Page 11 of The Last Call
I hop up from the mattress, racing around the table to see what the hell makes him think I would ever betray him. Nausea overtakes me from photo after photo flipping from his swiping thumb. Me. Us. Here. On his balcony kissing. In his bedroom with his fist twisting the pink fabric above my breasts and his hand shoved down my skirt.
Someone’s watching us. I scan the hotel angled to the left. Most of the curtains drawn tight to block out the bright streams of sunlight. Except on the seventh floor where a long black telephoto lens peeks out from an open window and tracks our every move. I point like an idiot. Too shocked to think straight. Too flustered to realize what I’m doing. “There he is.”
Until I see the flicker of his flash popping again and again. Shit! I shove against David. “Get inside. He’s still getting shots of us.”
He takes a few swift steps but suddenly stops. His head whips up, and I flinch from the glare he bores into me. Proof of how he’s earned his reputation in the court room as a hardcore beast. He’s never looked at me with such disgust and loathing. Until now.
“It’s too late. It’s too damn fucking late. He’s got what he needs to ruin me.”
He’s right. God, he’s so right. I don’t even know what to say.
“My career. My marriage. My?”
Surprise explodes into my own revulsion from his inadvertent admission. What the hell? “You told me you’re divorced!”
“Like it fucking matters now.”
It totally fucking matters. Anything goes with my clients except breaking my three rules. “You know I don’t fuck married men.”
“Grow up Sydney. You fuck whoever is willing to pay you!”
His insult can’t even rattle me as furious as I am at him as well as myself. I should have checked more. But he’s a judge for fuck’s sake. I thought I could trust him. I thought he was honest. I thought he was genuine. Kinky and desperate, but at least trustworthy. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you lied to me.”
“Well I can’t believe you’re fucking blackmailing me!”
“I’m not! I didn’t do this. I swear.”
He jerks away from my hand on his forearm. As if my touch repulses him. “Why should I believe you? You’re nothing but a fucking whore.”
Whore.
The label burns my ears almost as much as the back of my father’s hand on my cheek. My heart. My soul. My spirit. Broken worse from his embarrassment than the humiliation caused by the man who assaulted me. Paralyzed as my Dad attacks me.
Berates me. Whore. Slut. Tramp.
Questions me. What did I do to make him think he could fuck me? What cheap outfit did I wear to lead him on? What did I drink that made him think I was that easy?
Disowns me. Get out of my sight. Get out of my way. Get out of my house.
The tile cold and hard under my clenched toes. The scent of mom’s banana bread still wafts through the room. The deep voices of the announcers analyzing the ball game he refused to turn off when I told them I needed to tell them something. The disgust in his eyes as he shook his head at me for the very last time.
Shame instead of sympathy. Contempt instead of comfort. Ridicule instead of reassurance. I couldn’t do anything but run. Out of the kitchen. Out of the house. Out of their lives. Driving all the way back to school barefoot and alone.
Regret as soon as the word leaves David’s mouth. Shaking his head and reaching for me. Too late. A blur flashes past me, and Mack’s fist pounds his jaw with an unmistakable crack. David hits the floor hard, bouncing from the force of Mack’s blow. Moaning as he clutches his cheek. Screeching from Mack’s foot slamming into his ribcage.
“Don’t you ever talk to her like that.”
Fuck! I have to stop him before he kills him. I smack my palm on my bodyguard’s heaving chest. “No, Mack. Don’t do it. He’s not worth it.”
He stills and meets my eyes when I cup his blazing cheek. Flushed and ruddy from anger and exertion. “Please stop. It’s over.”
More than just the argument. Or the day. The entire relationship. I’ll never be with David again. Not that he’d ever want me either.
Mack must realize the finality of the situation too and curls me against him. Shutting out David’s agonizing moans and cocooning me in his huge arms relaying genuine friendship.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I will be.”
