Dirty Law

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  Before he could ask, I explained, “It was Effie, my old friend. She stopped talking to me when the media started covering me. All of my friends did…” I looked away. It still hurt thinking about how all of my “friends” couldn’t be arsed to listen to my side of the story, much less believe me.

  What hurt the most, though, was Effie. I’d known Effie since the third grade. We’d witnessed each other’s first kisses; we’d held each other through our first breakups. She had been there when my parents died and had held my hand at the funeral.

  She was more than my best friend. She was my sister.

  And then she was gone from my life. All it took was a rumor blown way out of proportion. I went to her a day after the rape. I gathered all my strength to tell her I had been raped and that Morris had forced himself on me. At first she was the same old Effie. She held me as I cried. She promised we would make the police believe my story.

  Then two days later the news started running my story. They painted me as a liar. They pulled every bit of information they could about my past and twisted it into a believable fiction. I called Effie for support, but she didn’t answer. I kept calling and calling until she finally picked up and said, “Look, Nami, I can’t keep supporting your delusions. Get help.” She hung up and that was the last I heard of her. I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t. How can you believe that your best friend, your sister, just abandons you after over a decade?

  I knew I should have moved on. I’d moved on from everything else. I’d thrown yogurt in her face! Still. It’s one thing to move beyond the noxious, black tar that’s got you sinking, and another to give up hope in the sister that used to keep you tethered.

  Law reached over and rubbed my back, helping me finish the story. I smiled gratefully at him and said, “I don’t know why she’s calling me now.”

  “She probably saw the news,” Law offered.

  “So?” I said into my hands, forcing my tears back inside.

  “So the news isn’t painting you as a liar any more,” Law continued. “Effie probably saw the news.” I looked from Law to my phone and back to Law. I summoned all my strength to press play and finish the voicemail.

  “…I saw the news and I would really like to talk to you. Please call me back. My number is the same.” I stared at the phone, unsure what to feel.

  I felt Law’s gaze on me, but he didn’t say anything until I looked up to him. “What do you want to do?”

  I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Part of me really wanted to reach out. I’d been so lonely and I missed Effie. I missed our stupid fights. I missed our girl talks. I missed riding in the car and singing along to songs. I missed sleepovers. I missed shopping. I missed eating ice cream together and watching dumb TV shows.

  I missed her.

  But I missed the Effie that was my sister, and the Effie that called me wasn’t her any more. The Effie that called me had abandoned me.

  I exhaled, pushing away the leftover waffles on my plate. “Right now I just want to go home.”

  “I’ll take you back right now.” Law signaled for the check.

  “I mean…” I bit my nail and looked away, hoping I wasn’t being too forward. “I want to go home with you.”

  I lay in bed with Law, staring out the window at the Salt Lake City skyline.

  We’d made love.

  Now he held me.

  I turned on the TV, even though he’d told me not to; call it a morbid fascination or a need to know. Slowly, I slipped out of his sleepy embrace.

  Hours later and the news still hadn’t stopped reporting on the same thing: me.

  For once, though, they weren’t picking me apart. They weren’t tearing into me like leftover nachos. My picture (an old but at least somewhat flattering one) was raised in the corner; I was somber and serious looking. It was unlike the months before, where they’d seemed to use any shot they could to plaster me as a harlot. The picture they had now was almost regal looking.

  It was odd to be on the other side. To watch the vultures pick at someone else. The picture of Morris on the screen was of an unflattering angle. His chin looked weak, his eyes beady, and contempt seemed to radiate from his pores. I wondered if the world would see the Morris that had haunted me for nearly a year.

  There was no new news to report. The reporters merely rehashed the day’s earlier developments. Their assessments floated in and out of my ears as I trained my gaze on Morris. I locked onto his small blue gaze and thought of his family. I wondered what he was telling his wife and children. I wondered what his constituents were thinking. I almost let myself get sucked back in, but then Law groaned in his sleep. He reached a hand out, tugging at my waist. The action jerked me out of my spiraling thoughts.

  I wasn’t sure what the next months held for us. I wasn’t even sure what the next few days held for us. Now that the world knew the truth, it was an entirely different battlefront.

  I felt sorry for the world. I was sorry they had to know the truth. I knew what that truth did to a person. I’d experienced it firsthand. It was a truth so ugly it could change a person’s very soul. Lucky for me, Law had come along. He’d agreed to share his soul. Because of him, my soul had never truly blackened. It had grayed, it had withered a bit, but because of Law, it had stayed intact.

  I cuddled closer to Law, stealing a bit more of his warmth.

  I wasn’t poetic enough to call Law my angel. I wasn’t a damsel needing saving. I was in distress, but Law didn’t wear shining armor. He hadn’t rescued me from perdition. Law had seen me in Hell and had helped me build the map out. Law was my compass.

  In the end, I wasn’t sure of the future, but I could be sure of one thing: whatever happened, I could handle it.

  Epilogue

  ONE YEAR LATER

  * * *

  “Today is his sentencing.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

  “You’re asking me this now?” I was suspended from the ceiling, my body tied up in intricate knots. Law had bought and moved into a downtown loft. The view was spectacular, especially from my position. I was above it all, above the lights that twinkled like stardust, above the people that lived and lied in the lights, I was above it. Hung from the ropes, I felt power.

  “I want to be sure.” Law trailed his hands along the knots and I could feel the sensation vibrating against my skin. I shivered, goose bumps forming.

  From the rope to Law’s deep voice, I felt everything with intense awareness. The knots pressed against my naked skin, their hard packs reminding me of Law. The knots reminded me of his cock: smooth, yet hard and roped, literally.

  I’d been suspended for only a few minutes, but it wasn’t the first time Law and I had engaged. He’d had plans for me, as he’d said months before, and he had followed through. Law had waited until I was at peace before suspending me. We did rope play, we did bondage, but he never suspended me until I had fully let Morris go.

  Good thing, too, because when you’re up like that, with the rope pressing into your skin, completely helpless, you have nowhere to go but your mind. All that’s left is sensation. Had I attempted it too soon I would have broken. Instead I soared.

  When Law raised me up in the ropes, I felt like I was flying.

  I let out a sigh and said, “God I would love to talk about anything else right now. Lets talk about genocide.”

  “Nami…” Law yanked on one of the knots and I trembled. “I want to know that your mind is clear. There can’t be any secrets between us, remember?”

  I sighed. “I let Morris go the day I decided he didn’t have any more power over me. I don’t need to watch him go to jail to know he’s out of my life.” I had helped with the case, of course. After Becca Riley’s suicide note, more women came forward. An astonishing twenty-four women had tales to tell of their own rapes by Morris’s hand. It was sickening. I made it clear to the prosecuting attorney that I would give my testimony but my help ended there.
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  It wasn’t about spite, it was about moving on. I’d given almost a year of my life to Morris and I wasn’t about to give up more. I recorded my account of the rape so they could admit it into evidence and alerted them of the rape kit that had been abandoned in evidence.

  The attorney tried to apologize, more to cover her ass than out of real contrition. It was clear I had a huge civil suit on my hands. I could take the state for a lot of money for the way they had handled my case. I didn’t, though. Like I said, I didn’t want to give up any more of my life to Morris. I had moved on.

  “It probably doesn’t hurt knowing he’s getting life no matter what,” Law whispered, running his fingers lightly along the ropes. The sensation was like an amplified caress.

  “Yeah. That doesn’t hurt.” I sighed the words, utterly losing focus. Up in the air, it was hard enough to think, much less carry a conversation. Law tugged on the ropes, his actions a purposeful movement to elicit an erotic response. Each knot hit a pressure point designed to drive me wild. When Law tugged another knot, I whimpered, completely forgetting what we’d been talking about.

  “I suppose it’s time we get started, Dandelion,” Law murmured, straining the rope so hard I saw stars.

  Afterward we cuddled in bed with the news on. Different news channels each reported on the same thing: Morris. His sentencing was over and the judge had ruled that Morris would get life without parole. I turned off the TV and craned my neck to Law. If it was possible, I’d grown to love him more over the year.

  We wouldn’t be in Utah much longer. Law had gotten a job with a nonprofit in DC that worked to eliminate sex trafficking in the US and abroad. I’d also gotten a job and now we were both moving to the capital of the nation the next week.

  After months of what felt like sleepwalking through my life, barely managing to finish my degree in peace and conflict studies online, it had all clicked together. Law had shown me the job and I’d applied, interviewed, and been accepted. I was going to work in a rape recovery center. Hopefully my terrible experience would help someone. That was the plan, at least.

  Mostly everything about my Utah life was ending. The only tie I had there was Tony, who I made sure to text, email, and Skype whenever I could. Even my tie to Raskol was no longer in Utah. Raskol would follow me wherever I went, and Law had solidified that in silver. Dangling delicately from my neck was a canine-shaped locket Law had given me months ago. It was the closest I would ever get to a dog again.

  Law and I had visited the humane society a few times, but it felt like I was trying to replace a child. I’d discovered that the most I could do to allay my guilt and remorse was donate to various dog charities. Yet even that was like taking an umbrella to a stormy sea. I’d grown to accept that nothing would calm the sorrow I felt.

  I had decided not to call Effie months before. I’d deleted her voicemail and blocked her number. She was part of my old life, the life I was moving on from. She had chosen not to be a part of my new life when she’d abandoned me and left me to the wolves.

  I wrote her numerous letters that I never sent. Each letter was the same variation of the previous one. I called her out for being a horrid friend and person. I told her she should be ashamed of herself. I told her she was terrible.

  In the end, it wasn’t worth it. To ascribe so much worth to a person who doesn’t value you is toxic. I had learned that from Morris. It was better to forget Effie and move on than to try and capture the elusive concept of closure.

  Hopefully I would make new friends in DC. Maybe my new friendships wouldn’t be exactly like mine and Effie's had been, but then what I’d had with Effie hadn’t actually been what I’d thought it was. A true sister doesn’t abandon you. A true sister believes you no matter what.

  “How do you feel?” Law asked, pulling me close.

  “I guess I should feel something, right?” I asked, resting my chin on his pectorals. “I mean I’ve been working for exactly this, to see that bastard’s name dragged through the mud as it rightly should be.”

  “But you don’t?” Law rubbed my arm. I was grateful for that gesture because even though the lofted apartment was warm, I felt cold.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he can’t hurt anyone else, but it’s almost as if I don’t care any more. This past year with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been. It’s been the bright spot in my murky waters. I just…” I trailed off, uncertain.

  “You’re not required to feel anything for him, good or bad.” I nodded at Law, liking the way that sounded. I’d had numerous requests for interviews. People finally wanted to hear my story. Still, I’d turned them all down. The only person who seemed to understand why I was turning them down was Law.

  Instead of calling me a liar, a slut, and a whore now, everyone was guessing about my state of mind. I was no longer a whore, I was a hero. I was a different kind of tabloid fodder.

  The same people who had hated me loved me now. They wanted inside my head. They wanted to call me brave to my face. To the naked eye it seemed like I’d gotten what I’d been fighting for, but I knew better, and so did Law. It was just a different type of public lynching. They wanted to string me up and call me martyr.

  I wasn’t a martyr. I’d swum in the black ooze. I’d done terrible things. I wasn’t ignoring their calls because I was mad or sad or utterly post traumatic. I was ignoring their calls because I’d moved on and wasn’t about to glorify Morris with so much as a whisper, much less a segment on 60 Minutes.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked. “Now that I’m all enlightened and shit?”

  “We could become monks,” Law suggested.

  “We could…” I smiled, pretending to consider it.

  “Or we could become preachers,” Law offered.

  “That’s also a possibility.” I furrowed my brow, as if really thinking about it.

  “Or,” Law continued. “We could finish packing and go fuck each other’s brains out until we can’t get out of bed.”

  “That”—I pointed at him—“that is an idea I can get on board with.”

  “Well, that’s the last of it. We are officially done packing,” Law said, closing the lid on his suitcase. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me in for a kiss. A year of his kisses and I still hadn’t tired of them. He opened me up, body and soul.

  Breathless, I pulled back and gestured to the huge pile of clothing we’d yet to pack. “What about that stuff over there?”

  “All right,” Law whispered, taking my ear between his teeth. “You caught me.” Law grinned and spun me around so I was flat against his chest. Bending down so his head was to my neck, he placed lingering kisses on the tip of my collarbone. He ghosted a trail of kisses to the top of my chest and I gripped his forearms, his lips making me fold into myself.

  “It’s getting too quiet in here.” Law sucked along my skin, pushing my shirt aside to get at my bare shoulder. “The sound of you screaming my name is noticeably missing.” Law tugged the back of my neck and forced me to look at him. His honey eyes shone with lust, but he searched mine. Law never took what I didn’t offer.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” Law stated. Only hours ago we’d made love and I still felt the echoes of our sex. My legs were weak, my arms were sore, and between my thighs I still felt him inside me.

  “You are, are you?” I teased. I reached out and kissed him. Unlike our previous kiss, this one was forceful. It was needy. It was hot. We’d shared tongues and lips many times that year. I’d pecked him on the cheek. I’d kissed him goodnight. Our kisses had become our language, and the kiss we shared now was electric, the fire between us casting shadows.

  We were searching for each other. We were renewing the bond we’d built. We were tasting for the lost souls we’d found together.

  I broke apart just long enough to whisper, “Tie me up, Law.” Law smiled against my lips before separating to go get the rope.

  When Law met me, I was beyond death. I walked the world and saw only ash a
nd ruin. My body didn’t belong to me; it belonged to Morris. I saw it as a tool for his destruction. I didn’t believe in love; I worked in fear and hate. I let myself believe that because I hated, I was free. That was the opposite of the truth, though.

  I was caged.

  I was locked in with my demons. Law changed that, because Law made me love him. When you love someone, you have to exorcise your demons. When you’re alone, you can be swallowed up by them. Law forced me to exorcise my demons

  Before Law, even before Morris, I’d been searching for clarity. I’d yearned for a love so true I could lose myself in it and not fear getting lost. I’d stared longingly at pictures of women tied up and feared that I would never have such trust in another. After Morris, I was convinced it was impossible.

  Now I knew nothing was impossible, even love.

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  About Heartless Hero

  A brand new second chance bully romance from Mary Catherine Gebhard. Find out why Bestselling Author C.L. Matthews said "This is, and will be, my favorite bully book of all time” and author S.M. Soto called it “The best bully romance of 2019!"

  There are rules to being Abigail Crowne’s bodyguard, rules to watching the infamous billion-dollar heiress, otherwise known as the Reject Princess.

  Never forget your place, always put the Crowne name above all else, and never, ever hurt the Reject.