Bonds

Chapter 32

-Maya's POV-

I stared at him, my mouth agape, struggling to form a coherent response. "There must be some mistake," I finally managed, "This is crazy! -

"We have reason to believe you were involved in a series of financial transactions linked to illegal activities with your father," the officer continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

My brain scrambled to process his words. Money laundering? Illegal activities? It was like he was speaking a foreign language. This couldn't be happening. This had to be some kind of bizarre misunderstanding.

glanced at Ivan, searching for some flicker of recognition, some shred of understanding in his eyes. But his expression was a mask, a mixture of shock and confusion that mirrored my own. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, another officer stepped forward.

"Let's go," the officer who had arrested me said curtly, gesturing towards the door. His grip on my arm tightened, leaving no room for argument.

Suddenly, a new sound pierced the tense silence. A groggy voice, laced with confusion, echoed from the living room.

"Amaya? What's going on?" My mother. She must have finally woken up from the chaos. Maybe if it was any other situation, I would have wondered why she hadn't woken up throughout Miranda's tantrum. Before I could even turn my head to look at her, her voice rose in alarm. "What are you doing to her?" she shrieked, her words directed at the officers.

As if jolted awake by her outburst, Ivan finally reacted. He lunged forward, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Let her go! This is a misunderstanding!"

The officers, however, were unfazed. One of them reacted instantly, his hand flashing to his holster as he drew his gun. "Sir, I suggest you don't make another move." His voice was calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Everything was happening so fast, a whirlwind of confusion and terror. My mother screamed, a high-pitched sound that clawed at my sanity. I had never even been involved in my father's company! There had never been any talk of money laundering, of illegal activities. It was all a terrible mistake, a cruel nightmare. But the officers weren't interested in explanations. With a firm grip on my anger. She arm, they began to usher me towards the door. My mother lunged after me, her face contorted with a mix of fear and reached out, her hand grasping at my arm.

"Amaya! No!" she cried, her voice cracking with desperation.

But before I could say anything, the officers were pulling me out of the house. The world blurred into a nightmarish collage of flashing lights and sirens wailing in the distance. Through the haze of confusion and panic, I could hear my mother's screams fading behind me.

"Stop them! You can't let them take her!

Then, just as abruptly, her voice was gone, like a distant, the way she had been for the better part of my life, replaced by the rhythmic thump of my own heart hammering against my ribs. As they shoved me into the back of a waiting police car, I caught a

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glimpse of Ivan through the rear window. He stood there on the porch, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"I'll fix this," he mouthed silently, his voice barely moving his lips.

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Whether his words were meant for me or for himself, I couldn't tell. But they were the only shred of hope I had left in the midst of this swirling nightmare.

The squad car lurched forward, the harsh red and blue lights painting the world in a dizzying strobe effect. My wolf thrashed inside me, snarling inside my head. The primal urge to fight, to tear free, was overwhelming. But I shoved her down, forcing myself to remain calm. Panicking wouldn't help. I needed a clear head to get out of this mess.

The ride to the station was a blur of accusations and tense silence. My attempts to explain, to plead my innocence, fell on deaf ears. The officers were stoic, their faces emotionless masks. By the time we arrived, the only evidence of my pleas was the raw scrape in my throat from my desperate whispers.

The booking process was a cold, impersonal affair. Fingerprints, mugshots, a strip search that left me feeling utterly violated. They took everything from me - my phone, my wallet, even the necklace Alex had given me that I couldn't let go of and kept buried under each cloth I wore. There was no opportunity for a call, no chance to reach out to Ivan or anyone else.

Finally, they ushered me into a sterile holding cell. It was cramped, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and something else.. fear. Two women sat on a metal bunk, their eyes following my every move with a mix of curiosity and hostility One of them, a woman with a **d head and a defiant glint in her eyes, spoke first. Her voice was raspy, probably from years of smoking.Contents belong to NovelDrama.Org

"New meat," she sneered, gesturing towards the empty bunk with a jerk of her chin. "You in for shoplifting, sweetheart? Drugs?"

I shook my head, "No, I-"

"Don't bother," the other woman cut me off. She was older, her face etched with a lifetime of hard living. "They ain't interested in explanations here. Just keep your head down and don't cause any trouble."

Despite the hostility in their voices, a flicker of something akin to pity crossed the older woman's face. "What'd you do, kid?" she asked, her voice softer than before.

"They... they arrested me for money laundering," I stammered, the absurdity of the accusation still sinking in.

A snort of laughter erupted from the s**d-headed woman. "Money laundering? You look like you couldn't launder a sock, sweetheart."

"I know, I know," I mumbled, feeling a hot flush creep up my neck. "It's a mistake. There's no way I could be involved in something like that."

The older woman studied me for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. "Looks like you got yourself in a heap of trouble, kid. But listen good, there are ways to survive in here. Don't trust anyone, least of all the guards. And if anyone tries to mess with you, you fight back. They respect strength here, not weakness."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "I... I appreciate the advice," I managed, my voice shaky but firm.

The s**d-headed woman snorted again, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Looks like newbie's got some Chapter 32

fight in her after all, Rita. Maybe she won't be such a pain in the a** after all."

Neither of us said another word and I turned my gaze staring out the cell. How was I involved in this when had never gotten entangled in my father's company. I closed my eyes, focusing on my connection with my wolf. I hadn't let her out in years because the rejection had hurt us in so many ways. I still felt broken but being in here, locked felt so suffocating.

The night stretched on, a slow, agonizing crawl. Sleep was impossible with the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and the constant murmuring of the other women in the cell. Before I know it, dawn arrived with a sliver of weak sunlight pushing through the narrow window. My stomach grumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear. "First rule of jail food," Rita rasped, her voice gravelly from sleep, "never trust anything that's brown and mushy." She reached into a worn canvas bag tucked beneath her bunk and pulled out a plastic bag filled with stale bread and a questionable-looking apple.

"Share?" she offered, her gaze surprisingly gentle.

Hesitantly, I accepted a piece of bread. It was stale and dry, but it was sustenance. "You gonna be alright, kid?" Rita asked, her voice softer than I expected.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice choked with a mix of fear and frustration. "This is insane. I haven't done anything wrong."

She nodded, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "They don't always care about that here," she said bluntly. "But you gotta keep fighting. They can take your freedom, but they can't take your spirit."

The day dragged on, punctuated by the clanging of cell doors and the occasional shout from somewhere down the the hall. Then an unexpected sound pierced the air – the rattle of keys approaching the cell door. All three of us turned towards the sound as the heavy metal door clanged open, revealing a young guard, his face impassive.

"Amaya Stone," he called out, his voice flat.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Was this it? Was someone finally here to listen to my side of the story? Or was this something worse? I stood up, my legs shaky but my gaze defiant.

"Yes?" I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

The guard gestured towards the hallway. "There is someone here to see you."

"Who?"

He looked annoyed by the question but he answered anyway, "He said his name was Alex Thorne."

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