Unbelievably, her landlord had already rented out her old place. Thankfully, he’d put her stuff in storage, for a ridiculously high fee, which once paid would allow her to get her furniture and belongings back. The question was how. She certainly couldn’t move it all while hobbling around on crutches.
“You really did a number on him.”
Cap’s voice startled her from her planning.
“What?”
“Sean. You crushed him and the blows keep on coming. It’d be best if you disclosed everything so he can move forward.”
“It’s been two years. I would have thought he would have done that by now.”
“All this bullshit has brought it to the surface. You need to end this today.”
“I was shot. None of this is my fault. I’m the victim here.”
“Why don’t I believe that, Mara?”
Indignant, she glared at him. How dare he? Yes, she had left Sean with little explanation, breaking his heart evidently and her own in the process. That was on her. She accepted that. What happened to her at the clinic that day could in no way be her fault.
Sean came back at that moment, flipping through a thick file folder as he walked to Cap’s desk. Hooking her chair with his foot, he dragged her closer. He then began to lay out pictures; awful pictures of misdeeds she could never forget. There in all their glory was a slide show of one of the most fucked-up events of her life, and that was saying something because her entire life was fucked up. In all, there were a dozen pictures of her humiliation.
“I want an explanation.”
Her throat had gone painfully tight and dry; she couldn’t speak. In fact, she could barely breathe as he stared down at her and the proof of the horrible thing she had done. She didn’t have a choice; the evil bastard hadn’t given her a choice.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Really?” His voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain as he jabbed his finger at an incriminating photo. “You mean that’s not you playing Domme to Judge Jenkins and Shelby?” He pointed at another. “How about this one? That’s not you beating his ass with a riding crop while he fucks her? Or this one,” he snarled, as he grabbed another one and held it up to her face. “You’re not the bitch with an eight-inch strap-on buried in the judge’s throat? The cheap wig isn’t much of a disguise. All the guys recognized you when they saw it.”
“Please stop,” she sobbed as she turned away.
“Hell no,” he said, and his hand dug into the hair at the back of her head as he none too gently pulled her head back. “You don’t get to sit there and turn on the water works. I want the truth, Mara. What the fuck did you do?”
“I didn’t fuck him, Lucky.” Her nickname for him slipped out.
“Don’t call me that, dammit. I don’t give a shit if you did fuck him, or if you fucked them both, or the entire goddamned club for that matter. I’m so over this shit. What I want to know is how you fucked over The Club and the people you called friends. I want to know about the blackmail. Your arrangement with Shelby, and about any other fuckers who had their hands in this shit.”
A shuddering breath, just shy of a sob escaped her. She’d left him to keep him from finding out about her past and having him hate her for it. What a joke. Because he hated her anyway, not for what she’d been but for what she’d done to cover it up.
“Answer me, Mara.” The hand in her hair tightened painfully. It hurt, but the anger and loathing in his voice and the hatred in his eyes as he looked at her was crushing. She felt like her mind and heart were going to explode. She had to get out of there. Struggling, she twisted, trying to get away. The hand locked in her hair prevented it.
“Please,” she cried softly, “you’re hurting me.”
“Sean. Let her go.”
“You sure played me for a fool.” Unadulterated disgust resounded in his voice as he released her. Picking up an envelope from the desk, he shoved it into her hands along with her phone. “Here are the divorce papers. I signed them this time.”
Her eyes flew to his in shock.
He ignored her as he continued, “They were outdated, so I had to have them drawn up again. Your signature gets us out of this travesty of a marriage, once and for all.”
“I thought—” Cap’s words from earlier suddenly registered. He’d called her Sean’s wife. Ohmigod! All this time…”
“This time they will be filed. My attorney will see to it and send you a copy.”
With that, he turned to leave. He paused in the open doorway, looking back at Cap. “Get a forwarding address, will you? I’m done. I can’t bear to look at her another minute. I’ll swing by and pick up the papers after she’s gone.”
Then he walked away.
Unable to control them anymore, the tears overflowed. Remarkably, other than the tears, she kept it together. She didn’t know how. What little pride she had was ripped away long before this and well before Sean, if she was honest with herself.
Miserable, Mara sat beneath the coldness of Cap Rossi’s unsympathetic stare. His only response was to move a box of tissues within reach.
“I think you understand why any business you have would be best handled by a different agency.”
“I can’t… I don’t—” Clearing her throat, she started again. “I don’t have a case. I have information about the cartel investigation. I know you and your men are involved.”
“Go on.”
“I recognized the men at the clinic the day of the shooting. Rather, I knew one of them, the other two I knew from association with the first.”
“Can you get to the point, Mara? I have other clients.”
She flinched. Fine, he wanted her gone that badly, she’d just give it to him straight out and be gone.
“Victor Mendoza was the man that shot us. He is Esteban Mendoza’s nephew.”
“We know that. Do you have anything to impart that we don’t know?”
“Were you always such an asshole, Cap, or is this special treatment you reserve for wives of friends who get screwed over?”
“Just tell me so we can end this, Mara.”
Taking a deep breath, she told him, unloading it all. “I’ve known Victor Mendoza for over a decade. I met him back east as a kid. Our paths have been crossing ever since, unfortunately for me not in a good way. Like his uncle, he’s into dealing drugs and women—specifically young girls. By accident, he came to the clinic that day. I could tell because he seemed surprised to see me there. I hoped never to see him again, having shaken him off twice already. I’m afraid—”
Shaking her head, she didn’t go into her fears for herself. It really didn’t matter all that much to her anymore. Her life was too fucked up for her to care, really.
“He was blackmailing the judge two years ago. It wasn’t Shelby or me, and it wasn’t about The Club other than as a way to connect with him and set up the scene. Everything else was Victor—the cameras, the room, hell, even the costume and props. I just had to show up. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that the judge is just the tip of the iceberg. Victor was in an acquisition phase back then. By that, I mean he was acquiring capital to expand his business. That capital wasn’t only money. He wanted people, important people. Judges he wanted in his pocket, law enforcement he wanted on his payroll and politicians he wanted on the hook to pave his way.”
Digging into her purse, she pulled out several sheets of neatly folded paper. “This is a list of all of Victor’s associates. Even though it’s a bit dated, I’m sure you’ll find something useful there. Many of the people on that list have conveniently come into wealth and power since the time I knew them, which was early on in their corruption. I suspect they are willing associates of Victor, maybe even partners by now.”
Standing, she used the desk to support herself as she staggered toward her crutches.
“Why don’t you sit and finish your story. Then I’ll make sure you get to wherever you need to be.”
Longingly, she looked from her only
viable means of escape to Cap, who stood in the way.
“You won’t make it, so I wouldn’t try.”
Collapsing into the nearest chair, she realized she was only a few feet closer to her goal, which still lay a good thirty feet on the other side of the room. At this point, she’d do anything to get out of there, so she continued.
“Victor Mendoza is a dreamer. Not meager little daydreams either, no, his are always on a much grander scale. He told me once that he’d hit the big time one day and that in order to do that he needed connections. He already had some within his own family, but there were barriers. He used that word—barriers—I clearly remember it.” Shaking her head to clear out the unpleasant memory, she continued. “One of those barriers is gone, the heir apparent who was shot and killed that day at the clinic. Now it’s just Uncle Esteban, who is getting up in years, and the little boy, who has years before he’s ready. They are all that stand in Victor’s way. I think he is primed for a takeover of the cartel. I don’t know for a fact, but I know him pretty well and know how he thinks. If I was a betting woman and had two cents to rub together, I’d put my money on Victor preparing a takeover.”
She waved her hand toward his desk. “My cell number is on the paper. I’m sure you’ll have questions after you’ve had time to sift through the information. I’d appreciate it if you’d share it with the police. I should have gone there today. I regret not doing it, so badly. I stupidly thought that here, with an old friend, it might be easier. I was wrong. But hey, that’s the story of my life. I’m going back to Joanna’s to pack. I don’t know where I’ll go. I just know I can’t put them at risk any longer. Especially after Victor finds out I’ve told all of his dirty little secrets. From there I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll ask the police for protective custody. The Feds are involved so maybe I can do witness protection, I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” Exhausted, she slumped in her chair. “Can you take me to Joanna’s now, please?”
“How did you get tangled up with this low life?”
“I worked for him in D.C. a long time ago.”
“Running drugs?”
She snorted; that would have been so much easier. Raising her head, she looked him in the eye and for the first time ever, admitted the horrible truth. “No, Cap. I never sold drugs. Never took them either, which is remarkable, all things considered. Victor picked me up off the street when I was fifteen. I was a runaway. My home life sucked, my mother was a drunk and my stepfather, well, let’s just say he couldn’t keep his dick out of my pants and leave it at that. Victor said he’d save me and that he loved me. I believed him at fifteen. At sixteen, I was earning my keep on my back. By seventeen, I was the main bitch in his stable, which didn’t get me any privileges, thank you very much. So, my inglorious claim to fame and the hard truth is that I was a teenage hooker out of necessity and Victor Mendoza was my pimp.”
Looking at him through watery eyes, she saw shock and pity—about what she’d expected—and there was something else there. Before she could figure it out, he looked away, staring at some point behind her. “Now do you see why I didn’t want Sean here? Why I couldn’t stay with him? I was a teenage prostitute, Cap. Imagine Sean’s reaction when he found out he’d married a whore. Sure, I’d cleaned up my act thanks to Joanna and the social workers at her shelter, but that kind of life haunts you. You never really leave it behind. Victor came calling again after Sean and I got together. He blackmailed me. Either I do his nasty ass shit with Shelby and his customer or he’d go to Sean with all the gory details. I was damned either way. I realized that after I finished the job.”
She pointed at the pictures on his desk. “You probably won’t believe me, but that was the only time I did something like that and I never fucked him. I was faithful to Sean, not that it matters. He thinks I’m trash now—it’s true—although I haven’t turned a trick since I was eighteen. Once a whore… Anyway, I knew if I stayed, Victor would come back and he’d keep coming until he sucked me back into his disgusting world of kink for cash.” Laughing humorlessly, she added, “That’s what Victor always called it. He like it because the kinkier the request, the more he could charge.” She paused, pain evident in her voice as she told him honestly. “I left Sean because I loved him. I can’t say I regret the time we had together because it was the best time of my life. But I do regret hurting him and dragging him down into my gutter. He’s a good man, but the love of a man like him is just a pipe dream for a poor white trash girls like me.”
Humiliated and in pain, the throbbing in her leg rivaled the headache that was coming on strong and fast. She implored him, “Now that you have all the illicit details of my fucked-up life, I’d like to go. I’m not feeling well.”
“Mara—”
She ignored him and stood.
“If you need to reach me, call my cell, or better yet, have the police follow up. That way, none of you ever has to see me again. Just make it fast. I’m only planning to stay in town for another day or two. Any longer and Victor will find me. If that happens, well, I’m sure you can imagine how that will end.”
Done talking, she had one task left to do. Pulling the papers from the envelope Sean had given her, she looked down at the divorce decree. Never had she imagined having to go through the agony of signing them again. She flipped to the last page where she saw Sean’s signature. The same bold, masculine script she remembered. Leaning forward, she picked up a pen from Cap’s desk and added her signature as a teardrop fell on the paper, smearing the ink. What was that stupid saying? One door closes and another one opens. Bullshit. Her entire life had been a series of slamming doors and she was damned tired of it.
Straightening, she looked at Cap, hoping he would hand over her crutches, but he wasn’t watching her, still staring off into space. She grabbed her phone, planning to call Joanna herself, and noticed a movement in the doorway. When she turned, what was left of her battered heart shattered into a million pieces. Sean stood there.
Pain ripped through her chest and twisted in her gut. Jeez-oh-fuck, how much had he heard? What did it matter? He either knew her secret and thought her a whore or hadn’t heard staggering painfully across the room toward her crutches. Soon the only sound in the room was the creak of the aluminum as she moved toward the door. Sean stood just inside Cap’s office so she had to move sideways in order to keep from touching him as she left. What agony! In actuality, she craved his touch. She wanted to melt into him, curl up on his lap and let him take away all the ugliness in her life—she couldn’t do that. There was no “them” anymore; she’d just signed the papers that made that legal.
He didn’t say a word as she passed and she was amazed that she didn’t fall into a pool of blubber on the floor at his feet. She hurried down the hall toward the exit, moving as fast as she could, her body swinging quickly through the metal supports. The door had an automatic opener—thank God for small favors—and she was out in the hall the next instant pressing the elevator call button. Uselessly, she punched it with her thumb over and over again as if that would make it arrive faster.
“Come on, come on!” she pleaded aloud. Finally, the doors opened and she practically jumped inside. Pressing the L button, she straightened and waited, staring down the hallway, through the glass doors and directly into the interior lobby of Rossi Security. Her prayers were answered when no one followed. As the elevator doors slid closed, she slumped against the wall and wept, unable to contain her tears any longer. It was over. She’d confessed. Her lies and betrayal were finally revealed, and Victor’s role in the shooting and blackmailing of Judge Jenkins exposed. Cap was no doubt filling Sean in at this very moment.
It stung, however, that no one had followed her out, no one had been concerned enough to see if she made it in one piece. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as the old saying went. Mara was tired of being rubbish. She wiped her face as the doors opened into the lobby. It did little good because they continued to fall. She moved out. Where she planned to go from
here was unclear, but she headed out all the same. Still blubbering like a fool, she kept going. She couldn’t stop to wipe her eyes or her nose with her hands full of crutches, and she sure as hell didn’t want to stop and risk running into someone else she knew.
She had almost made it out of the lobby when she heard a phone ring and a low voice say, “Sure, but she’s leaving right now, Mr. Rossi.”
About thirty more feet and she’d be out of there.
“Okay, sir. I’ll hold her. Ma’am, Mr. O’Brien is on his way down. You are to wait for him.”
Ignoring him, she reached for the push bar on the glass door, this time using the regular door instead of the revolving death trap. Vaguely, she wondered why it wasn’t automatic.
“Ma’am, please stop.”
A buzz and a click sounded. Damn. He’d locked her in. Turning to him in a near hysterical voice, she demanded, “Open it now! You can’t keep me here.”
“But Mr. O’Brien…”
“I don’t give a damn. I’ll have you arrested for false imprisonment. Open the door. Now!”
“Mara, wait.”
Sean’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her.
“Let me out, dammit!” she screamed at the security guard. He was almost to her side. “I want out. Now!”
“Easy, Mara. Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
She lost it, absolutely freakin’ lost it. Dropping one arm, she fisted her small hand and slammed it against the glass door. “NO! Let me out of this fucking nightmare! Open this goddamned door!”
“Let me at least call you a cab, Mara. You’re upset.”
“You’re damn right I’m upset. I want to go and you’re holding me prisoner.” Her voice was barely recognizable as she shrieked. Lifting her other crutch she slammed it against the door, attempting to break the glass.
“No, darlin’, I’m not letting you go like this.”
His voice, calling her darlin’ in his soft Texas drawl, washed over her and she melted, as always. It was the last straw and the fragile thread of her composure broke. Mara collapsed against the glass, sobbing uncontrollably.
Unbind My Heart (Club Decadence) Page 32
