Broken

by Vanessa Skye

  “Give me your gun and badge and get out. You’re on suspension for a week, Arena, without pay. I’ve had enough of your shit.”

  “This was my idea, Captain O’Loughlin. If he’s suspended, then so am I,” Berg said, handing over her gun and badge.

  “Fine by me,” Jay replied.

  “Want to get that beer now?” Arena asked Berg as they turned to walk out.

  “Absolutely.”

  “What a fuckwit,” Arena slurred after finishing his sixth beer.

  They sat in a booth at Jensen’s, a popular bar in Little Italy only a few blocks away from Berg’s place.

  Berg, still on her second beer, simply shrugged, unable to get the look of disgust that Jay had given them out of her head.

  We did the right thing, right? Feeny had signed the deal and was in custody.

  He’ll never understand your need for justice, Leigh whispered in her ear.

  Panic built in the pit of her stomach.

  “I mean . . . we get a confession, the case is all neatly stitched up, and what do we get for it? A suspension, that’s what. Fucker.”

  “Well, you must admit, we went about it in an unconventional way,” Berg replied, finishing her beer and ordering another.

  “How else were we going to get him? We had nothing! He bought off witnesses and lawyered up. The bad guys break the rules; meanwhile, our hands are tied.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Hey, did you just agree with something I said?” Arena said with wide eyes.

  “I guess I did.” Berg laughed.

  “So what are you going to do with your week without pay?”

  The idea of a week without her job as a distraction scared the shit out of her. “No idea. You?”

  “Wanna spend the week in bed? I bet we could make it go pretty pleasantly,” Arena slurred.

  For a split second, Berg almost agreed. Anything was better than a week alone with her thoughts.

  Then again . . .

  “Not if you were the last man in the universe.”

  Arena actually looked crushed at the rejection for a moment before his expression was replaced with his usual sarcasm. “Fine. I might just give our favorite witness a call. Bet she knows a few fun tricks.”

  “Charming. And on that note, I’m going to take off. I’m only a few blocks north of here. See ya.” Berg stood up before her beer arrived, unable to take Arena’s company for even a single second longer. Not to mention, the beer combined with dread was making her feel nauseated.

  “You can’t walk by yourself!” Arena replied, standing up abruptly and knocking over his empty beer bottles in the process.

  “This again? I think my little demonstration on Feeny earlier indicated I’m quite safe walking a few blocks on my own!”

  “Hell, I know that! I just need you to protect me.” Arena wrapped his arms around his swaying body. “It’s scary out there after dark.”

  Berg couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, come on. You can get a cab from my place.”

  The walk was nearly tolerable with Arena on his best behavior. They chatted amiably about carefully neutral topics like Arena’s complicated extended family and the upcoming Memorial Day weekend.

  “Hey,” Arena said as he walked. “I always thought you were a bit of an ice queen. But since becoming your partner, I actually think I like you now.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Berg said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I might take off to Hawaii for a few days. Wanna come?” Arena asked.

  “No,” Berg said, irritation creeping back into her voice. “Besides, after a forced week off, neither of us will be able to afford a vacation. Not with our caseload. I’m surprised Jay—sorry, Captain O’Loughlin—even made it a week. He must’ve been really pissed.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m going to call in a few favors and make the suspension go away. O’Loughlin’s not the only one with contacts, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Berg asked, frowning.

  Arena glanced sideways at her. “Nothing. Just talking out my ass.” His chuckle sounded forced. “So this is you?” he asked smiling a bit too bright as they finally stood outside her door.

  Berg nodded and opened the door to be greeted by the adorable one hundred pounds of dog that was Jess. “Hey, boy!” she said, ruffling his coat.

  Jess sniffed at Arena with disdain as he stepped past and quickly went back to his fuzzy adoration of Berg.

  Arena made himself right at home, wandering off to Berg’s fridge and grabbing a couple more beers from the almost bare space. He opened them and handed one to Berg before she could object.

  She took it reluctantly, wondering how she was going to get the drunk Arena out of her place before she did something stupid.

  He plopped down on the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table. “Nice place. A little cold, but still nice.”

  “Thanks,” Berg said, sipping her beer by the kitchen counter. “Aren’t you supposed to be calling a cab?”

  “Oh, come on. I’m your partner, and this is the first time I’ve seen your place. Please? Just come and chat with me,” he said, patting the cushion next to him.

  “Look, I really need to hit the sack.” She set her beer bottle down, wandered pointedly toward the door, and opened it. “See you in a week.”

  Arena sighed, put down his beer, and got up. “Jesus. I’ve never had to work this hard to get into a woman’s pants! What is it? You really frigid like your nickname suggests? Do you only like women? Or is it O’Loughlin?” he asked, moving closer. “Because if it’s him, you can forget it. I hear he’s dating ASA Maroney.”

  Even though Berg had ended things once and for all nearly two months prior, and she knew for a fact Jay had been dating Maroney, the words still stung. She struggled to retain her composure as the darkness yawned in front of her.

  You were never good enough for him, her mother taunted.

  “Just get out,” she said.

  “Well, I’m up for making him jealous, just so you know. Keep it in mind.”

  “You just don’t give up, do you?” Berg said, exasperated.

  “Nope,” Arena grabbed the door from Berg and closed it firmly.

  “Arena—”

  Arena pushed her against the door and roughly kissed her.

  She quickly pushed him away.

  Undeterred, he kissed her again, harder.

  This time, Berg’s anger got the better of her, and when she pushed him away, she followed it with a neat right hook.

  Blood slowly trickled out of his mouth, but Arena acted as though he barely felt the blow. “That all you got?” he muttered, before slapping her across the face.

  It wasn’t a hard blow, but the combination of sex and violence sent Berg over the edge. What was intended to be an attack became a full-blown kiss when she launched herself at him, slamming them both into the wall. Her anger, hurt, and want swirled together, and before logic could intervene, she was pulling off his jacket and shirt.

  God help me. . .

  Breathing loudly, Arena wrestled her to the floor. An instant later, her skirt was around her waist, her underwear pulled crudely to the side. Arena shoved her legs apart before burying his face and tongue between her legs.

  His expertise became obvious to Berg, and despite herself, she moaned in pleasure and weaved her fingers through his short, dark hair.

  Just a little longer and the numbness will be back. Just a little longer . . .

  “Wait! Stop,” she said through panting breaths. “No!” She kicked away from him and pulled her skirt back down. “This is not going to happen, Arena. Get out!”

  “I see how it is,” Arena said viciously, wiping his mouth. “Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors, you whore.”

  Enough.

  She clenched a fist and hit him again with her better, stronger, left-handed jab.

  He stumbled back, clutching his eye.

  “Unless you want to end up with balls like Feeny’s, you
’ve got one second to get out of this house!”

  Still covering his eye, Arena picked up his shirt and jacket one-handed and opened the door. “Relax. I’m going.”

  Berg slammed the door behind him and sunk down onto the floor in a ball.

  You whore. Whore, whore, whorewhorewhore . . .

  She covered her ears in desperation, but the action was pointless; the voices echoed in her head relentlessly.

  You are a whore. What else are you good for? her mother ridiculed.

  Kill him, Leigh whispered. You know you want to. It’s what you were born for.

  There’s nothing here worth fighting for, Jay said.

  You’re broken and you know it, Leigh insisted.

  Unable to handle the voices, Berg picked herself up off the floor, rushed to the kitchen, and grabbed the first sharp implement she could find—a bread knife from her knife block.

  Tearing off her long-sleeved shirt, she dragged the knife up her arm, deep enough that a few drops of blood rolled down her arm lazily before falling to the floor in barely audible pats.

  Concentrating on the physical pain, Berg obtained the few blissful moments of silence she’d been searching for.

  Still nursing his eye out in the hallway, Arena flipped open his phone and dialed. “I’m in,” he said as soon as he heard the click on the other end. “I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind. What’s our next move?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I tried to be someone else.

  But nothing seemed to change.

  I know now, this is who I really am inside.

  –30 Seconds to Mars, “The Kill”

  Berg jerked awake and looked around in confusion.

  God! My head . . . feels like a hammer beati—what the hell?

  She couldn’t quite clear the sleepy fog enough to pinpoint the pounding. A moment of quiet and she realized she was lying on her kitchen floor with blood smeared on her arms and legs and a small pool of it had dried on the floor.

  The pounding started again, and this time it was clear it was someone at the front door.

  “Just a second!” she called as she picked herself up. Her head spun crazily and she grasped the edge of the counter until the dizziness passed.

  C’mon! Get it together.

  She rushed into her room and grabbed her robe, sure that it would cover most of the dried blood on her body.

  As she swung open the door, she realized too late that she should’ve checked the peephole first. “Fuck off. I have nothing to say to you.”

  Arena held out a bunch of roses. “I’m so sorry.”

  Regardless of how contrite he managed to sound, the flowers only inflamed her anger, reminding her of her father’s gifts after each nightly visit.

  Her bedroom had been stuffed with all the expensive toys a young girl could possibly wish for. Any visiting friends, had she ever had any, would’ve been jealous at the prizes her room contained—the stereo, the dolls, and a brand-new Schwinn complete with handlebar tassels and pink basket parked in front of the large house. But none of it had made what he did all right. None of it had made up for it. The gifts had only made it worse. They were shiny, dolled-up, expensive, colorfully painted reminders of the horrors her nights had contained. They had sat on her shelves and mocked her and her weakness.

  One day, she had piled them all in the backyard, poured an entire can of lighter fluid on them, and set it all on fire. She had watched it burn and wished it was her father instead. She had imagined his screams . . .

  Her mother had been horrified at the bonfire and had punished her severely for her ungratefulness, using it as yet another example of Berg’s innate evil.

  “I don’t want your fucking flowers.”

  Arena quickly withdrew them. “I know they don’t make up for anything. I just . . . I wanted . . . I needed to find a way to express how sorry I am.”

  Berg scrutinized him, watching every move he made for a hint of insincerity. His face, while sporting a deep black eye and a bruise on his chin, held none of the contempt he’d shown toward her last night.

  “You are not a whore. You are incredible, and for a moment last night, I hoped that you thought I was incredible, too. I was hurt. I’m so sorry.” He raised his head to look her in the eye. “I’ll never cross that line again unless you expressly ask me to. I really hope you do.”

  She ignored the roses when he tried to thrust them at her again. “I don’t think we can be partners anymore,” she said stiffly. “I can’t trust you. I don’t even like you. And after last night . . .” She didn’t even have the words.

  “You’re right. Last night was . . . horrible. I drank too much, and I am disgusted with myself. I didn’t sleep all night. Please, Berg. I am begging you. Please, stay my partner. Let’s start fresh. I am giving you my word that nothing like that will ever happen again. Please? Can I come in? Let’s talk about it. You can even hit me again.” He tried to help the feeble joke by adding a small smile.

  He’ll see the blood!

  Berg blocked the doorway. “No, you can’t come in. I need a shower.”

  Arena glanced down at her body for the first time and did a double take. “Jesus, what the fuck?” He grabbed her arm and pulled the sleeve of the thin robe up. “Is that blood?” He fingered the fading, easily recognizable restraint marks around her wrists that were usually hidden by a long-sleeved shirt, before moving up to the recent cuts, one of which was still leaking blood down her arm traitorously. “Berg?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, pulling back her arm and rearranging the robe. “A cooking accident.”

  “A cooking accident, my ass! What were you cooking—a lion? I know you think I’m a moron, but I’m not.”

  “Just leave it, Arena.” She was glad he hadn’t succeeded in removing her clothes last night or he would have seen a back that still resembled mincemeat, courtesy of the judge.

  He looked at her with nothing but concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Cutting yourself? Isn’t that what teenage girls with eating disorders do? Why would you do this to yourself? Fuck!” He pulled her close, and catching Berg off guard, he closed his arms around her in a firm hug.

  She tensed her body, ready to break away, but there was nothing sexual about it. He simply held her tight.

  “Jesus, why?” he whispered in her ear.

  Berg wasn’t sure who he was asking, and she really didn’t know how to answer, so she tried to brush him off. “It’s fine, it was an accident. Just go.”

  Arena pulled back and set his jaw in that all too familiar tilt. He was in the argument for the long haul.

  Berg sighed. “If you leave right now, I will give you one last chance. One. Fuck it up and that’s it, got it?”

  He nodded and pulled her in for another quick, jolting hug.

  “Ow!” Berg grabbed the back of her head.

  “Sorry, my watchband snagged some of your hair,” he said, holding up a few long strands that had been unceremoniously yanked out by the band of his stainless steel timepiece. He awkwardly held out the flowers again.

  “I don’t want them. I’ll see you in a week.” Berg closed the door behind him and headed for the shower.

  Arena hesitated in the hallway, holding up Berg’s long strands of hair in front of his face.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “I can’t do this . . .”

  He started to drop them on the floor but shook his head and roughly sealed them in a yellow evidence packet he pulled out of his pocket. He turned to leave, stopped, walked back to the door, and carefully placed the flowers on Berg’s doormat.

  Jay sat in the fancy restaurant sipping on a glass of expensive French red wine and waiting for ASA Maroney. He couldn’t stop the grimace as the liquid hit the back of his throat.

  He had never been able to tell the difference between a one hundred dollar bottle and the stuff they poured straight from the box at his favorite bar, but after a couple of dates, he knew Carla could.

  Wa
tching the door, he longed for a beer. She was only a few minutes late and probably wanted to make an entrance, just like all women except—

  Nope, not going there.

  Sure enough, she breezed through the door in a tight, blood red dress that creatively displayed all the right places. Her well-executed entrance wasn’t lost on anyone in the restaurant, man or woman.

  “Darling,” she said, kissing Jay soundly on the lips as he rose to greet her.

  “Carla,” he replied, pulling out her chair. “You look lovely.”

  She really did. Her long blond hair fell nearly to her waist in soft waves, her eyes were a startling green, and her figure kicked all the right goals. She didn’t wear too much makeup, but then again, she didn’t really need it. She was exactly the kind of woman who had always caught his eye and turned his head so why was he feeling nothing but exhaustion? Tonight was their third date, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get excited about it.

  “Thank you,” she said as she sat down and took a sip of wine. “Perfect,” she practically purred. “Just what I need today.”

  “Bad day?”

  “The worst. Even without Feeny and Buchanan, my caseload is overflowing . . .”

  Carla’s mention of those particular cases only got him thinking about the very woman he had been desperately trying not to think about for more than two months. He tried to concentrate on what Carla was saying, but failed dismally.

  “Jay?” she asked impatiently.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “You’re obviously distracted this evening. Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No, thanks. Just . . . work.”

  Carla pursed her lips. She was a smart woman and knew the score. “Like hell it is. You know, I’ve been more than understanding, given the circumstances, but you called me for this date, not the other way around. I’ve been waiting for months for you to come to your senses. My patience is wearing thin.”

  “I know . . . and I’m trying, I really am. I want this to work.” Jay wasn’t sure if that was even true anymore. He knew he had to move on from Berg, but part of him—hell, most of him—didn’t want to.