by Vanessa Skye
Martha sagged under the weight of Maggie’s words.
“Neither of you are Christian. Neither of you are godly. You aren’t even nice human beings! You think your congregation will condone what you’ve done, let alone God?”
“I didn’t—it wasn’t—” Robertson gestured and stuttered and looked at his wife as though she had an answer. “When I asked Richard to—”
“To what, Father? You asked Richard to what? When you asked Richard to organize a gang rape?” Maggie yelled.
“You had strayed from the path. We were just trying to . . . sacrifice is required to—”
“To what? Bring me back into the fold? Scare me into submission? That’s what you like to do, isn’t it, Father? Scare people into loving your God? There is a lot about love and tolerance in the Bible, but you don’t preach any of that. You preach fear.” Maggie broke. Her face crumpled as she sobbed. “I was happy. I-I-I was doing something with my life, but neither of you cared about that. All you cared about was how having a whore for a daughter would look to your parishioners and meal tickets! All you cared about is whether the board would kick you out of your nice house.”
Robertson took a step toward his daughter. “I didn’t mean for—”
“For Richard to rape me?” Maggie asked her father.
“I can’t—”
“Say it, Father. You had him rape me. Say it! ‘Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are his delight.’ ” She sneered as she mimicked the man.
“Yes, I asked him to rape you,” Robertson whispered. “But it was just meant to be him! Not the rest of them. He wasn’t supposed to hurt you. And look, Maggie, now you’re back! You’re back with God, and us, and so surely this can only be a good thing, the right—”
Maggie turned to Berg. “Do you have what you need?” she asked, tears rolling down her face.
Berg nodded grimly, unhooking a plastic hand tie from her belt and walking toward the reverend. “Turn around,” she ordered. “Place your hands behind your back. Michael Robertson, I am arresting you for conspiracy to commit rape, conspiracy to commit battery, and conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent . . .” Berg read Robertson his rights as she secured his hands behind his back.
Arena did the same to Martha Robertson, who was as white as a sheet and silent.
“Are you going to be okay?” Berg asked Maggie as they led her parents out of the house to the waiting sedan.
Maggie nodded. “I just called Mat from the kitchen. He’s coming over to help me pack my stuff, and then I’m leaving. Hopefully I can reenroll in college in the spring. Until then, I’ll live with him. I never want to see either of them again.”
Berg smiled slightly and nodded as Arena took Robertson from her grasp, leading the man toward the other side of the car. “You’re strong, you’re smart, and Mat loves you. You’ll get through this. I believe in you completely.”
Maggie took a deep, shaky breath. “I know, and if you need me to testify that I saw my father and Richard together many times, you know where to find me.” Maggie stepped toward the open back door and leaned down. “I’d say go to hell, but that’s a foregone conclusion,” she spat and slammed the door in her parents’ faces.
Chapter Twenty
“That was a nice pickup on the Robertsons, Berg,” Smith said the next day. “If it had been anyone else investigating, they may have gotten away with it. Both of you, good work.”
Berg and Arena nodded their thanks as they stood on the other side of his desk.
“Michael and Martha Robertson have copped to conspiracy to rape after the ASA dropped conspiring murder and battery charges,” Berg said. “He was satisfied the Robertsons didn’t incite Richard Pilu to go after Victoria Lampert or Mark Reynolds. The couple seemed genuinely shocked that Richard had kept going after Maggie’s attack.”
“Yeah, that boy was a gun just waiting for someone to pull his trigger,” Arena said as he sipped on a protein shake. “I hope he ends up doing some hard time. The insanity defense is bullshit! He knew what he was doing, and he still doesn’t even think it was wrong.”
“Yeah. I’m sure a court will see it that way, too. Anything on the dorm dealer murder?” Smith asked, propping his elbows on his desk.
“We’ve got nada,” Area answered, lining up his imaginary NBA free throw and tossing his empty cup in the garbage. “We’ve been sharing info with a buddy of mine from the 7th.” The cup clattered into the can and Arena raised his arms, cheering his basketball prowess, and then faced Berg again. “He’s got a dead dealer, similar MO, but neither scene nor autopsy are giving us any solid leads.” He shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets.
Smith leaned back in his chair. “Next steps?”
“We’ll keep interviewing Diggs’ old buyers and buddies, hope someone heard something,” Berg said. “Check in with CIs, the usual.”
Smith nodded.
“Hey, how’s Cheney doing on the Alexander task force?” Arena asked. “Have you heard?”
“He’s pretty busy working various leads and checks in with me about once a week, but there’s really nothing to tell,” Smith said, sighing. “If Alexander’s in the area, then no one has heard anything about it. From what Cheney’s saying, the task force doesn’t have much to go on. They’ve got an asset working undercover, hoping to get close to a woman they suspect is Alexander’s daughter . . .”
Berg’s heart started pounding, and she didn’t hear the rest of what Smith said.
A daughter? Does he mean me? Have they found out?
“Berg?” Arena said with a look of annoyance. He waved his hand in front of her face. “Earth to Berg?”
“What? Sorry?” Berg said, shaking her head clear of thoughts.
There’s no way they know.
She’d be out of a job if they knew about her bloodline.
“We’re done here?” Arena ushered her toward the door when Smith nodded.
“Oh . . . actually, can you give me a second with Smith?” Berg said, stepping to the side.
Arena nodded and left the office.
Smith smiled. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you’ve heard anything from Jay?” She looked down at her hands, mad for asking but desperate for the answer. “When he might be coming back?”
Smith was quiet, his chin resting on his fingers, and then he took a deep breath. “Well, I just mentioned him actually.” He shifted in his seat. “He’s the asset I was talking about.”
Berg’s head spun, and she grabbed the back of the chair in front of Smith’s desk to steady herself. “Wait. What? Jay’s undercover trying to get close to Alexander’s daughter?” She frowned. “What daughter? I thought he didn’t have any family?”
“The FBI tracked down a woman named Niah Alexander—”
I have a sister?
“—been photographed with the Supplier on a number of occasions, and there is a family resemblance. Investigations into her revealed nothing except a very normal woman who sells jewelry online and appears to live within her means. She occasionally sees her father, and her mother died when she was young. She moves around a lot, and Chicago is her latest home. It may be one of the reasons Alexander himself is considering a move to the area.”
“Why Jay?”
“Well, the FBI was looking for a particular set of skills—someone with experience and a Chicago native. And, well, Jay volunteered after . . .” Smith looked away.
“You can say it, Smith. He volunteered to get the hell away from me,” Berg said, fingering the ring she still wore.
Smith leaned back in his chair. “It’s not just that, Berg. He had the necessary skill set, and he was up for long-term undercover work.”
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Skill set? Any cop with his level of experience would have the skills. Why him, specifically?”
Please don’t let it be because he was engaged to Alexander’s other daughter and wants revenge.
Smith sighed. “He’s good-looking and has success with women, okay?”
“Arena fits the same bill! Why Jay?”
“Jay’s got ten years police experience on Arena! And Arena’s . . . I mean—and I apologize for this, Berg—but do you know of a single woman Jay’s failed to get into bed when he’s put his mind to it? He’s been tasked to get close to Niah Alexander in the hopes that he’ll be able to get close to Alexander himself and gather evidence we can use to put the guy away forever.”
Berg felt the floor moving under her feet and stumbled out of the office before she vomited on Smith’s desk.
He’s sleeping with her. My sister. The man I love is probably fucking her right now.
Images flooded her already addled mind. Jay kissing some faceless woman. Jay touching her body. Jay making love to someone else. Jay making some other woman cry out in pleasure over and over.
“Alicia.” ASA Carla Maroney almost bumped into Berg on her way into Smith’s office. “I hear you’ve been doing very well with your cases lately. I guess not having Jay as a distraction works for you.” She smirked.
“Fuck you, Carla. I’m not in the mood,” Berg said through gritted teeth, pushing past the woman.
She needed to go somewhere, anywhere, other than there. She needed to drink, or fuck, or inflict or receive pain. Anything, anything to forget what she had just heard.
Anything to get the pictures out of her head.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re in the mood or not. I guess from the look on your face you’ve heard the news about Jay?”
Berg whirled around. “Did you have something to do with this? Because if you did, I swear—”
“Hardly,” Carla said, crossing her arms. “The state’s attorney is working with the CPD and the FBI to prosecute Alexander once they have the evidence. Jay was recommended for the man-whoring at a level well over my head. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the fallout, though.” She sneered.
Berg clenched her fists and seriously considered killing her right there in full view of about twenty CPD detectives.
Carla shrugged. “I’ll take your death glare to mean you can’t appreciate the irony, but that’s hardly my fault. It seems he couldn’t wait to get away from you.”
Berg’s knuckles itched to feel the give of this woman’s bones, and she knew it. She forced her fists open and clenched her teeth. “Stop. Talking.”
Carla crossed her arms and moved closer. In her beige platform shoes she was nearly as tall as her rival. “You going to make me?”
Berg took a deep breath and counted to ten.
Punching her doesn’t help Jay.
“Get out of my face.” She turned to leave.
“Not so fast, Alicia.”
Berg seriously considered breaking the hand that grabbed her. Instead, she wrenched out of the woman’s grasp and continued to walk away.
“Did you also hear that Jay failed to check in for the past week?”
Berg turned around once more. “What?”
“Yeah. I’ve heard the last six weeks he’s been pretty good about providing regular updates. But last week—nothing.”
Berg bit her tongue and fought showing any reaction.
“Guess he and Alexander’s daughter are getting really close, if you get my meaning.” She laughed. “I’ve seen the photos. She looks a lot like you. How long do you think it’ll be before someone else puts that together? At least he’s had practice dealing with psycho women. That will certainly come in handy.”
Berg bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. With great effort, she stepped back and crossed her arms. “What the fuck do you want, Carla?” she said, impressed at how impassive her voice sounded.
“Our previous deal—you do whatever I say. And this time, if you try to screw with me, I’ll release everything I know about you without hesitation. Alexander, Feeny, Elizabeth Young, Rivera—the whole mess. I may not have the evidence, yet, but Daddy Alexander spells the end of your career and you know it. Jay’s no longer here to protect you, and I’m assuming that now you’ve lost him your job is the only thing keeping you on the straight and narrow. I’ll be in touch,” she said and flounced into Smith’s office without knocking.
***
The bite of the leather strap seared Berg’s skin, and she gasped from both pain and pleasure, her body working her toward the numbness she so desperately craved.
She was facedown and naked over a workhorse, her wrists and ankles tied with rope to the floor, her ligaments stretching painfully. She had been blindfolded but heard the strained breathing of at least two men over the low thudding of music playing through the speakers in the small, private club. She had invited two nameless men to join her, but who knew how many others had since come to watch and possibly join in.
Truth be told, she didn’t much care how many there were.
After her confrontation with Maroney, Berg had gone home, walked straight to her laptop, and logged into her e-mail account in search of the judge’s invitation to the new BDSM club.
As luck would have it, they were open that very evening, and Berg, as though pulled by some unseen force, found herself waiting when the doors opened.
I knew you couldn’t stay away, her mother sneered. I always knew you were a whore.
It had been nearly a year since she’d visited a club, but she’d seen many familiar faces as she made the rounds, discovering the amenities. She’d nodded in recognition, acknowledging them as they no doubt did her, despite the masks they each wore.
The strap bit into her back again, and she moaned as a trickle of blood made its way down her side. The pain had her wet and ready for release.
“Now,” she groaned.
She felt hands slide across her back and over her ribs as one of the men positioned himself behind her. He pulled her cheeks open and rammed himself deep into her ass, pumping hard with loud grunts.
She cried out softly, close to coming. “The strap.” She gasped. “Again.”
“You got it, baby,” this man’s voice came from right beside her. “A few more hits, and then I’m gonna fuck that sexy mouth.”
The strap came down on the sensitive skin of her back again, and again. Her muscles clenched in anticipation.
So close . . .
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
She heard the third voice come from somewhere behind her.
“I think you’ll find this is now a private party.”
The voice sounded like steel, and neither of the men argued with the new arrival.
Oh no.
She felt the man pull out of her, and then heard both men move out of the room, closing the door behind them and muffling the music from the hallway. The blindfold was ripped off, and she blinked at the sudden brightness, even though the lighting in the room was low.
“How the mighty have fallen, Alicia,” Judge Oliver said with a wry grin. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away. So I asked the owner to call me when you decided to show up. I couldn’t have anticipated it being this soon. You must have had a very bad day.”
Berg twisted to follow him as best she could from her position. Oliver was completely naked, his erection sheathed in a condom and bobbing up and down as he moved around the room. He moved behind her, and she tugged on her restraints, trying to see where he went. Her heart rate increased—whether from fear or anticipation, she couldn’t be sure.
He knelt down behind her, his face level with her exposed ass. “So beautiful,” he said, rubbing his hand up the back of her thighs, over her buttocks, and through her slit. “And so wet.” He inserted two fingers, plunging then retreating, rubbing her wetness over her clit before repeating the motion.
Berg stifled a moan.
“So very wet,” he commented as he fucked her with two fingers, then three. “You’ve missed this, I can tell. I knew you couldn’t stay away for long.” He inserted a fourth finger, driving past his knuckles and using his thumb to rub her clit. He pushed hard, str
etching her painfully.
She moaned and moved her hips, feeling betrayed by her body’s involuntary response.
Using his other hand, he grabbed a buttock and pinched the skin in his fist, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her sensitive skin. “That’s it,” he whispered, encouraged by Berg’s moans. He fucked her harder with his hand before savagely biting down on her backside.
Berg screamed as her knees gave, and she came, shuddering and feeling something seeping down the back of her thigh near the bite wound.
“You’re mine. I’ve marked you,” he whispered, leaning around her leg and licking blood from his lips. “You taste delicious.”
As she caught her breath, Oliver retreated, picking up the thick leather strap left behind by the previous men.
He rubbed his hand along the welts on her back and tsked. “It’s hardly red at all, barely even scratched, and no real blood. What amateurs. Now that I’ve drawn my first blood from you, I look forward to encouraging more.”
Fear gripped her, and she struggled against her bindings.
The strap landed on her skin with a resounding crack.
Chapter Twenty-One
Berg winced as she made her way up the stairs to the detectives’ level. She hadn’t been worked over that brutally in a year and had forgotten about the aftereffects.
The skin on her back was black and blue and still oozing with blood. She had worn a dark, long-sleeved blouse and covered it with her jacket, hoping that none of it would bleed through. She should have gone to the hospital and gotten patched up, but she didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions the wounds would prompt. She felt enough shame at her actions without having to explain them to anyone else.
She had covered the bite mark on her ass with a bandage as it, too, still oozed blood when she moved. Given who inflicted it, she couldn’t help wondering if she should get a rabies shot.
While the evening had achieved her intended outcome—bliss for the few hours when the cacophony in her head was quieted by the pain and pleasure in her body—she resolved to never go back to the club and run the risk of coming across Oliver. He already thought he and Berg were in some kind of relationship as a result of their interlude and had called twice that morning already.
