by Jolie Day
“But you are known as ‘Angelface’, isn’t that correct?”
“That was a persona I played,” Marc huffed. “It’s not real.”
“Oh? Because several women have come forward, claiming to have had, quote, ‘rough sex’ with you, in your time undercover with a particular motorcycle gang, known as the Hell’s Seven. Is that correct?”
“You’re simplifying it,” Marc argued. “That wasn’t.”
“Is. That. True?” the lawyer asked, again, her tone clipped. “It’s a yes or no answer, Agent Kelly.”
Marc sighed. “Yes,” he growled.
“Thank you, Agent Kelly. No more questions, Your Honor.” She sauntered back to her seat.
“Your Honor, if I may?” the prosecutor said, standing up. She nodded and he addressed Marc. “Agent Kelly, would you have ever been rough with Lauren Stanton during sexual relations, knowing what you know about her?”
“No, of course not,” Marc replied.
“And why not?”
“Because I could already tell that that wasn’t what she liked,” Marc said.
“How could you tell that?”
“From the scars on her body,” Marc admitted. “And from the way she sometimes flinched around loud sounds and kept herself in a personal bubble whenever we were out. She doesn’t like being touched that way.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because of how badly her ex-husband abused her.”
“Objection!” the defense lawyer exclaimed. “Conjecture!”
“Sustained.”
The prosecutor sighed. “Agent Kelly, this was all in your opinion, yes?”
“Yes.” Lauren could see that his jaw was clenched, though.
“But you’re able to discern such things due to your training, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Agent Kelly. You may step down.”
Marc stood and walked back to his seat behind Lauren. His hand brushed her shoulder and she felt the shiver of pleasure go through her at the heat of his touch. She wanted nothing more than to drag him somewhere and let him have his way with her. But she couldn’t.
It was her turn.
“The prosecution calls Dr. Lauren Stanton to the stand.”
She stood and brushed down her slightly wrinkled skirt, composing herself as she started the long walk to the bench, where she placed her hand on a bible and repeated the words that the bailiff fed to her, before sitting down and waiting for the first question to be asked. Lauren was certain that everybody in the room could hear how hard her heart was beating inside her chest. Her fingers played nervously with the hem of her dress.
“Dr. Stanton,” the prosecutor said, his voice noticeably softer as he approached. “How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you,” Lauren replied, calmly. She forced her shoulders to relax, hoping that she wouldn’t come off as too stiff to the jury. They had warned her against that earlier.
“Good,” the prosecutor replied. “That’s good. If you feel up to it, would you explain, in as much detail as you’re capable of, the events of the night your ex-husband...” he cleared his throat and gave her a consoling smile, “allegedly,” he glared over his shoulder at the defense lawyer, whose lips pressed together in a wry grin, “covered your body in those scars?”
Lauren nodded and started the speech that she, and her lawyer and the prosecutor standing right in front of her, had practiced for the past month straight. She had recited it in the mirror every morning as she got ready for work. She had practiced the way she was supposed to phrase her sentences so that the defense could have no objections and interrupt anything she was saying. She stated each event clearly, so there would be no doubt in her mind what had happened that night and how she was affected by it. She allowed her voice to break a bit at some points, taking the offered handkerchief from the prosecutor to dab at her eyes. She had to stop at a few times as flashbacks flooded her vision and she had to shut her eyes tightly for several seconds before continuing.
Only when she was finished did she chance a glance at Jack, who wore a slight smirk, his blue eyes shining mischievously—almost triumphantly—as he stared back at her. Lauren felt rage bubble inside her chest and she straightened out her back as she locked eyes, boldly, with him, though tears continued to stream from her eyes and the tip of her nose remained red.
Her testimony was more torturous than she ever could have imagined.
When it was the defense’s turn to refute all of her claims, she didn’t hold back for a second. She made Lauren out to be a cheating whore, who called men over to her husband’s apartment when he was hard at work, and lied about being at the hospital, even when she had asked for the night off. Lauren tried to argue with her—to call her out on her lies—but the lawyer wouldn’t give her the chance. The prosecutor tried to help as much as possible, but the damage was already done where the jury was concerned.
She could only hope that they had enough proof to convict. She consoled herself with the fact that Jack would be sentenced to at least a year in prison for violating the terms of the restraining order and by the time he got out, she and her mother—and possibly Marc, if he was willing to go with her—would all be as far away as possible.
But how long with it be then, she thought, before he found her again?
*****
The jury was out less than a minute when Lauren found herself sitting in the ladies’ room, on the floor, her head between her knees. She had been so ready for this. She’d been confident, just that morning, that she could face Jack today, knowing where he was headed. When she looked in the mirror, she could see that the bruises around her neck were completely gone and that seemed to be her sign that everything was going to be okay.
But how long would that last now? What if Jack served no time? What if the press just made her out to be a gold-digging whore? What if—
“Would you stop it?”
Lauren jumped at the sound of the very masculine voice in the ladies’ room. When she looked up, she found Marc standing there, tilting his head at her, his eyes filled with annoyance.
“I could hear your thoughts from a mile away,” he said, gruffly. He locked the door behind him and stepped further into the room. “Everything is going to be fine,” he added, in a slightly softer voice. “That asshole is gonna get what’s coming to him, one way or another.”
“You’re not going to have him killed, are you?” Lauren asked, only half-joking.
Marc shrugged. “I could,” he said. “You just say the word.” He grinned and shook his head. “But you don’t want that.”
“Why not?” she asked, bitterly. “He deserves it, after what he did to me.” She wrung her wrists, feeling a phantom pain that she hadn’t in nearly two years.
“Maybe so,” Marc conceded, “but you know what he deserves a lot more than that?”
“Castration?” she huffed.
“Ha! No.” He shook his head. At Lauren’s raised brow, he shrugged. “Okay, yes. But, more than that, he deserves prison. He deserves to be treated with that kind of disrespect. He deserves to be the bitch for once. Nobody is going to listen to a single word he says. I mean, look at those dainty little hands of his.” He snorted. “They’ll eat him alive.” He settled down next to her on the floor, his back sliding against the wall until their thighs were pressed together, side-by-side. “He’s gonna wish all we did was castrate him.”
“But it’s not gonna happen,” Lauren said. “That lawyer is too good. You heard her. You saw the way the jury was reacting to her words.”
“She’s Eris.”
“What?”
“The Greek Goddess of Discord? Didn’t you learn any Greek mythology in all your years of school, Miss Fancy Trauma Surgeon?”
Lauren snorted. “Not as much as you, apparently. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Eris was the cause of a lot of strife for the Greeks,” Marc explained. “She indirectly caused the fall of Troy and a whole
lot of other shit. Always causing trouble and looking pretty while she did it. Also she had quite possibly the flattest ass in Ancient Greece.” Lauren laughed at that and Marc gave her a sideways grin, his eyes raking over her curvy form. “Yours is way better.”
“Oh?” she purred, suddenly feeling much more confident than she had just seconds ago. She slid toward him, draping her body over his. Marc wasted no time in grabbing said ass and pressing his lips to Lauren’s as she straddled his hips. She moaned. “It is quite a nice handful, isn’t it, Agent Kelly?”
“I’d say so, Dr. Stanton,” he growled in response, his free hand already slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, finding her heat as he pushed away the crotch of her underwear. “Two perfect handfuls, actually, but I can’t exactly prove that to you at the moment. I’m a little…” he plunged two fingers into her and Lauren gasped, “busy at the moment. Maybe later.”
“Mm, yes,” Lauren sighed. “Maybe later.” She reached for his belt, quickly undoing it and unbuttoning his pants until she could reach in and pull him from the slit in his boxers. She stroked him a few times, riding his thick fingers as she did, before batting his hand away and positioning him at her entrance.
His length was much thicker than two of his fingers, she thought as she began to ride him in earnest. They were both painfully aware that they were not the only two people in this courthouse and that, sooner or later, somebody else would be outside that door, questioning why it was locked. Or why there were two people on the inside, screaming at the top of their lungs in ecstasy.
In order to keep herself quiet, Lauren pressed her open mouth to Marc’s, allowing him to swallow her murmurs and sighs and gasps of his name as she did the same for him. When he pressed his hands to her ass cheeks and squeezed, she let out a sound that was somewhere between a screech and a giggle, her hands going for his hair, careful not to muss the recently cut strands too much, lest somebody in the courtroom notice when they went back in to hear the verdict. She could only imagine that having sex in the bathroom during their recess would not look too good for her.
But she honestly didn’t give a shit as he entered and exited her at rapid-fire pace, bringing her closer and closer to that elusive edge. It was getting harder not to scream as they made love and her nails dug into Marc’s shoulders, keeping him from pausing or moving too harshly within her. She didn’t like it when this was over too quickly, but this time they didn’t really have many options for prolonging their pleasure.
Finally, when Lauren felt herself break, she sobbed Marc’s name into his mouth, letting go of his lips and pressing them to his neck, even as he continued to grunt and he emptied himself inside of her, his hands still firmly planted on her ass.
“No matter what happens,” he husked in her ear, as they both came down from their highs, his rough hands rubbing up and down her back, “I am going to protect you. He will never hurt you again. Okay?”
“Okay,” Lauren sighed, allowing her entire body to relax for a long moment. It was the first time all day.
There was a knock at the door.
“I don’t know what y’all are doing in there,” the prosecutor hissed through the door, “and I don’t wanna know. But I though you oughta know that the jury’s back.”
“Already?” Marc murmured. Lauren locked eyes with him as fear once again raked through her. He didn’t allow her to hold onto it for long, though, as he pressed another hard kiss to her lips. “No matter what,” he huffed into her mouth.
“No matter what,” Lauren echoed.
He held her hand as they walked out of the bathroom together, not caring who saw.
*****
Lauren held her breath as the foreman stood up, a piece of paper in his hand, at the request of Judge Kensington, who looked even more composed and stony face than she had before the recess.
“Has the jury come to a verdict?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” the juror said. “On the count of domestic violence, the jury finds the Defendant, John Martin Snyder…Guilty.”
Lauren let out a breath and tears sprang to her eyes at the word, her entire body relaxing until her knees were practically buckling. The courtroom took a collective deep breath and she felt Marc behind her, holding her up.
“On the count of stalking in the first degree, the jury finds the Defendant, John Martin Snyder…Guilty.”
This time, Lauren spared a glance at Jack, who had fallen back into his seat, looking at the ground. He lowered his head into his hands as his lawyers consoled him. He knocked their hands away, aggressively.
“On the count of attempted murder in the first degree, the jury finds the Defendant, John Martin Snyder…Guilty.”
“Thank you, foreman. To the jury, you have served your country well. You are dismissed. Mr. Snyder,” she turned to Jack, who was pulled back to his feet by his law team, “you are sentenced to no less than twenty-five years behind bars. You will be eligible for parole in no less than twenty of those years. Bailiff, take him away. Court is dismissed.” She banged her gavel and there was applause as Jack was led from the room.
Lauren watched him go, finally feeling free from a set of invisible shackles that she hadn’t even realized she’d been wearing for all this time. She turned around, facing Marc with a wide smile and fell into his arms, pressing her lips to his in a hot, celebratory kiss.
She could swear that the applause only swelled for them.
Chapter Nine
“To the Doc!” Joe said, holding up his Champagne glass at Rusty’s, the local watering hole in Slightuckett. “Forever may she remain safe!”
“And in Slightuckett!” the sheriff added.
“Hear, hear!” Joe returned, gaining laughter from those around them. Including Lauren, herself. Her body was pressed against Marc’s, a Champagne glass held in her own hand. She raised it and clinked it with his, before taking a long sip. She sighed as the bubbles slid down her throat and sent her stomach aflutter.
“I already told you all,” she said, “I’m keeping the house on the beach, but I’m moving to the city to work in the hospital.”
There was a series of groans throughout the hospital and she chuckled.
“I’ll be back every summer,” she promised. “And I’ve told the other doctors at the clinic to call me for consults, whenever needed. But I need to be doing trauma again. As much as I love all my patients here. And, trust me, I do. Y’all are so much nicer than New Yorkers, you have no idea.” There was some laughter now; even from Marc, who made an agreeable sound. “I’ll be back so often you’re gonna get sick of me.”
“Impossible,” Joe huffed. More sounds of agreement and Lauren felt her eyes flood with tears. She took a deep breath, trying to choke them back.
“And what about the lug?” Sheriff McNally wanted to know, pointing to Marc. “You going back to your branch in New York, big guy?”
“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Marc huffed. “Repeatedly.”
“Aw, lighten up!” McNally laughed. Lauren snorted, pressing her face into his shoulder, but she was also curious to hear his answer.
“I’ve been promoted, actually,” Marc revealed. “I can go wherever I want to set up shop. I even get a bunch of rookie agents to whip into shape. Lucky me.” His voice was sarcastic, but Lauren could feel the pleasure in his statement. He was going to follow her back to the city. Their city. She was going to get her old job back and he would be in reach whenever she needed him. They hadn’t spoken too much about their future together, but it was a comfort to her that at least they were going to be close.
That was enough. For now.
She pressed tighter against his side and felt him pinch her ass, making her jump slightly and slap his arm. But she was smiling the whole while.
*****
Lauren had forgotten how loud the city was, but she was reminded as she and Marc carried their things into their new brownstone in the East Village. It was about a month after she’d won her case against Jack Snyder a
nd he was slowly rotting away in a federal prison far, far away from where she currently was. It had taken a little bit of convincing to get an attending position at her old hospital, but she’d been welcomed back with open arms by most of her old colleagues. She was already being invited out for drinks after evening shifts.
It was nice, though, to have a place to invite others to, other than the hotel suite where they’d been living until they could finally agree on a place to live. Marc was adamant about paying for half of their new home, despite the fact that Lauren made a bit more with her job as a trauma surgeon. The hospital had been the one to give her a real estate allowance, so technically they had covered the brunt of the cost, but Lauren and Marc had each paid the same amount for everything that went inside.
“Besides,” Lauren had argued as they packed all of their things back at the hotel suite, “we’ll be together, so what does it even matter who pays for what.”
“It matters,” Marc had growled in response, pulling her in until their bodies were pressed firmly together. “You need to know that I will never hold anything over you. And I want to know the same thing. Understood?” Lauren nodded, her eyes wide and her face flushed. “Good.” Marc slanted his lips over hers then, quickly forgetting the boxes that were piling up in front of their door, leading her straight toward the bedroom where they stayed for the remainder of the night.
They were equals, but Lauren still loved it when he took charge the way that he did. When he pulled her against his body and made her come with his words alone, before he used all the other parts of his body. There was nothing quite like allowing another person to take control over her with so much trust.
It was magnificent.
When they finally got all the boxes from the truck to the living room, where they were unceremoniously dropped near where they had to be stored away, Marc and Lauren stood by the door, staring into their new home. They had painted every room the week before and their living room was a nice, calming blue.
