glances over and sneers, “You think flipping for King was smart?”
I say nothing. He smirks, trying to rattle me.
“You’re not a Fed anymore, sweetheart. You’re worse than a criminal. You’re atraitor.”
My jaw clenches.
“I didn’t kill Frankford,” I say, voice shaking. “I haven’t seen him since the night he came to the club.”
“And yet you suddenly stop reporting. The nighthevanishes.” The other agent leans in. “You want us to believe that’s a coincidence?”
“It is.”
