My eyes peeled open. I was not familiar with the stark white surroundings. Strong chemicals wafted into my nose. Wiping irritation from my nostrils, I belatedly noticed the intravenous needle in my arm. Panic-stricken, I bolted upright, the thin, paper-like sheet falling to my waistline. Two hands landed on my shoulders. "Brad," I whispered as he eased my back to the pillow. "What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"
Vincent soared from the visitors' chair.
Josh stood by the window.
Nate opened the room door and mentioned something about a doctor.
I wore yesterday's pencil skirt, but someone had swapped the blouse—which hung messily on the back of Vincent's chair—for a skin-tight vest top. Instinctively, I covered my braless chest. "Can someone talk to me?"
Brad's hands clapped to the back of his head.
"I understand," the male doctor said to Nate as the pair re-entered the room. "Good morning, Miss Warren." He was youngish, his late forties, perhaps. "I trust you slept well."
My glare sharpened.
"Artificial hydration and nutrients." His pen pointed to the intravenous needle. "It'll help with dehydration by pumping nutrients directly into the bloodstream. It is necessary."
"Right." My confusion peaked. "I'm sorry. Can someone tell me what happened?"
"Mr Jones explained that last night was the second time you fainted."
I fainted, I thought. "Okay."
"Fainting is a temporary loss of consciousness, usually caused by low blood pressure and lack of oxygen to the brain." He sat on the foot of the bed, the clipboard and leaflets tucked away from prying eyes. "Shall we talk about that?"
When the men refused to make eye contact, I cleared my throat. "I guess."
He clicked the top of the pen. "Would you like to have this conversation in private?"
"What?" My head began to pound. "No, I want them to stay. They are family."
When the doctor gestured to the spare chairs, the Suits took a seat. "Mrs Warren, when was the last time you ate?"
Embarrassed by the evident concern in his eyes, I breathed through my nose to control breathing. "I had takeout with the men last night."
He penned something down. "How much did you finish?"
I shrugged. "I only left a few mouthfuls."
"She ate one mouthful and toyed with the rest until she put the container aside." Brad was unapologetic when he spoke. "I deliberately watched."
My eyes rounded. "No, I finished—"
"You did not," Brad argued, and heat clung to my cheeks. "Doctor, she barely eats. The woman goes hours without food until forced. Even then, she consumes morsels to get everyone off her back."
I fumed. "Fuck you, Brad."
He overlooked my scorn. "Her husband believes she developed an eating disorder."
"No," I cried, willing myself to calm down. "That's not true. I do not have any issues with food." When the men exchanged glances, I eyed them individually. "Guys, come on. Brad's being a little overdramatic, right?" Not one of them spoke up for me. "Josh?"
Josh's head shook slowly. "I'm sorry, Alexa."
My throat tightened. "Nate?"
Nate's apologetic gaze went to the window.
I am incapable of sustaining their coldness. "Vincent?"
Vincent's hand found mine on the bed. He studied our threatened fingers. "You need help, Angel."
"I don't need help. I am fine." Tears of shame hazed everyone. "Please don't humiliate me," I whimpered. "Not like this."
"There is nothing to be ashamed of," The doctor's head tilted. "Mrs Warren, acceptance is the first step to recovery." He saw denial in my fierce stare. "Eating disorders, like anorexia, can lead to abnormally low hypotension. In case you are not aware, anorexia is a restricted diet caused by a compulsive desire to achieve a specific body image. Failing to consume enough calories can cause the body to break down its tissue for fuel. The heart struggles to pump blood without fuel provided by food. As a result, the heart can become malnourished, and low blood pressure can occur. I imagine episodes of dizziness, nausea and fatigue are symptoms you encounter quite often. Furthermore, lack of nutrients impedes the body from producing red blood cells, which can set in anaemia. So that you know, anaemia and anorexia are closely related."
I felt sick.
He nearly handed me a leaflet. "Now, binging and purging can be as vital as vomiting can deplete the body of electrolytes and—"
"You are all wrong." Yanking the intravenous needle out of my arm, I climbed off the bed as blood sprinkled the paper sheets. "I do not make myself sick."
Silence stretched throughout the confined room.
"I have never hated you as much as I do right now." My glare zoned in on Brad. "Especially you."
"Why?" His voice was thick. "Because I fucking care about you."
"I do not want to achieve a specific body image. Don't you get it, Brad? I hate everything about the way I look. I am nothing compared to the woman at the club. See!" I waved wildly to my flat chest. "Why would I deliberately forgo food to lose more weight? I look like a fifteen-year-old girl!"
His lips grimaced.
"Do you think that makes me happy?" At this point, it was only the two of us in the room. "Do you think I don't fear my husband's judgement every time he looks at me?" A painful sob hurt my chest. "It's the same look in your eyes right now. Disgust."
"Warren loves you." He took one step closer, albeit cautious. "We all do."
I trembled from head to toe.
Brad's was voice low in my ear. "Sugar tits."
Hugging myself, I cowered from him.
"Let us help you," he whispered, thumbing a tear from my cheek. "Let me help you."
"I do not purge."
He spoke, and dubiousness lurked in his tone.
"I do not," I said with more conviction. "Why won't you believe me?"
Josh's hand touched my shoulder, and I recoiled, my back pressing to the wall as I moved away from him. "Alexa," he said throatily. "I would never hurt you."
"May I intervene?" The doctor was on his feet again. "Mrs Warren, the last thing I want to do is upset you further. But I would like to provide additional help." He placed the leaflets in my hands. "Licenced professional counsellors are available. Without treatment, your condition can be life-threatening."
I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"There are options." He held the clipboard to his chest. "Intensive outpatient programs may vary in intensity. You can choose sessions once or twice per week or opt for more intensive programs, which are normally longer and more frequent. I can provide enhanced cognitive behavioural therapy to identify the thought patterns and beliefs contributing to your eating disorder or interpersonal psychotherapy. A specialist will use a variety of exercises and tasks to help address the rigid thinking patterns that are often associated with anorexia. Lastly, psychodynamic psychotherapy. This will help you understand the underlying cause of your eating disorder."
"I am not anorexic." The leaflets slipped through my fingers. "I would like to be discharged immediately."
Brad cursed. "Alexa—"
"Do not touch me," I warned, tears rolling down my cheeks. "I mean it, Brad. You are suffocating me—all of you."
"I read your hospital notes." The doctor opened a folder. "You underwent unilateral salpingo-oophorectomy surgery."
"Yes." My heart split in two. "The attacker ripped the baby out of my stomach." Rubbing tears from my eyes, I snivelled against the back of my hand. "She made sure I could never conceive again." My backside slumped onto the bed. "Let me guess? It's the root cause of my eating disorder."
"No." The doctor unheeded the snark in my voice. "If both fallopian tubes are missing, then the fertilised egg is unable to travel toward the uterus, and the sperm is unable to travel towards the egg. In your case, one ovary and one fallopian tube are functioning, although non optimally, as long as the solo tube allows healthy sperm into the uterus."
"Right." I jerked one shoulder. "Tell me something I don't know, doctor."
His outstretched arm proffered a sheet of paper. "We detected human chorionic gonadotropin in your blood test."
"What?" I found the notes indecipherable. "Am I sick?"
"No, Mrs Warren." The doctor inserted the stethoscope's ear tips in his ears and held the chest piece on my chest. "Good," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "Can you raise your top for me, please? Just tuck the material under your breasts."
Silent tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, I did as instructed.
Lowering the stethoscope to his neck, he palmed a small, hand-held object and then placed the connected transducer to my lower stomach, and then, a strong thunder of galloping horses. "What's that?" I asked, and Brad, paler than usual, collapsed on the chair. "Is something wrong with me?"
"You know," the doctor said calmly, "fainting is mostly harmless in pregnancy; however, in some cases, it may indicate issues for both the baby and the mother's help, especially in the first trimester."
It took several seconds for the doctor's response to register. "What?"
He kept the transducer in place for us to listen. "It's your baby's heartbeat, Mrs Warren. A healthy heartbeat, I might add."
My hands flew to my mouth. "Please don't lie to me."
"Pregnancy is a miracle." The gloves snapped as he removed them. "In your case, it's a second chance at happiness."
Tears of disbelief poured down my cheek. I peered down at my exposed stomach and sobbed. It was a raw, guttural sob, the type of sob that made your throat sore and your mouth dry.
I am pregnant.
Half of Liam, half of me, blossomed in my stomach.
"Mrs Warren?" The doctor's hand squeezed my shoulder. "As I said, acceptance is the first step to recovery. Would you like help with your eating disorder?"
Crying behind two hands, I nodded.
A collection of relieved exhales echoed in the room.
Brad came to my side and gathered me in his protective arms. "She got this," he told the doctor. "We will make damn sure of it."
My tears soaked his neck. "Brad."
His hand tightened around the nape of my neck. "Instructions."
"Due to low blood pressure, Mrs Warren must avoid getting up too quickly when seated or lying down. She must avoid standing for long periods of time. Encourage her to eat small meals throughout the day. She must avoid taking very hot baths or showers and drink more water. If possible, she must wear loose clothing." He paused. "I cannot prescribe medication to help with hypotension; however, I can provide prenatal vitamins while she is on the road to recovery."
"I am so sorry." My fisted hands clung to the front of Brad's shirt. "I didn't mean it, Brad."
"Same." He released me, and I pulled away, feeling the Suits' intense scrutiny. "Anything else?"
"Insufficient nutrients have adversely affected the functioning of her body. We must avoid any further issues, Mrs Warren. If you proceed without help and continue to faint due to lack of nutrients, it can lead to stillborn, premature birth or even birth defects and brain damage. So, consuming balanced meals can prevent further complications and ensure a safe pregnancy for mum and baby. I will ask a physician for health supplements."
"I'm the man for the job." Nate shook the doctor's hand. "I have a healthcare degree. She won't find a better dietician."
"Mrs Warren, will you attend one of the options as mentioned above?"
"Yes," I agreed, and the doctor smiled. "I will do whatever it takes to protect my baby."
After a brief conversation with Nate, the doctor left the room to sign discharge papers. I dried my eyes and stood to join the men, who gathered by the window to converse while watching the torrential downpour outside. "Don't let me wake up," I whispered, and Josh's hand splayed on my upper back. "If it's a dream, I want to sleep forever."
"Christ." Brad wiped condensation across the window. "Warren is going to be a father. Let that sink in, brothers."
Nate whistled lowly. "When will you break the news, Alexa?"
"I will wait until the trial is over." Of course, I wanted to share the pregnancy with Liam, but it's cruel when he has to consider us from his prison cell. "He has to stay focused. His freedom depends on it."
Vincent fixed his tie. "We will respect your wishes, Angel."
A friendly looking nurse pushed through the door. "Hello," she chimed, her casual strides bridging the gap between us. "The doctor is almost finished with the discharge papers." A pre-made sandwich appeared. "You have to eat first."
Respectfully, the men looked away.
Gingerly, I took the sandwich out of her hand. Tearing through the see-through seal, I grabbed the first half and brought it to my lips. Teeth sinking into ham, lettuce and tomato, I licked crumbs from my lips and forced a wedge down my throat. Two, three, four bites later, I lost my appetite, and as food poured down my throat, biliousness began to curdle in my stomach.
Vincent handed me bottled water.
Respiring a stuttered breath, I uncapped the bottle and guzzled fluids until the urge to vomit passed. "Thank you." Cramming another bite into my mouth, I chewed, added another bite, and used additional water to wash it down. "Can I leave the other half for later?"
The nurse shook her head.
Fingers curling around the second part of the sandwich, I bite into the seeded crust. I ate. I ate some more. I never stopped until the package sat empty in my hand.
Rubbing my back, the nurse discarded the rubbish and swung the door open to leave.
Brad squatted in front of me until eye-level with my abdomen. "How's it going in there?" He smiled up at me. "What? I have to make sure Bean recognises my voice."
My hands fell to my stomach.
I have long-awaited for you.
***
"Magistrates' put me on litter picking." Brad hasn't steered from this topic in over an hour. "Me? On litter duty for an empty bag of drugs. And because I am fortunate enough to live on the right side of town, they force me to stab empty crisp packets on the floor in the favelas of the borough. It's fucking blasphemous. Three hundred hours of community service for the bastard dwellings of Shantytown. I will get mugged. Beaten. Or worse, preyed upon by homeless folks that want to steal the very shoes off my feet."
I was beyond entertained.
"Christ, I feel sick." He was appalled and ashen-white. "I might actually be sick".
I tapped his tummy. "You will survive."
"Absolutely not." He cringed, scrubbing two hands down his face. "I can already see—and feel—premature violation. I will die out there."
Josh's dark, windswept brown hair was messy from rolling out of bed too late this morning. He had black circles around his tired, bloodshot eyes, and his white shirt was creased as if he'd fallen asleep atop the coverlets last night in complete exhaustion. "Brad, in a bright, luminous yellow visor vest."
Brad covered his agape mouth with rigid fingers. "I'm better than some underpaid binman."
My jaw unhinged. "Your excessive conceitedness is staggering."
"Hey, there is nothing wrong with egotism. I look after numero uno." He sipped bottled water. "What? Is self-love reproachful? Should I hate myself instead?"
I stared blankly.
"Ignore Alexa." Tapping Brad's back, Josh winked. "She is pregnant. Hormonal."
Pregnancy had nothing to do with our current conversation. Yet, I smiled guiltily. "You have to put up with me until the baby is here."
"I don't have to do shit." Brad gave me a pointed look. "Fucking nada."
"Yes." My head rested on his shoulder. "You do."
"Do not bat those eyelashes at me." He shoved me aside weakly. "It might work on Warren, but it has zero effect on me."
My eyelashes fluttered.
He stared deadpan at me.
"Admit it," I cooed, pinching his red cheek. "You love me."
"I do not." Another sip of water. "Have a bastard day off."
I huffed in defeat. "What crawled up your arse this morning?"
"Community service." His arms folded. "I am livid. If you hear of any missing judges next week, know that I had everything to do with it. He will regret this moment for the rest of his life." He glimpsed at his wristwatch. "Which is approximately ninety-six hours. Pillock. I'll show litter when I shove it up his fucking backside."
I laughed lightly. "How's your grandmother, Josh?"
"Hip replacement surgery in two days. Honestly, I can't wait until this week is over. I just want her home."
Brad simpered down. "Do you need anything?"
"No, I got it handled." His stare softened. "I might hire a professional care worker for when I'm at work. Someone to pop in a few times a day to keep an eye on her and whatnot."
"I could do it," I suggested, and both men frowned. "I mean, I have plenty of time on my hands. I'd be more than happy to help."
Josh was sceptical. "What about the youth centre?"
I sent Matthew an email this morning to apologise for my absence recently. Rather than respond, he called, asking if he could do anything to make life less stressful. He never mentioned the news articles slandering my husband, but there was a touch of empathy in his subdued voice, which meant he was cognisant of my situation.
I declined his offer politely and then explained why I would not return.
As much as I loved working at Inseparable Youths, I had to make some serious decisions in preparation for the future. Logan's in the process of applying for college; I had to prioritise his needs before the teens at the centre.
But, most importantly, I had to prioritise my health. If not for myself, then for the sake of the baby. I have been given a second chance at motherhood. I would not risk another loss for anything or anyone. Even if I pass out from overindulgence, I will consume three meals a day to protect my unb0rn child.
Third but not least, I had to consider Liam's businesses: Club 11, The Grape and Vine and Timothy Andino's casino.
His criminal underground.
My days at the youth centre are over.
"I left Inseparable Youths," I told the men. "So, I can step in for you with nanna. At least, until the baby is born."
"Alexa, you are a diamond." Josh kissed my cheek. "I'll set up a subscription for, like, meals on wheels or something. If you could just bang them in the microwave, I'd be grateful."
I nodded.
Josh blew out a relieved sigh. "She will have you knitting cardigans in a few months."
I'll do whatever is necessary to make her smile. "That's fine."
Brad pointed to the arched entrance. "It's unlike him to be late."
Through the raucous mobs of people, I saw forest-green eyes. Nate looked smart, as usual, but the stylish cut of his three-piece suit did not surmount the excitement in his bright eyes. It's been too long since I witnessed genuine happiness in his forced smiles, and today, fulfilment and hope seemed to radiate from his strides. "I found a decent restaurant around the corner if you fancy it after the hearing."
Brad's palms smoothed together. "What's on the menu?"
"Everything." Nate flashed two dimples. "It'll be my treat."
"Look at money bags." Brad jerked Nate's shoulder. "What's got you all generous and grinning like a pervert."
Nate's smirk dropped.
"It was a joke." Brad's hands flew up in surrender. "Christ, you need to get laid."
"Brad," Nate chastised. "I am trying to tell you something. It's important."
Blond Suit's posture straightened. "Right."
"So, I had an epiphany." A cheeky smile replaced grimness. "I am the syndicate's primary undertaker, right? I have to discard dead bodies, which is fine. I can deal. But to un-grave decomposed corpses is something else entirely. It made me think I don't particularly like this job." He counted on his fingers. "One, it fucking stinks. I am talking eye-watering. Rancid. Enough to keel over and vomit every five seconds. Two, I have to constantly look over my shoulders because some lurking motherfucker could be watching. Three, once I dispose of the bodies, I throw designer suits in the incinerator, which is not only cost-efficient but downright begrudged. I like my damn suits."
Brad's amber-coloured eyes rolled to the back of his head. "Where the fuck is this conversation going?"
Nate brandished a set of keys. "You are looking at the proud owner of a crematorium."
"A what?" Josh shrieked piercingly. "Why the hell would you go and do that?"
"To house and burn dead bodies." Nate's nostrils bristled. "Hey, don't fucking judge me. I don't see any of you fairies with dirt on your manicured hands."
"Why drag me into this squabble? I never opened my mouth." Brad snatched the keys. "I quite like it. 'Dr Death cremates victims in a ghastly act of savageness.'"
"'Evil undertaker scatters ashes in adjacent burial site to hide mass murder.'" Josh jumped on the bandwagon. "You really are the Jack of all trades."
"I think it's genius," I spoke up for the first time in ten minutes. "I like it, too—oh." I flinched when someone's fingers grazed the length of my spine. "Vincent. You scared me."
"Apologies for the tardiness." Akin to Josh, Vincent seemed exhausted. "Rough night."
Brad's finger aimed at the barely noticeable bruise-like mark on Vincent's throat. "You mean 'fun night.'"
"Well," Vincent touched what very much resembled a love bite on his neck, "I was less than impressed."
"Why?" I teased, and his cold stare shifted to me. "Do you not like it when someone claims you?"
"I am not hers to claim." He addressed everyone with an aura of aloofness. "Alas, it will be our last encounter." A woman's voice echoed around the expansive marble foyer as she informed every one of the Warren trial in courtroom one. "Here we go."
Last time, I was not ready.
This morning, I am ready for anything.
I have waited four weeks for this moment, four weeks at the Manor to prevent hospitalisation, four weeks of frequent visits to an eating disorder counsellor to try and determine why I do not prioritise food, four weeks of crying into my pillow at night because I missed my husband.
Yes, I was ready to face the music, to see the man I loved more than life itself.
We had to squeeze onto the bench in the oak-panelled courtroom because the media took up much space. Today, the Judge wore a black and purple robe with a red sash and a tie wig that sported horizontal curls along the sides and the back of his head.
The Clerk loomed in front of the Judge to coordinate the trial, the stenographer and shorthand writer was at the table, recording everything. Twelve expressionless jurors observed in silence.
When the door to the dock unlocked, I held my breath in anticipation. It's been four long weeks since I saw Liam. The room was silent as he came into view, and, at the sight of him, butterflies uncaged in my chest. The distance between us evoked memories of when I watched him from afar. It was before he knew I existed, so when his eyes roamed the coffee shop, he never once found me amid the crowd. Today was different. Although we were miles apart, he looked for me.
Our eyes collided—his blue hues to hazel.
Giving him a reassuring smile, I fervently drew a cross over my heart.
I am in love with you, he mouthed.
Even when faced with trials and tribulations, he entered the situation with unsusceptible indifference and refined suavity. A grey, patternless tie donned his single-breasted black suit and days of stubble shadowed his sharp jaw.
He was beautiful.
I fell in love all over again.
Liam's gaze settled on the Judge as the two police officers unfastened the handcuffs attached to his wrists. With a hand smoothing down the front of his shirt, he sat on the upholstered chair and readied himself for the court's onslaught.
"Repeat after me," The Clerk said to the male foreperson. "I solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that I will faithfully trial the defendant and give a true verdict, according to the evidence."
The male juror's hand raised. "I solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that I will faithfully trial the defendant and give a true verdict, according to the evidence."
Each Juror alternatively stood to affirm before the trial commenced.
I drowned them out.
The Judge regarded the jurors. "Affirmed."
The Clerk's head was down while he assessed notes on the mahogany table. "Twelve sworn, your honour."
"Members of the jury, you have been sworn to trial Liam Warren, who is the defendant in this case." The Judge was calm. "He lives in Bishops Avenue in North London."
From my vantage point, I spotted the Vasiliev brothers take a seat at the back of the courtroom. Subtly, I nudged Brad's knee. His arm slipped across the back of the bench as he swept a cursory glance toward the Russians.
"Liam Warren is charged with dealing in firearms, making threats to kill, putting people in fear of violence and living on earnings of prostitution," the Judge repeated from memory. "He is charged with false imprisonment, rape and sexual assault. Aggravated burglary using weapons of offence and firearms, taking vehicles and other conveyances without authority, resulting in the Safety Deposit Limited heist and mass murder."
I sucked in my cheeks.
"Procurement of intercourse by threats and procurement of a girl under the age of twenty-one." He allowed the jurors a moment to digest the multitude of charges. "If you know the defendant or any of the witnesses, in this case, it is important that you tell the court now."
All twelve jurors remained silent.
"If not, we will proceed with the case." The judge banged the gavel. "Mr Wilson, would you like to give an opening speech?"
David Michaels handed the enrobed prosecution a folder.
"Yes, your honour." The male barrister stood to regard the jurors. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. As you may have realised by now, I represent the prosecution in this criminal lawsuit. I'm here today because fundamental safety laws that were meant to protect everyone were violated. You will see the evidence with your own eyes when I present this case to you." He walked before the benched jurors. "This is not just a case for what London recognises," he gestured to the dock, "as a renowned criminal. It's about highly centralised enterprises run by offenders at the behest of the defendant, Liam Warren. Our first witness, Jessica Pearce, walked down the street when the defendant slowed his vehicle and compelled Miss Pearce to get inside his car. When Miss Pearce attempted to run, the defendant wielded a gun and threatened her life. He drove Miss Pearce to his penthouse and locked her in the bedroom. Furthermore, the defendant beat, starved and raped Miss Pearce repeatedly until bored."
Inwardly, I cringed.
Mr Wilson flipped the page. "Although Miss Pearce feared for her life, she was often permitted to join the defendant in the living quarters where he took private telephone calls regarding his illegitimate organisation. Miss Pearce overheard some very uncomfortable conversations where he admitted to the murder of Miss Hellen Bennet and Miss Kellie Crawford. She even provided the burial grounds."
I saw Nate's headshake out the corner of my eye.
"Miss Pearce overheard Mr Warren converse with friends about the diamond heist. She was even forced to hide the evidence with one of Mr Warren's employees. Miss Bennet," he added, reading from the folder, "Hellen Bennet's mother is our second witness. You will hear her struggles as a grieving mother and a grieving wife. After a recess, you will hear from our third witness. The facts are clear and will enable you to convict, Mr Warren." His head dipped. "Thank you, your honour."
The Judge waited for the barrister to sit down. "Mr Bishop, would you like to give an opening speech?"
Carl stood when addressed. "No, your honour."
"Members of the Jury," the Judge said. "It is for you to decide if the evidence you are going to hear proves the defendant guilty. I am informing you that it is your job to consider the evidence, not the law. I will guide you if and when it is necessary."
Anxious, I chewed my thumbnail.
"Miss Pearce was in witness protection whilst the prosecution built a case against the defendant." Mr Wilson opened a folder onto the table. "To reduce Miss Pearce's anxiety, CPS authorised remote live link. Miss Pearce, accompanied by a supporter, will give evidence by means of live television link."
"Coward," I muttered, and Brad's elbow nudged my arm. "What?'
He put a finger to his lips.
The Clerk switched on the television screen on the wheeled table. In the live link room, Blaire sat in front of the camera. Her fragile timidness left acid on my tongue. Her skin was white, so white it could have been caked in powder. No mascara. No bright lipstick or deviousness in her eyes. Just a soft, mint green cardigan bedecked in rhinestones and caramel and brown highlights rather than ebony black hair. Someone adjusted the microphone on the collar of her lace shirt dress, and she thanked them demurely.
"Miss Pearce." Mr Wilson's tone of voice raised. "You should only be able to see me until the defence wishes to cross-examine. Raise your hand and affirm."
"Yes," she said meekly. "I, Jessica Pearce, solemnly affirm that the evidence given shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
"In your own words, I would like you to tell the jury what happened the morning you met the defendant."
"I was walking down Sanderstead Hill when I noticed a black Bentley following me. I felt uneasy, so I picked up the pace. He drove a little fast until he pulled over in front of me." Her eyes lowered. "He got out of the car but left the ignition running. I do not recall everything he said. It's a blur. He had a gun, though. He aimed it at my face and told me he would shoot me right there if I did not comply. I should have run, but instead, I listened. I let him drive me away."
"And where did he take you?"
"To his penthouse."
"What happened in the penthouse?"
Her eyes welled up. "Liam led me to the bedroom."
"Can you describe the defendant's behaviour?"
"He was terrifying. He threatened to kill me if I did not remove my clothes."
Mr Wilson jotted something down in the folder. "When was the first time he hit you, Miss Pearce?"
"The first night was in his penthouse." She visibly swallowed. "He struck me with the back of his hand for refusing to shower. It knocked me out completely."
"When was the first time the defendant sexually assaulted you?"
"I don't know," she said through a sniffle. "The only thing I remember after that moment was waking up inside his bedroom on the floor. I was confused. My head was pounding." Her lips wobbled. "I was completely nude. He had torn my dress. There was blood smeared between my thighs."
"What happened next?"
"He came back and pinned me to the floor." Her whimper deserved an Oscar. "He dragged me into the shower by my hair" Tears leaked from her eyes. "And then...."
Mr Wilson gave her a sympathetic smile. "Take your time, Miss Pearce."
"After I showered, he tied me to the bed and performed sexual acts on me throughout the night. And vice versa."
"Was penetration involved?"
"Yes," she cried. "In all three areas."
"Fucking bitch," Brad said in an almost undetectable voice.
"At what point did sexual coercion end?"
"It felt constant. I was raped every morning before he left for work and then at night when he returned. Sometimes," she hesitated, "he made me do unspeakable acts on him. I had to kneel on the floor upon his arrival. He was angry after work, tired and irritable. He demanded oral until satiated."
Mr Wilson nodded in thought. "Did you try to escape when the defendant was at work?"
"Impossible." She tore chunks of tissue on her lap. "He strapped me to the bed. Plus, he is surrounded by loyal men. They guarded the penthouses religiously."
"When did the abuse stop, Miss Pearce?"
"It was when Alexa Haines came back."
"Did Miss Haines—"
"Your honour," Carl interjected. "I would like to state that the woman in question is now married to the defendant. We should address her as Miss Warren."
The Judge leaned back in the chair. "I agree."
"Did Miss Warren," Mr Wilson amended, "know that the defendant confined you to the penthouse."
"No," she said, and my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. "She had no idea."
When I scoffed, Brad's fair brow hiked.
Mr Wilson proceeded to question Blaire. I, however, studied Liam from across the courtroom. He paid no real attention. His eyes were too unfocused.
After what felt like hours, his gaze met mine and, ever so subtly, he smiled. I kissed my fingertips, and his hand on the wooden rail curled into a fist as if to capture expressed love.
Mr Wilson sat down. "Thank you, your honour."
"Mr Bishop," The Judge said. "Would you like to cross-examine?"
"Yes, your honour." Carl tossed a pen down on the folder and stood. "Miss Pearce, what was the weather like the day Mr Warren cornered you?"
Blaire thought about the question. "It was a miserable day. It seemed to go on all night, too. It kept me awake."
"Rain?" he mused, and she nodded. "Thunderstorms?"
"No." She blew her nose into balls of tissue. "Just heavy rain."
"At what point in the night did Mr Warren remove your jacket?"
"Liam took the jacket off in the car before we got to the penthouse."
Carl hummed. "Was it waterproof?"
Deep cut furrows marred her forehead. "It was a light jacket."
"Where were you headed that day?"
"I had left home after an argument with my mother."
"So, you were directionless."
"Yes."
"Did you get dressed before or after the argument with your mother?"
Her cheeks puffed. "Before."
"Did you plan to leave the house before the argument?"
"Yes, I planned to meet my boyfriend."
"To do what?"
"Your honour," Mr Wilson stood. "Is this line of questioning relevant?"
"Yes," Carl spoke. "It is relevant, your honour."
The Judge raised a hand. "Answer the question, Miss Pearce."
If Blaire could reach through the screen and strangle Carl, she would do it in a heartbeat. "My ex-boyfriend was taking me to dinner."
Carl's lips pursed. "Reservations?"
Nodding, she spoke into the microphone. "Yes."
"What restaurant?"
"The Royal Garden near Coombe Road."
"Did you get side-tracked?"
Blaire was confused.
"Mr Warren threatened you in Sanderstead Hill, but the restaurant is three hours and nineteen minutes in the opposite direction by train." He flung the folder back on the table. "So, I will ask you again. Did you get side-tracked, Miss Pearce?"
The Judge stared at the screen. "Answer the question."
"I must have," she stuttered. "I was upset and not thinking clearly."
"Do you often wear summer clothes in adverse weather conditions?"
"Your honour, how is Miss Pearce's choice of outfit for a date with an ex-boyfriend relevant?"
"Counsellor," the judge warned.
"Withdrawn." Carl's arms folded. "Miss Pearce, you claimed that Mr Warren tied you to the bed while he worked. Correct?"
She nodded.
"I am intrigued. How did Mr Warren react when he found you kneeling on the floor?"
Her brows incurved. "I don't understand the question."
"You must have escaped bonds to kneel for him," he prompted. "What was his reaction?"
She tucked hair behind her ears. "I had to perform oral."
Carl outstretched his arms. "Where were the loyal guards?"
"They stayed in the hallway at all times to ensure no one entered the property."
"Did any of the guards enter the property to eat or use the bathroom?"
"No, they would alternately go downstairs to use the public restroom."
"So, when free from bonds, how many times did you load the laptop to send emails?" He stepped closer to the screen. "How many times did you open the balcony doors or the windows to scream for help?"
Blaire remained silent.
Carl reached for another folder on the table. Removing evidence, he clipped street view images onto the brown board utilised for exhibition. "My client lived in a penthouse on the bank of the River Thames. From the panoramic windows," his pointer finger showed the distance from Liam's penthouse to the streets of London, "the witness had unobscured views to the streets below. As you know, the address is situated in the heart of tourist central."
"I tried to call for help on one occasion and learned how foolish I had been. When I screamed to the people below, the guards heard." Blaire was grasping straws. "Liam beat me the same night. I knew better than to scream again."
"But if the guards heard you, then the people who worked in the building would have also heard you. And if they never heard you, then the tourists walking past the building would have most definitely heard you. Yet, no one is here to testify, Miss Pearce. I have no police records of anyone making distressed phone calls. Surely, if you screamed for help, someone would have documented it."
She used scrunched up tissue to wipe under her eyes.
"Miss Pearce." He selected another file. "Is it true that you are pregnant?"
Blaire's hard-faced demeanour began to crack.
He stared at the screen thoughtfully. "How far along?'
Protectively, her hands lowered to her rotund stomach. "Fourteen weeks."
"And my client is the father."
She nodded again.
He tucked the folder under his arm. "Why did you deny a paternity test?"
Like a deer in the headlight, she eased back in the chair. "I wanted to wait until the baby was born."
"Where does Mr Alzaim fit? You were in a relationship." He looked at the jurors. "Mr Alzaim is an employee at Warren Enterprise. He is also a close friend to the defendant. According to my client, Miss Pearce was in a relationship with Mr Alzaim. The two of them even attended his wedding."
"Liam tossed me to Nathaniel once he finished with me."
"Did Mr Alzaim also hold you against your will?"
She chose not to answer.
"Let me tell a different story." Carl's elbow lent onto the jurors' bench as his fingers laced together. "Mr Warren fell in love with nineteen-year-old Alexa Haines. As I am sure most of you are aware, Alexa is one of the girls whose return from captivity and sexual slavery broke news headlines. For whatever reason, the department of justice never found the man responsible for her abduction. Years later, Alexa applied for a job at Club 11. Mr Warren hired the girl. In actuality, Mr Warren, in his words, was smitten." He eyed the dock. "He promised Alexa security due to ongoing encounters with what she might consider sleazy men. Men who very much reminded her of her time in captivity. Men who may or may not have been connected to the man responsible for her abduction. In order to protect Alexa, Mr Warren spent a lot of time with her. Naturally, the pair formed a bond. Naturally, their friendship became intimate." He paused. "They fell in love."
Jurors penned notes.
"On Mr Warren's thirtieth birthday, the unthinkable happened. Alexa's apartment building was burnt to the ground in an unforgivable arson attack that killed hundreds of victims." He let that sink in. "The metropolitan later pronounced Alexa dead. Mr Warren lived in denial. Her death was unimaginable, too painful to endure. He did not want to believe it. In fact, he refused to believe it. He knew there was more to this story. He knew she was still out there somewhere. So, he decided to use his resources to uncover the truth behind that fateful night. He was led to an old cottage in the woods." Pinning an old image onto the board, he stepped back and gave the jurors a moment to eye the evidence. "Mr Warren's friends accompanied him. He believed Alexa would be there alongside her captor. Instead, he found another girl." He never looked at the screen when he asked, "Isn't that right, Miss Pearce?"
Her head shook. "No."
"Miss Pearce was underweight, naked, and, in his words, quite feral. He covered her with his suit jacket, helped her off the ground and, when she fainted in his arms, carried her to his vehicle. His men, who are all here to witness, joined him and Miss Pearce at Club 11. When she woke up, he asked her name. Blaire was the name provided. He asked if there was anyone he could call, she said no. He offered to take her somewhere, and she begged him to let her stay."
Blaire's body trembled. "That is not true."
"Mr Warren let her stay at the penthouse, even though her stay would be an inconvenience. She had free reign in the penthouse. She showered, cooked, slept and even used the computer to buy new clothes." He pinned bank statements on the board. "Why did Mr Warren ask you to leave, Miss Pearce?"
Her paleness accentuated the panic in her wide eyes. "Liam threw me out when Alexa came back."
"It wasn't because you left the guest bedroom one night, walked down the hall, entered his bedroom uninvitedly, climbed under the duvet and, knowing my client was intoxicated, took advantage of the situation by performing oral sex."
I had never been prouder of Liam. He once refused to accept what she did was abuse. Pride and stubbornness would not allow it. He was shame-faced now.
It was the right choice to speak up. After all, it's Warren versus Blaire. The gloves had to come off, even if acknowledgement and acceptance made him uncomfortable.
"No," Blaire lied. "That did not happen."
"When Mr Warren roused, albeit disorientated, he thought he was dreaming of another woman. Members of the jury," Carl spoke to the panel directly. "Mr Warren drank himself stupid to help with bereavement. To his dismay, he frequently hallucinated due to excessive alcohol and substance abuse, so it was not unusual for him when he woke up, sensing the presence of his dead girlfriend. However, he soon realised that Alexa was not in bed with him. It was not her, moaning under the covers. It was this woman." He motioned to the screen. "He should have gone to the police and filed sexual assault charges. He should have filed a restraining order."
Blaire tried to speak, but Carl ignored her.
"Mr Alzaim offered to take care of you, Miss Pearce. Yet another mistake by Warren Enterprise. Mr Alzaim housed you, nursed you through mental health problems and provided unlimited access to his bank account where you racked up almost five hundred thousand pounds worth of debt, which you later left in his name."
My arm slid Brad's back to graze Nate's nape with a thumb. When my hand fell to his shoulder, he reached up, grasped my fingers and left a feather-light kiss to my knuckles.
"That's not what happened—"
"Your honour, I would like to exhibit evidence." He held up a memory stick. "Surveillance footage from Club 11."
The Judge's pen tapped on the table. "Proceed."
Accepting the memory stick from Carl, The Clerk plugged it into another screen and Liam, dishevelled and sprawled on the leather sofa in his office, appeared before the court. His eyes were closed when Blaire entered the room. Black leather sheathed her body like a second skin. Knee-high boots elevated her elegant posture. Her long, dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
"What do you want?" Liam mumbled.
"I am looking for Nathaniel." Blaire picked up the Macallan bottle on the high gloss coffee table and read the label. "Can you send me in the right direction?"
He rubbed two hands down his face. "Leave."
Blaire swigged from the bottle. "You look like shit."
He gave her a scathing glare. "Did I ask for your opinion?"
"Actually, there is something I wish to discuss with you, Sir." She sat on the sofa. "It's about Nathaniel. I am worried about him."
He sat upright. "Proceed."
"Oh, shit." Her fingers fumbled nervously on her lap. "I feel guilty."
His frown hardened. "Why?"
"Talking to you betrays his trust. He needs help."
He blinked rapidly to regain clear-sightedness. "What happened to your face?"
Blaire stifled sniffles. "Nathaniel. He loses his temper. He wasn't always this aggressive. Lately, his violence has been too frequent to ignore. I know he doesn't mean to hurt me, but I fear if I don't seek help—"
"Blaire," Liam raised a silencing hand. "Your relationship is none of my business." He staggered toward the desk. "Close the door on your way out." When he fell behind the desk to cut lines of cocaine, I winced. "Why are you still here?"
Blaire is standing in front of the desk now.
Rolling a fifty-pound note, he placed the end to his nose and snorted two lines. "You..." Blaire revealed her perfectly augmented breasts. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I understand, Liam." Her voice lowered into a sultry whisper as she moved across the desk. "You crave illicitness and relational transgressions. I can help you." She brazenly crawled onto my lap. "You don't have to be the perfect husband with me. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want." Her fingers smeared cocaine across his lips. "With me, you can stay true to yourself."
My blood boiled.
He smirked. 'You are one crazy fucking bitch."
Her red-painted lips twitched with a kittenish purr. "I am what I am."
"I love my wife," he rasped, and goosebumps sprouted on my arms. "Even if there were no Alexa Warren, I'd acquiesce to asexuality. You, Jessica Pearce, committed treason. You betrayed your bondsman." When he lifted his arms from the armrests, the handcuffs she snapped on his wrist restrained his movements. "Impressive."
Blaire stood between his slackened thighs. "I had a feeling you'd get all sentimental on me." Sitting cross-legged on the desk, she sparked a lighter flame and lit the pre-rolled blunt. "Your soft side is disappointing. I prefer your viciousness."
"By all means, unlock the handcuffs for me to fulfil such desires."
"I don't love him," she admitted unsympathetically. "I can barely even stomach him. He's overbearingly needy, expectant and all the lovey-dovey crap?" She stuck two fingers in her mouth. "Gross. I tried for the sake of normalcy."
I had a chance to look at Nate. He had to stare at the floor and listen to the woman he loved ridicule him in front of a room full of people.
"I figured if you saw us together, you would..." Blaire redid her halter neck top to conceal her breasts. "I thought you'd come back for me. I thought you'd remember what we shared and stake your claim." Respiring a veil of smoke towards the ceiling, she slid off the desk and helped herself to cash. "But you don't care. It's all about Alexa and what she wants and what she needs." Bitterness iced her tone. "Truthfully, I cannot fathom your devotion. Beautiful, flawless women surround you, yet you choose to lie down with someone so repulsively beneath you."
"I hit the jackpot when I married Alexa Warren." My husband's face was inexpressive. "You don't need to understand." His wrists twisted to alleviate the tight pain caused by handcuffs. "You cannot escape the inevitable. Your tongue will be the first extraction."
Stealing packaged drugs, bounded cash and bottled liquor, Blaire bid him farewell and strolled to the door. "Give Nathaniel my kind regards."
Liam watched her leave. "Why?"
Blaire twisted on her heel to flutter her lashes at him. "What's the question?"
"Why did you delude him?"
"Nathaniel's desperation made it easy." Her lips puckered in deliberation. "If it makes you feel better, I thought of you every time he and I fucked. It made fake orgasms more believable. I don't think he suspects anything." Brandishing a silver key, she hurled it across the floor. "Look, he's a nice guy. I am sure he'll find another woman he can bore to death." She yanked the door open, and the slumped guard fell onto his back. "He's not dead. I stabbed him with one of those vitals Nathaniel stores in his gym bag." Stepping over the man's comatose body, she exited the office. "Oh, before I go. What I feel for you is real. You will never reciprocate, but I do love you, Liam. You need to remember that."
Carl raised the remote to pause the screen. "Miss Pearce, can you confirm that it is you on the surveillance."
"Nathaniel." Blaire's mouth was agape. "He put me up to it. He told me to do it, or else he would kill me."
Carl looked pityingly at the screen. "Are you in love with my client, Miss Pearce?"
"No, I do not love that sick, twisted, vile man. He raped me. Nathanial raped me. I am the victim here. Not them."
"Miss Pearce, the room heard your admittance on the surveillance footage." He wore a cocky smile. "Footage does not lie. You are in love with Mr Warren. You love him so much that it pained you to see him happy with another woman. You are so obsessed with Mr Warren that you went to great lengths to hinder his marriage. You fabricated mice on the night of his wedding because hearing him in bed with his wife sickened you. Isn't that right, Miss Pearce?"
Her eyes closed. "No."
"You practically begged Mr Warren to have an affair. You wanted him to cheat on his wife. You wanted to be the person he chose to lie down with."
Detective David Michaels jumped off the chair, the legs shrieking on the wooden floor, and hastened toward the double doors. When he exited the courtroom, the slam resounded in his wake.
"It is palpable for everyone to see." Carl was not finished. "You went to Mr Warren's office. You told him that Mr Alzaim beat you. Yet you left Club 11 that night and walked straight into the police station, crying for protection." When she began to shout, he waved a flippant hand. "I am only interested in facts. Did Mr Warren and Mr Alzaim beat you? Did they both rape you? Did they both force you into unlawful activity? Facts, Miss Pearce. Facts."
"Yes," the bitch lied. "Yes, they forced everything on me."
"Is Mr Warren the father of your unborn child?"
"Yes—"
"How can you be so sure?" Carl challenged. "Two men raped you. Not one."
I suppressed a triumphant smile.
"Miss Pearce is an inherently unreliable witness who regarded truth as a transitory, flexible concept." He motioned to pinned evidence. "There are inconsistencies in her accusations. There is video evidence of her contradicting herself. She refused the rights of paternity, which, I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, would have vindicated Mr Warren because Miss Pearce, the father to your unborn child, is the man at the back of the room."
The Jurors studied Nate from afar.
"Mr Alzaim, in your words," he pointed at the screen, "was desperate for your love and attention. You said, in no particular order, that he was a nice guy. He can find another woman to bore to death. He is unsuspecting of your true feelings toward Mr Warren. He is overbearingly needy, expectant and lovey-dovey."
Nate's face was puce in humiliation.
"According to Miss Pearce, she overheard conversations regarding Miss Bennet's disappearance. Bennet's step-father, Mr Larry Fagan, is also missing." He read from notes. "And there is more." Kellie Crawford's picture joined the others on the board. "My client's former lover, Miss Crawford."
"What evidence did you hide? Where is the evidence?" Carl paced languidly. "Where are the bodies? Opinion or belief is inadmissible in the court of law. To trial the defendant fairly, Her Majesty's Counsel requires demonstrative evidence provided by you, the witness." He took a moment to breathe. "I do not see any type of evidence that could help document the abuse."
"Your honour." Mr Wilson pushed to his feet. "Need I remind the defence that the witness is in the link room due to anxiety. I would like to request a short recess so that I can sit with my client."
Carl gave the Judge a curt nod. "I have no further questions, your honour."
"Thank you, Mr Bishop." Removing his silver-framed reading glasses, The Judge banged the gavel. "We will take a short break for lunch."
I would love to be a fly on the wall of the live link room.
I'd shit all over the bitch.——————————————————
It's a big update, so there will be lots of typos, lol. I promise to fix them once I give my brain a break. 😂
Okay, thoughts on the chapter?
—Alexa?
—Liam?
—Brad?
—Nate?
—Josh?
—Vincent?
—Carl?
—Blaire?
—The Russians?
—And, last but not least, Bean. ♥️
Please vote! 🌟