Page 100 of Quiet Protector
“Why would I believe you, Madden? You’ve done nothing but lie to me my entire life, so you don’t deserve my trust.”
His eyes float up and to the left when he endeavors to find a way to convince me I can believe him. “I’ll tell you where I hid the drugs I slipped into their drinks. It’s not even an hour from here. You can test the canister for my prints.”
I breathe out slowly, acting pissed about him wasting my time. “It’s not enough. I need more.”
“Umm…” After drifting his eyes to Big Papa for the quickest second, he returns them to me. “I kept trophies. I have Melody’s earring. The one with the opals in them. They’re in a jewelry pouch in the hollow of the tree you and Melody got married under when you were kids.”
A combined hiss comes out of the holding cell when I grip Madden’s sweat-slicked hair in my hand before slamming his head into the steel bar. I’ve kept my cool long enough. I’m beyond being reasonable now.
“Change your plea to guilty at your trial next month forallcharges, and publicly apologize to Melody, Gemma, and our mother, then, if I’m satisfied with the judge’s ruling, I won’t come back here and watch Big Papa make you his bitch.” When I yank Madden’s head back, blood trickles down his nose and over his lips. “Have I made myself clear, Madden? Or are you still seeing this as a game?”
“You made yourself clear. I-I-I’ll plead guilty. I-I-I’ll say I’m sorry.”
Although it’s hard for me to do, I slide the key out of the lock, slip it into my pocket, then stalk down the corridor leaving my rapist brother withering on the floor and crying like a baby.
43
Brandon
One month later…
Islip into the back row of the court chambers just as the bailiff announces Madden’s docket is the next to be heard. I haven’t seen Madden since the morning I had planned to make him experience what he put Melody and another thirty-two women through. I didn’t need to see him again to know he’d follow my demand. Kwan told me it wasn’t fear I was smelling when I left Madden kneeling across from men ready to brutalize him. He pissed his pants twice that night.
Even if Madden wanted to deny our exchange ever occurred, evidence doesn’t lie. I found the trophies he kept from each rape where he said they’d be. They were positively matched by his victims, and his fingerprints were lifted off seventeen articles of jewelry and clothing. He’s going down. I’m just hoping it’s sooner than Melody believes.
A smile touches my lips when Melody stands to greet the judge before starting proceedings. Although she’s not officially an ADA anymore, her position in the Justice Department is vital. She works closely with detectives of Special Victims Units to ensure evidence is gathered from victims correctly and with dignity before she aids in the prosecution of the criminals responsible for the heinous acts.
In under a year, she’s helped place nineteen sexual offenders behind bars and has been the support person for many more victims. I’m sure she finds her work tiring, but the understanding she gives the victims of sexual assault can’t be matched by anyone else.
A victim knows a victim.
Before Melody can commence proceedings, Madden’s attorney requests to speak on behalf of his client. Since my father is currently indicted to face his own arm-long list of felonies, Madden’s lawyer is a fat, balding man with crumbs of potato chips stuck in his knitted vest. “Your Honor, my client has had a change of heart. He wishes to plead guilty toallcharges.”
Melody’s gasp is almost drowned out by the many supporters seated behind her. With this being the largest multi-victim rape trial in the country, the chamber is full to the brim with supporters. Even my mom is here, sitting on the prosecution’s side of the galley.
I didn’t tell Melody about Madden’s plan to plead guilty because, in all honesty, I couldn’t trust Madden would do the right thing. I’m glad he kept his word, but I still don’t trust him. Even from a distance, I can feel arrogance beaming out of him.
“Is that correct, young man? Are you changing your plea to guilty?” the judge asks Madden, his tone shocked. When Madden dips his chin, the judge scoots closer to his podium. “You do understand what that means, don’t you? You could be looking at life behind bars.”
While licking his cracked lips, Madden nods again. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m aware of my decision. What I did was wrong, and I can only hope you’ll show mercy for my admission of guilt.”
My jaw tightens when an admired flare darts through the judge’s eyes. Even with Madden admitting guilt, he’s using his boyish good looks to his advantage. That pisses me the fuck off and proves he still hasn’t learned his lesson.
“Very well.” The judge sits low in his leather chair before making a tee-pee with his index fingers. “I extensively read the reports drafted by both Ms. Gregg and the District Attorney’s Office over the weekend, so I feel confident in issuing a sentence now if neither party objects.”
“We’re happy with that, Your Honor,” assures Madden’s lawyer.
After popping his glasses onto his face, the judge shifts his eyes to Melody. “And what says the prosecution, Ms. Gregg?”
“We’re also happy for sentencing to occur now, Your Honor,” Melody replies, her tone equally shocked and pleased.
“Good.” The judge’s glasses notch down his nose when he glares at Madden. “I must say, your crimes are both extensive and sickening, Mr. McGee. You lack humility, and you treated your victims as worthless commodities. Not once in my thirty-nine years of office have I read such demoralizing, heartless, and downright nauseating claims. You used your privileged life to escape conviction and seek new victims at every turn withoutonceshowing remorse.”
He peers down at a stack of papers in front of him to check the extent of Madden’s charges before continuing, “Your crimes are too broad to offer you the mercy you’re seeking, Mr. McGee. So, in saying that, I sentence Madden Vincent McGee to ninety-nine consecutive years behind bars with parole not eligible for the first sixty. Three years for each victim.” After banging down his gavel to quieten the sobs of joy breaking across the chambers, the judge says, “You’ll be ninety before parole will be considered. Hopefully, by then, you would have matured enough to reflect true sorrow for what you have done.”
“All rise,” the bailiff requests when the judge stands to his feet.
When the judge breaks through the mahogany stained door at the back of the podium, it’s the fight of my life not to throw my fist into the air. I wouldn’t hesitate if the faintest buzz of my cell phone in my pocket wasn’t stealing my focus. I told Grayson I’d update him as soon as the verdict was handed down. Even he must be growing impatient.
