by Jasmin Quinn
He opened the passenger door and she turned to him. “I don’t want to go, Jack.”
He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her on the lips, letting her kiss him back. Her hands cradled his face, pulling him to her, kissing him with desperation. It was too soon and she already felt bereft. She didn’t want to leave his side, not ever.
Then he pulled back. “I don’t want to let you go, Mira.” He touched his thumb to the side of her mouth then ran it over her bottom lip. “But you need to do this for me.”
Mira nodded. Jack was right; it was what this weekend was about wasn’t it? To show her that she was wrong, to help her move forward, but she fell in love with him again. How could she be without him, pretending she didn’t know him or like him?
“How will we connect? How…” Jack sighed and crushed her to him. “I’ll call you, Mira. I’ll keep an eye on you, get Rob to talk to you. We’ll work it out.” He kissed her again, then turned her towards the car and helped her in, doing up her seatbelt before closing the door.
He leaned in through the open window, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. To Andre, he said, “Take her home. Make sure she gets inside. Look after her.”
Andre nodded. Jack gave her hand another squeeze and then stepped back. Mira looked back as the car drove away, watched Jack standing in the driveway. He lifted a hand, dropped it and turned back towards the house.
Part Two
Six months later
I can't run
I can't hide
and it's tearing me up
inside
oh mercy baby
love's been rough on me
Etta James
Love’s Been Rough on Me
Eighteen
Mira sat in her car in the parking lot across from Jack Creed’s nightclub, Barrage. She’d been parked there for over an hour, alternating between rage and despair, crying then not crying. Trying to grow her courage to walk into the nightclub and punch Jack Creed in his arrogant, traitorous face. If she had a list of the worst days of her life, this would rank up there in the top three right next to the day Jack took a wife and she found out through the papers, and the night Jack forced her to submit to him. Today, he utterly destroyed her.
Six months! Six months since he took her forcibly from her home, brought her to his estate and seduced her, fucked her, had her begging for him. Sending her away when the weekend was over, promising to stay connected. Then nothing! She did what he wanted of her, sort of. She’d made the visit to Rob Creed, talked with him a long time. He was angry, grieving, not very cooperative. Telling Mira to tell his brother to fuck off. That this was his decision and Jack needed to get out of the middle of it.
She didn’t know what to do. She tried to call Jack, but all attempts to get through to him were rebuffed, so she visited Rob again. The meeting went better than the first and they left with promises to each other. His was to consider possibilities if there were any to be had; hers was to find those possibilities.
But her promise got lost in her mounting workload, in the lack of communication from Jack. In that first week, after Jack took her, she was flying high, a woman in love. She couldn’t wait to talk to Jack. She wanted to come home each day and share it with him. Hear about his day. Have him cradle her, cherish her, bend her to his will, but he never called, never reached out to her. She understood that they needed to be discreet, maybe she even more than he, but they could still have communication. There were private ways to talk, to meet. To fuck.
One week turned to several and still nothing. Not even after she’d talked to Rob. Robert would tell him that she’d made the effort, that she was working on it. As the weeks drifted to months, she became confused, unsettled, hurt. She couldn’t understand how a man could say the things Jack had said to her and not feel them in his heart. Jack was her weakness, and not only did he know it, he exploited it. It was a game to him and Mira didn’t know the rules, so he shattered her again.
Six months later, the stab of pain in her heart whenever she thought of him was starting to soften just a little… maybe. But the anger grew at her foolishness, at her naivete. Yes, she’d fallen for his bullshit, his use of her, but she was stronger than that 23-year-old girl she had once been. She’d had a life before Jack and she could have one after. It would never be the same, how could it be? He betrayed her so brutally and she let him, knew what he was about and walked right into his deceitful web, but she would find a way to move forward. Somehow. And that’s what she did, embracing a crushing workload, keeping her head down and her thoughts focused on her cases.
Which is why when Mira walked into work earlier in the day, still tired after a long weekend of prepping for a critical discovery meeting, she didn’t know her world was about to crumble around her. She’d actually woke up that morning with a small sense of joy, ready for the day, the meeting this afternoon. She treated herself to a latte and arrived at work 10 minutes late. The minute she stepped through the door, her assistant was on her. The boss needed to see her ASAP and whatever it was, it wasn’t good news.
She hurried to his office and rapped on the pane of glass as she opened the door. Aaron waved her in with his hand. “Close the door and sit.”
Mira seated herself across the desk from Aaron in his messy, disorganized office. Aaron Leeds, sleight in stature and lean in body, 45ish, bespectacled, sandy hair, and a complete and utterly forceful presence, didn’t smile, barely acknowledged her. He was a master in the courtroom, charming, knowing, commanding, but this morning, his face was serious, his posture slumped, and he looked haggard and grey. An old man where a young one had been just a few days ago.
“What’s wrong?” A chill swept up Mira’s spine as her face mirrored his anxiety.
Aaron looked pained as he tossed a large envelope onto his desk. She threw him a puzzled glance then reached out and tugged the package towards her. It had Aaron’s name scrawled across it with his home address. It was marked private and confidential. “It came to your house?”
“Yesterday, by courier.” He sounded anguished, barely in control and she felt worried for him.
“What is it?”
“Open it. Take a look.”
She glanced down at the envelope and then slid her hand into it, pulling out the contents. Some photos. She flipped them over in her hand and then her body went rigid. She heard the little gasp that escaped her lips as she stared at them. There were three. She was in each one. The first was her alone, standing in the driveway of Jack’s house, her hair mussed, wearing the soft satiny kimono. Taken from a distance, but clearly her. The second was a close-up of the same shot making it clear that she was naked under the semi-transparent robe, her nipples erect. She was looking off at something, the horizon and her lips were slightly curved up. A small sensuous dreamy smile.
The third was outside again. This one of her and Jack. Her hands were clutching his face and she was kissing him. She was kissing him. The angle of the photo showed her raw desperation as she clung to him. The pictures were date-stamped.
She flipped them over, out of sight, her chin trembling, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying to keep tears from leaking out. “Just these?” her voice was hollow, colourless. They were enough. These pictures would ruin her.
Aaron nodded. “Jesus Christ, Mira!” he swore at her, his composure crumbling. “What the fuck? Are you out of your mind?” He ran a hand through his hair. The implications for him, for both of them were staggering. “If this gets out, it’ll ruin us. It’ll put the district attorney’s office under scrutiny for the next decade!” His voice started out a hiss but increased in volume as the words spewed out.
Mira’s hands were shaking so bad she put them between her knees to try to hold them still. “It wasn’t like that, Aaron. Jack… he forced me…” She stuttered to a stop.
Aaron reached out and grabbed the photos, turning them face up and slamming them down on his desk in front of her. “Look at them,” he shouted, stabbing
at them with a finger. “Look at you! These are not pictures of a forced woman.” His lips curled as he purposely shoved a pile of folders off his desk. “And on the same fucking weekend you sent his brother down for second degree murder. Christ, you must have ice in your veins.”
Mira’s desperation gave way to despair. “Aaron, I need you listen to me. Please.”
He dropped his voice. “How long Mira? How long have you been fucking around with this asshole? Is he paying you? In money and fucks? What is it?” His eyes seared her.
She was openly crying now. Her heart was shredding. At Jack’s betrayal of her. His abandonment. He used her, she knew it now. Maybe knew it before. Cold-hearted, cruel, manipulative. And Aaron, so angry, face red, on the verge of his own tears. Hurt by her betrayal. Justified. She deserved everything he said to her. There were no excuses. She should have stood up to Jack; should have refused his first demand, his first touch. He would have accepted it, she thought. He was not the kind of man that would rape a woman. And then she stopped. What the fuck did she know anyway? Up until this moment, she believed that he cared for her; she believed that he was not the kind of man that would destroy her.
Regret hit her between the eyes. After that weekend, she could have come to Aaron, told him what happened. He would have helped her then, helped her to make sense of it all. Maybe even found a way to take another look at Robert’s case. But now… now, she’d fucked it up royally. “I’m sorry, Aaron,” she sobbed. “Please just hear me out…” Her voice trailed away as she ran her fingers under her eyes. Anyone could see in. They all had to have heard Aaron’s shouting. They couldn’t know what was happening, but they would be listening, trying to guess. Humiliation hammered through her. She’d been the rising star in the DA’s office, both envied and admired. She’d had it all. Now she had nothing. Because of the fucking Creeds.
Aaron reached behind to a cabinet and grabbed a box of tissue, dropping it in front of her. She plucked out two, blew her nose with one and then crumbled it. She wiped her eyes with the other.
“I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice still strained and brittle, but lower. Quieter. He too must have realized that their conversation had been too loud. His shoulders slumped. “You betrayed me, Mira. I put my money on you, would have done anything to make you great.” His voice sounded despairing. “I went to the mat for you when I hired you. Knew about your former association with Jack Creed. The brief affair. It’s in your record, the boss didn’t like it. I fucking promised him that it was over, that you were beyond Creed’s reach.” His hand clenched and he kept tapping it on the desk, like he was restraining himself from tapping it on her.
Mira wished he could just punch her. She’d feel better for it. She finally brought her eyes to his, almost dropping them again when she saw his pain, the anger on his face. His eyes were wet too. Not crying but knowing. Her throat hurt, her chest was tight, she could barely draw breath. “What can I do?” she whispered.
“I called Creed this morning. He said there were more. Not so vanilla as these ones.”
A chill blew through Mira. “More?” she croaked.
Aaron nodded, unclenching his hand, stretching his fingers. “But he thought the media might have more interest in them than I would.”
Mira started shaking, her brain flashing back to that weekend, conjuring vivid vignettes of herself, tied, willing, begging. A dizziness took hold, her lungs squeezing in on her. She wanted to die, she wanted nothingness. She wanted to disappear right now.
“Would they, Mira?” His eyes held both sympathy and contempt. She understood. She was a fallen woman, this morning so high she thought nothing could reach her, and now, bruised, broken, bleeding. A stain on the carpet.
She sucked in a breath. She wanted this conversation to be over. She wanted to leave his office with her tail between her legs. Leave this building, leave this town. There was nothing left, her career, her life, her heart – all destroyed. She may as well be dead. She squared her shoulders, swallowed her sobs and said, “What’s next, Aaron? I can’t fix this for me. I need to know how I can fix this for you, so that you don’t get pulled down with me.”
Aaron’s laughter was harsh, grating. “How the fuck do you think you can do that? It’s apparent you trusted Creed and he fucking blew right through you. What makes you think you can save me?”
Aaron was still too raw, too angry. She needed to find a way to settle this conversation, move it away from emotion to the logistics. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“Yeah,” he snarled. “He told me to fire you.”
Mira didn’t flinch as he hurled his words at her. She was expecting nothing less than this outcome. “It’s heading there anyway.”
Aaron shook his head. “No. I talked the sonofabitch out of it. I talked him down to a resignation for you. A simple walk away.”
Mira considered the man on the other side of the desk. Her boss, her mentor. Her admiration for him grew even as her heart broke. She wanted to compliment him on his brilliance but knew she could not. He would slap her down like dog. “How did you manage that?”
“By promising him my fucking firstborn male child. If I fired you, I’d have to justify it to the world and I couldn’t do that without telling them why.” He paused, his face creasing in fury. “And I’m not fucking going to perjure myself for Jack Creed’s whore.”
Mira was gutted. She’d lost her job, her life in the space of a few minutes. And she lost a friend, someone she trusted with her life, with her career. “I’m sorry,” she said again. What else could she say?
He ignored her, his voice rising sharply. “Then word would get out and every fucking case you were involved in would be scrutinized by the press. Robert Creed’s conviction would be overturned in a heartbeat. He’d be out on parole, there’d be no deals, we’d have to chase first degree. We’d fucking lose.”
Jack said as much to her that first night, but still, Aaron’s words pierced her. The degree of Jack’s deceptiveness, his coldness, his ruthlessness overwhelmed her. This was the plan all along. He seduced her, let her go and waited to give her time and space to drop her guard. Then he pounced. She truly was a lamb and now ripped to pieces by the man who stole her heart. Twice. She hated him in that moment, her fury rising in her, at him, at herself, at her stupidity. Determination set in. She’d kill him!
She pushed herself out of her slump, straightened her back and plucked another tissue from the box, running it under her eyes, cleaning herself up. “What then, Aaron?” Her voice sounded thready. She steeled it. “What did you promise him?”
Aaron’s eyes flicked over her, impassive, flinty. “I told him that if I fired you every case you ever tried would be revisited. That this is fucking Vegas and you handled the heavy weights. It would be like a jail-break and a lot of the assholes that wanted to shove Creed off his fucking throne would be free to try again.” He leaned his forearms on his desk, his hands folded into a single fist. “I told him you’d resign because you had doubts over Rob Creed’s guilt. That you wanted to reopen the case and I said no. So you made the decision to resign, go it alone. Manage the appeal. That alone should get the conviction overturned.”
“No, Aaron,” Mira moaned. “You can’t ask me to do that.”
Aaron stared at her hard until she dropped her eyes. “I’m not asking, Mira,” he said coldly. “I’m telling you. This is the way you fucking fix the mess you made. You’ll tell the press that this one was weighing on you, that the DA’s office refused to budge and so you decided to take a stand. Then we’ll press for first degree and you’ll fucking defend the bastard and get him off.”
Mira rubbed her hands over her face, to her hair, pulling on it. Face the Creeds again? Work with Jack Creed? Represent Robert in court? “I can’t,” she whispered.
Aaron pursed his lips together as he pushed himself back in his chair. “You can and you will. Jack Creed will come after you, Mira and if you fuck up my life any more than you already have, I will personally pay
him to kill you.”
Mira looked in his eyes, trying to gauge how serious he was. She didn’t believe him, that’s not who was, but then no one had ever pushed him this far. And who knew? Aaron had a wife, children. A vulnerability Jack Creed wouldn’t hesitate to leverage. Despite her heartache, the pain, the humiliation, she couldn’t be responsible for the death of Aaron or his family. And after this, she knew Creed was capable of anything. She exhaled a shaky breath as she dropped her eyes to her hands. “Okay.” It was meek, uneven, followed by a sob she couldn’t contain. “What do I need to do?”
Aaron’s eyes were wet when she glanced up again, but he swallowed down whatever emotion he was feeling. “This discussion we’ve just had was about Robert Creed, about your two visits in the last six months. Me calling you out on them, you telling me you want to re-examine the evidence, the confession.” He paused, caught a breath and then, “Me saying no, us arguing. You self-righteously resigning.”
Mira nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. Her world was burning in front her, the acrid smoke of betrayal fusing with her tears.
“You’ll leave my office right now, write your fucking resignation letter, sign it and drop it on my desk. Thirty minutes, Mira. Make sure the letter is short, intelligent and to the point. Then pack up your fucking desk and get out.”
Mira opened her mouth to say something, say sorry, but Aaron had already turned from her, picking up a pen from his desk, dropping his eyes to a brief in front of him. “Get out!” He told her coldly, his hands shaking.
Nineteen
After Mira left the DA’s offices, after she’d handed in her letter, after she’d ignored her colleagues’ questions, she went home. She let herself in, dropped the single box of her personal items from her desk onto the floor. She did a quick sweep of her house, half-hoping, half-expecting Jack’s goons to be there again, to take her back to him so she could personally gut him, but the house was empty, hollow, unwelcoming. She stood in the middle of her living room taking stock of her shitty life. There were very few items she was particularly attached to, an original painting by George Rodrigue, a vintage quilt her grandmother had sewn, a small framed picture of her parents, also gone, mother from cancer, father from grief. She was alone. What was stopping her from putting these items in the trunk of her car and leaving?
