For once I’m not going to bitch about the state’s hard-on for underfunding this department. Luca’s case is too close to my past. It’s too close to everything I’ve worked so hard to keep hidden from this world. I can’t lose my license to practice law over this. It’s all I have left.
Dropping the photograph, I pick up a third and hold it up to the light. Clues. Clues. Where are all the clues? Regardless of whether Luca killed these ten men or not, I’m determined to find a crumb of police or forensic mismanagement to trip the jury into a mistrial.
Which will never happen if Jackson King continues hanging around my desk like a bad smell.
“But the guy confessed, didn’t he?” He leans down to pick up one of the photographs. Back off, asshole. “His information led to the discovery of nine more bodies a couple of days ago. Are these—?”
“No, these are of the original victim. The police haven’t released those other images yet.”
“It’s an open and shut, Madigan,” he chides, patronizingly. “Unless, of course, you’re working on an insanity plea.”
Why the hell are you so interested? “Maybe I am. Maybe it’s the only choice I have if I find out the cops did their job right. Luca hasn’t exactly made this easy for me.”
Jackson frowns. “I thought the defendant’s name was Enzo Vincent?”
“Client’s request,” I reply smoothly. “It’s a family thing.”
I can feel Jackson’s hands on the back of my chair now. Not so nice and normal after all... His fingers brush lightly against my shoulder blades, and nausea swells in my stomach again.
“Insanity is a tough one to slip past Judge Harris, Madigan,” he warns, his voice thickening to that deep, syrupy shit men like to drown women in. “That’s assuming he’s presiding over Vincent’s trial as well?”
“He is. They’re codefendants.”
Hot, unwanted breath hits the nape of my neck. My fingertips lock around the lip of my desk to stop myself from ramming my chair backward into his dick.
“And a row of dead bodies who your new client is staking ownership over.” He moves his lips to my hair. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” I mutter defiantly. His skepticism is almost worse than his intrusion into my personal space. I’m damn good at what I do, and he knows it. The odds are stacked against me this time, but I’m an ace at knocking them down.
“What about Trent?”
“What about Trent?”
“He’s the lawyer for the other defendant, this...this Cain Moseley. The son of the deceased. Surely, you guys should be working together on this case?”
I’d rather stick used needles in my eyeballs.
“As far as Trent Anderson is concerned,” I say, keeping my voice even, “these men are guilty as sin and not worth wasting the taxpayer’s money on.”
“Is that a direct quote?” Jackson lets go of my chair and spins me around to face him. My nails are shredded as they’re ripped away from my desk, and tears of pain cloud my vision.
“Did that hurt, Bailey?” He smiles coldly. I don’t return it. His expression is too reminiscent of the grin I just saw in the crime scene photograph. “Are you sure about that decision to turn me down? Sounds to me like you need all the help you can get.”
He delivers his latest round of patronization with a glance at my breasts and my stomach lurches.
Turn you down?
“Does your wife know you’re working late?” I say, determined not to show how scared I am.
His grin vanishes. His veneer crumbles. Underneath it, he’s just like all the others.
“Does your pussy know you’re a cock tease, or is it just your mouth?”
“Are you serious?” I’m shocked at how quickly this has turned.
“Maybe you should listen to her once in a while.”
“Fuck you, Jackson!” I aim my heel at his crotch, but he jerks back just in time.
“Frigid bitch,” he snarls, kicking my shin and his pretenses away, and then he’s lunging for me, teeth bared. “Let’s see if we can melt your ice.”
“Get the hell off me!”
“Why don’t you just lie back and enjoy it?”
Luca’s voice filters into my head again as Jackson shoves his knee between my thighs and rough hands tear at the slit in my pencil skirt. Once demure, and now profane. My shirt follows. The cups of my white lace bra are yanked downward and the cold air stings my nipples.
“Normality is just another deception, cara mia... It serves as the perfect disguise for all seven deadly sins.”
“Get off me,” I rasp again as my once-respected colleague smothers me with man sweat and determination. That innocent lock of hair I admired earlier is looking more like a devil’s horn as he forces my panties down my legs.
“Trent’s right, Madigan. All you need is a good fuck to loosen you up.”
“You bastard!” I’m fighting for my life now; fighting as I did all those years ago, all the while itching to carve a number into his chest to match the other bodies.
Twelve for justice.
I see Cyrus Moseley’s dead grin again, right before Jackson slaps me hard across the face.
Everything goes black for a beat, and then pain comes rushing in. Two fingers are forced inside my body as he grunts obscenities into my ear. His cock is rock hard against my thigh as even more bile pools at the back of my throat.
Not again.
Twelve.
“Why?” I manage to croak.
“Why not?” he sneers.
But I know the real answer. It’s because of my wickedness. Didn’t they tell me that? Every terrible thing that happens to me is payment for the ultimate transgression in the eyes of the Twelve and the Almighty himself.
I loved a black-eyed boy I was meant to hate.
I loved him way more than—
“The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ...”
I lied to Luca that first day we met. I never believed. At sixteen, God was a chore. An inconvenience.
The Twelve made me fear him.
Luca made me despise him.
I haven’t thought of that Bible quote for years. Haven’t dared to. It’s a key to a door I never wanted to open again, but it’s too late now.
Jackson’s first hungry thrust tears and burns. It penetrates so deep beyond my pussy, scars form on an already scarred soul.
“Feel that, Ice Queen?” he grunts, thrusting again. “Turns out you’re warmer on the inside than you made us believe.”
I lift my hands to shred his scalp with what’s left of my nails, and he punches me hard in the chest, knocking all the fight I have left out of me.
I’m floating after that, listening to the sound of forced flesh on flesh. Knowing the hurt and the shame, but refusing to claim it as my own.
I want it done.
I want it over.
He finishes quickly with another grunt—longer, more satisfied this time—and when he pulls out, I can feel his seed leaking out of me and staining the photographs beneath.
“That should finally put a smile on your face, Bailey.” His contempt is as vicious as his rape. “And don’t go worrying about the security cameras in this building. I’ll take care of that. You just need to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut about this. Go home and fantasize, because this is the best fuck you’ll have all year.”