Dawned (Circle of the Red Scorpion Book 3) Page 12

  He kissed her hard, and she cried out in pain. She tried to push him away, but her reaction incited him, and he grabbed the back of her neck and forced her back to him. His kisses were harsh and unrelenting. He gripped her blouse and her bra and pulled until the material ripped open to expose her breasts. He fondled her, as he continued his rough, punishing kisses. He pinched her nipples hard and she helplessly whimpered as tears formed in her eyes.

  Solomon suddenly relaxed his grip and released her. Her lips were sore, and she rubbed them with the back of her hand and clutched at her ripped clothes. He picked up his glass and took a drink, watching her over the top.

  “Why Solomon,” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why do you treat me like a whore?”

  He shrugged. “All women are whores, in one way or another.”

  “Is that all I am to you? Your whore?”

  He set down his drink. He pulled her toward him, causing her to let go of her blouse, exposing her breasts to him. “Elise, you are much more to me than that. The reason I treat you like one is that you constantly defy me.” He gripped a breast in his hand and squeezed, causing the nipple to protrude upward. He took it in his mouth.

  Elise’s traitorous body responded. “Solomon,” she pleaded, until he bit down on her nipple and rendered her speechless. She moaned and gripped his forearms.

  Solomon chuckled as he lifted his head. “See how much better it is when you obey me. I don’t want to hurt you.” He shifted and forced her to stand up, facing away from him. He undid his belt and unzipped his pants. He slid his hands up her thighs, taking her skirt up and over her ass. He ripped off her red silk panties. Gripping her hips, he pulled her back down onto his erection.

  Elise felt each hard thrust as he held her in place.

  “Rub yourself, Elise. Make yourself come.”

  “Yes,” she panted, hating herself for enjoying his touch. She reached down and caressed her aching clit as Solomon slammed into her, losing herself in carnal sensations.

  As they both came, Solomon pulled her against him. “Soon, we will be together forever, you and me. Prepare yourself, my love. You will leave your old life behind and not look back. Do you understand me, Elise?”

  She leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes as sorrow washed over her. “Yes, Solomon, I understand.”

  Chapter 13

  “How was your trip?” Broderick asked when Elise arrived home from the airport.

  “Grueling but good,” she told him as she settled into a chair in her his study. “I made a lot of great contacts.”

  “That’s good. I thought I would see a write up about you in one of the international newspapers, but I didn’t find anything.”

  “The events were by invitation only, and the media wasn’t invited.”

  He frowned. “That is strange. Wouldn’t the art galleries want the publicity?”

  “Most of them cater to private collectors who prefer not to be photographed or interviewed,” she answered, the bitter, acidic taste of each lie burned her throat.

  He nodded. “I was just hoping to get a glimpse of my lovely wife on her first trip to Europe.”

  Elise stood up, suddenly so weary from the long trip home and the lies. “I’m exhausted, Broderick. I’m going to check in on our son and take a nap. We can talk later.”

  Broderick studied her face, puzzled by her subdued manner. Perhaps she was just jet-lagged. “Very well, angel. Get some rest. We’ll talk after dinner.”

  When his wife didn’t come down for dinner, he ate with Drake and the Sims. After dinner, he went up to their bedroom and found her curled up on their bed asleep wrapped in her red satin robe, her face so serene and beautiful. His heart turned over with love. He bent to turn off the lamp by the bed, and she stirred.

  “Broderick,” she moaned in her sleep. It was not a sound of pleasure but one of pain.

  He sat down on the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay, angel. I’m here.” He stroked her hair, and she sighed as she settled into his arms. He shifted and lay back against the pillows and held her. He didn’t know what she was dreaming about, but it was clear she was troubled. He held her until he was sure she rested peacefully before he laid her gently on her pillow and went to Drake’s bedroom to tuck him in.

  The next day, Broderick asked his wife what she dreamed about, and she said she didn’t remember. The pained look on her face told him she was lying, and he wondered why.

  From the time Elise returned home from Europe, she was a different person. She stayed home for the first few days then resumed her activities. She was gone much of the time, leaving Drake’s care in the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Sims.

  The two of them began to argue more and more about her being gone from home so much and her disinterest in their relationship and Drake. By the time their son turned nine, Broderick and Elise were barely speaking to one another. Elise had lost the spark she once had, and Broderick was at a loss how to fix things between them.

  Two weeks after Drake’s ninth birthday, there were five assaults against women, with three victims found dead; the Seattle community was on the verge of an all-out panic, fearing a serial killer was on the loose. Broderick was spending days and nights in his office or at the penthouse, working with the police and his private investigators to find and apprehend the perpetrator.

  He was convinced Blackwell and his men were behind the assaults, but he had no proof. Broderick’s lead investigator tailed Blackwell and his men for weeks and took hundreds of photographs. The photographs of Blackwell and his men did not reveal any evidence he could use, but the disturbing images that began to emerge brought him to his knees. There was photograph after photograph of Blackwell with Elise, leaving restaurants and art exhibitions. Not like the photographs in the social section of the newspaper. The images were intimate. The way he touched her and spoke into her ear, captured in the photos were telling. That something was going on between them was crystal clear.

  Some of the worst photographs were of the two of them coming and going from his Mercer Island mansion. There were no cars parked in the driveway. The dinner parties she claimed to be attending every week were non-existent. Elise was there alone with Solomon. Even with all the photographs, he still didn’t want to believe it. She was his wife, his angel, and he loved her.

  The nightly surveillance was proving to be costly and unproductive, so Broderick told his lead private investigator if the following evening’s stakeout was a bust, he was calling off the surveillance. To his disappointment and frustration, the stakeout yielded nothing he could use for his case, but the last set of photos left no doubt about Elise and Solomon’s relationship.

  Walt Hamilton, his lead private investigator, brought the packet of photographs to him. The older gray-haired man’s face was grim. He never looked more serious in all the years he knew him.

  “Broderick, I wanted to give these photos to you personally given the…lascivious nature of some. No one else has seen them.”

  Broderick frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked as he stared down at the manila envelope in his hand.

  Walt shook his head. “They are self-explanatory. You’ll understand as soon as you see them.” He turned to leave Broderick’s office. “I’m sorry,” he quietly said as he left the office.

  Broderick held the envelope in his hands but made no move to open it. The photographs had to be bad for Walt to respond the way he did. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see them, but he had to. He slowly peeled open the flap and stuck his hand inside and pulled the photos out. The first few photos were pretty benign. Photos of a cocktail party in full swing through the window. They had been taken from another adjacent building. No sign of Elise or Solomon.

  The next photo was taken of the rooftop terrace. The lighting was dim, but the entire terrace was visible. At first, Broderick didn’t see anyone in the photographs. He flicked through the photos until one stopped him cold. It showed a dark-haired
woman bent over a patio table her breasts exposed and a blonde-haired man behind her. At that angle, he couldn’t completely see what the man was doing, but it didn’t take a genius to guess. He went to the next photo. Broderick’s heart pounded hard in his chest. The woman in the photo was his wife, and the man was Solomon Blackwell. There were more photos. He didn’t want to see them, but he had to. He swallowed hard as he flipped to the next photo. The photo left no doubt. It was from a different angle. Solomon’s pants were around his ankles, and he was thrusting into Elise, his hands clutching her bared ass. His hands shook as he flipped to the next photo. It was another picture from the front. The look of ecstasy on his wife’s face said it all.

  Broderick let the photos drop to the floor and closed his eyes as pain lanced through his temples. Dear god, the suspicions he harbored were dead on. Elise, his wife, the mother of his child, the only woman he ever loved was cheating on him with Solomon Blackwell. His gut told him it didn’t just happen. It had been going on for a long time. He suspected it started way before Drake was born, recalling the photo he saw of them on the society page of the local newspaper. At the time, Elise said Solomon never touched her. Was she telling the truth then? He wasn’t so sure. He thought her reaction at breakfast that day was because of his angry outburst when she told him she had known Blackwell for years. Then when he surprised her at her art show before Christmas the year before Drake was born, Solomon’s open displeasure was suspect. Then there was Elise’s preoccupation, her sudden disinterest in him and their son, her frequent late nights. All of it was telling him something he didn’t want to face.” He looked down at the photos littering the floor. Well, he would have to face it now.

  ****

  Broderick returned to his office after court with a throbbing headache. Thanks to the bottle of cheap whiskey he drank at the bar down the street and the bottle he picked up on the way back to the penthouse. He passed out soon after he finished the bottle and was startled when the alarm clock buzzed until he realized where the noise was coming from. At first, he didn’t know where he was, muddled by all of the whiskey he consumed the night before. Then he remembered the photos. It made his headache worse. Getting through his motions in court had been sheer hell.

  He stopped to talk to his administrative assistant, Beverly, about the files he needed first thing tomorrow morning.

  “Are you alright, Broderick?”

  “I’m fine, Beverly.” His smile turned into a grimace when a sharp pain shot through his head. “Just need to make sure the files are ready for the Perkins case tomorrow.”

  “No problem. The files will be on your desk before I leave for the day.”

  “Thanks, Beverly. You’re the best.”

  Beverly laughed. “Flattery will get you that black cup of coffee you need for that headache.”

  Broderick shrugged. “I’m not a very good actor.”

  “I have five brothers. Growing up, hangovers were an everyday occurrence.”

  He heard a door open and looked in its direction. He stiffened. Solomon Blackwell and one of his oversized bodyguards were exiting Patricia Madison’s office. Patricia was one of the sharpest Assistant District Attorneys in the office. She looked pale and tousled as she trailed behind them. When Solomon saw him, he smirked.

  "Mr. Devereaux," he said as he licked his lips. "It's been a while."

  "Not long enough," Broderick responded gruffly, his eyes blazing. His marriage to Elise was crumbling all because of this insolent bastard. He now believed - no he knew Blackwell and his wife were having an affair for years even though she professed her innocence. He was so damned angry at her, so disgusted; he didn’t know what to say to her. He knew one thing for sure. He was going to triple his efforts to put Blackwell behind bars where he belonged. He didn’t know if he could save their marriage or if he wanted to try but something had to be done. Seeing Solomon in his office today after those damning photographs last night sealed the deal.

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Devereaux." Solomon nodded in Patricia's direction. "Miss Madison and I had an appointment." He smiled at her. "I promised her I’d be here this morning. I always keep my promises."

  Patricia blushed and swept a stray blonde curl back from her pale face with a trembling hand. "Broderick, I asked Mr. Blackwell to come in to discuss the Martin case."

  "Yes," Solomon replied. "We had a very productive meeting. Jeff Martin is the son of one of my business associate's. I promised his father I would help if I could." He winked at her, and she blushed again and looked away.

  Broderick looked from Patricia to Solomon and frowned. Something wasn't right about her. He didn't recall her face ever being that pale, and she was way too subdued. Not like her at all. She was a very direct, no-nonsense attorney. She stood up against the city’s toughest defense attorneys and won ninety-five percent of her cases. Seeing her standing beside Solomon like a spooked deer was disturbing.

  "Mr. Blackwell," Broderick said very formally, "I'd like to talk to you in my office."

  Solomon raised his eyebrows. "More questions? I've answered all of Miss Madison's."

  "It’s a private matter."

  "Very well," Solomon replied and followed Broderick toward his office.

  Solomon’s bodyguard started forward and he waved him off. "Stay right here, Benny. This shouldn't take long."

  Benny nodded. "Sure, Boss." He crossed his thick arms over his chest and stood against the wall outside Broderick's door.

  Solomon entered the office and sat down in a chair facing Broderick’s large cherry wood desk.

  Broderick closed the door and walked around his desk and sat down. "I want you to stay the hell away from my wife," he said abruptly, without preamble.

  Solomon looked at him incredulously and laughed. "No fucking way. Your wife is far too captivating for me to consider that. A woman of many hidden talents, your wife." He grinned. "Well, not so hidden anymore. I think I’ve discovered all of them."

  "You son of a bitch," Broderick growled and stood up. He leaned on his desk and glared at him. He was beyond angry. He was outraged, and his jaguar clawed at his insides to emerge and attack their enemy. They both wanted to eviscerate the pompous ass into bloody chunks of flesh.

  "No need for violence, Mr. Devereaux. I've been willing to share her with you all of these years, but that will soon come to an end. Elise is mine, and I grow weary of her leaving my bed for yours. When I ask her to come to me, she will, and she won't be returning to you."

  Broderick rounded his desk in lightning speed and dragged Solomon out of his chair by the lapels of his suit coat. "I should kill you right here, right now. But if I do, I'd be stooping to your level, and I can't do that. I want you behind bars, you fucking bastard. I want you to rot in prison for the rest of your pathetic life. Away from the public and away from my wife."

  "How do you even know if Drake is yours?" Solomon said abruptly and grinned with smug satisfaction at the look of shock on the other man's face. "Have you ever wondered who his father is? Me or you?"

  "You fucking, low life son of a bitch," Broderick shouted loud enough to rattle the windows of his office as he released Solomon’s lapels to wrap his hands around his throat. "I changed my mind," he snarled in a low, menacing voice. "I'm going to end your miserable life now and save the taxpayers the expense of keeping your worthless ass in jail."

  The door burst open, and Benny rushed in followed by Beverly. Other staff members also crowded outside the door watching their boss who was always so cool under pressure snap.

  Benny pulled a gun from the holster under his jacket. "Let him go, Devereaux, or I'll put a bullet between your eyes." He cocked the trigger and aimed the barrel at Broderick’s head.

  Broderick was so focused on choking the life out of Solomon he didn't hear Benny’s words or the click of the trigger. All he saw was red and his worst enemy's impending death.

  Beverly hurried to his side and tugged on his jacket sleeve.
"Mr. Devereaux…Broderick, please don't do this. Think about your staff, your family and all the people who depend on you."

  He squeezed harder watching Solomon's eyes bulge, but the bastard didn't fight him. His face was serene as he stared back at him with emotionless black eyes.

  He's going to let me kill him, he thought. He wants me to do it, so my wife and my son are taken away from me forever after I’m sent to prison for murder. Or worse, my jaguar emerges for all to see and l’m locked up in a lab somewhere with no way to escape. I have to do this the right way. I still might have a fighting chance to win Elise back but only if I let him live. Broderick released his grip and Solomon staggered back.

  “Good decision,” Solomon rasped. “I’d hate to see the celebrated DA of King County rot

  in jail or better yet face the gas chamber.”

  Broderick turned away and ran his fingers through his short black hair. "Beverly, get them out of here. Get them all out." He pointed at his staff.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and turned immediately, taking charge. "Team, you heard District Attorney Devereaux, get back to work. Mr. Blackwell," she said as she eyed him with barely veiled disdain. "Do you need any assistance?"

  He fastened his dark eyes on her. "No, now that your boss's hands are no longer wrapped around my throat."

  Broderick flinched, but he didn't turn around. He said nothing.

  "Mr. Blackwell," Beverly pursed her lips in disapproval.

  He adjusted his jacket and tie and bowed gallantly. "I'm sorry to have caused a disturbance. It was not my intention. Mr. Devereaux, another time."

  Broderick waited until he heard the outer office door closed before he turned around. Beverly was setting the chairs back in place. He sat down behind his desk.

  "I'm sorry, Beverly. I don't know what came over me."

  She sat down across from him. "He's an evil man, Broderick. He scares me. Every time he came in to see Stan, he made me so uncomfortable. I don't know how Stan was friends with a man like that. He needs to be locked up. I know you'll find a way to do it."