Page 72 of Contention

“You’re going to lose, you know.” The slow rise and fall of his chest is distracting, but not more so than the devious words that have just fallen from his perfect lips.

Kara frowns down at him. “What are you on about? Losewhat?”

“The Max Dotaire case. You’re going to lose. I know intelligence occasionally eludes you, but I’m sure this reality has hit you in the face already,” he drawls with a mocking lilt.

It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since he was inside of her and already, he’s back to mocking her. Obnoxious, yet somehow entirely not shocking.

“You know what?” Kara envisions suffocating him with the towel her hair is wrapped in. “You can screw yourself next time.” With a sneer, she settles for hitting him in the face with it as she leaves the room. “You know, I’ve decided I’m not staying after all. The scent of asshole is prevalent here.”

He mutters something that Kara doesn’t make out as she collects her things, collecting her scattered clothes, grimacing when she bends over and her back complains. She must have bruised it. Nick, because that’s what he wants her to call him, apparently, follows her out into the hall, still shirtless, jeans still undone.

“Did you get what you came for?” He asks with an aloof note in his tone.

This gives Kara pause, her brow furrowing. Her back is to him, so he can’t see her expression, thankfully. While she feels the answer should be ‘yes’, she’s not completely sure. She wanted him, she had him, but not only that, he willingly gave her an outlet for the violence and anger under her skin.

He fits the mirror image; he fits theillusion.

But, is the emptiness inside of her suddenly filled? Erased? No, she feels it, still there. Ever present, wondering what it will take to make it disappear. “It will suffice,” she replies. “For now.” She’s not sure how to ask him if they will do this again or not. The last thing she wants is to seem desperate. “So, I take it you know how to find me if you feel the urge for a repeat performance?”

She hopes that is vague enough, detached enough.

“Kara,” his voice gives her pause. “Remember what this thing between usis…and what it’snot.”

Discomfort crawls through her stomach at those words. A blatant warning that feelings have no place here. The problem is, Kara is full of feelings, violent, tragic, and needful. It feels like acid reflux, a burn in her belly, the need to vomit, heart palpitations.

Feeling her throat work, an ugly expression drifting over her face with a strong emotion, barely held back, Kara clears her visage before turning slightly to say, “I don’t need a reminder. I’m well aware what you’re not. But I expect the same of you. Don’t plan on placingboundariesonme.”

His face freezes in a slight expression of dark amusement, like he thinks what she’s said is funny, in a pathetic sort of way. Then, he snorts dismissively. Typical. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he rasps in the sandpaper voice of his, that tone that makes her insides clench, like sex and sin.

She closes the door behind her without another word.

At home, alone with the bruises and an auspicious ache in her bones, Kara sits on her couch and stares out the window. She wonders, detachedly, if she is supposed to feel regret. Is that the normal reaction to an event like this?

She can’t help the way she replays the events of the night, thinking it through, daydreaming of his eyes and the way he felt, heated and strong. The way he sounded. The way he held her down so hard that it hurt.

There are marks on her wrists. Visible. She’ll have to hide them. That’s okay, she knows how to do that. She’s had years of practice. Despite the marks of violence on her body, she wants it all to happen again, even though she thought she wouldn’t.

Even though she still feels lost and unfulfilled.

It’s a horrid realization, when she accepts that she won’t be able to just forget about him and move on.

Trouble…trouble…trouble…you’re in trouble.

You never asked for anything more. He never intended for there to be strings attached, remember? This was just a moment in time for him and a sick little experiment for you.

Don’t let it become anything more.

Chapter 18

“Debbie, I don’t know what to tell you. Closing arguments are being scheduled for a few weeks out. It’s in the hands of the jury after that,” Kara says into the phone tiredly, listening to Debra Mills squawking on the other end.

It’s not even noon. Too early for this shit.

“This can’t be happening! We haven’t even had a chance to bring another witness forward, or another victim!” Debra sounds angry, desperate. “Max is an absolute ass on a power trip; he’s going to get away with what he did to me.”

Rubbing her dark eyes in irritation, Kara refrains from making a snide comment about how Debra perhaps shouldn’t have hidden her consensual sexual relationship with the man, throwing shadow on her entire testimony. “Like I said, we’ve done what we can. Closing arguments are being prepped. No one else has come forward mentioning that they have experienced rape or negligence athisexact handsat the club. The jury has the final say and it doesn’t mean he will get off scot free. Gross Negligence still has legs here, considering you had to go to the hospital for injury, which is recorded. That is documentedprooffor negligence. The rape…is hearsay.”

“Where’s Derrick? I haven’t been able to get him on the phone,” Debra demands sharply, hysteria rising in her tone.

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