“I love you.”
“I love you, baby,” she whispers against my hair as I rest my cheek between her sweat soaked breasts. I will not let that fucker Elliot take what’s mine. I won’t have him intimidate me or even breathe the same air as my Marguerite.
JACKSON AND I ARE SITTING in the office of the lead detective at the police station. I’m looking at Jackson with disbelief as the detective stares at him slack-jawed, also in what I assume is disbelief. Jackson and I spent the rest of yesterday and last night making love over and over again. It wasn’t our usual hard sex; instead, it was soft and sweet. Jackson was needy, something that was different and new, and I liked it. He is usually so demanding. Having a different side of him makes me feel like we are moving into new territory and I want to know every single piece of him. I am snapped out of my daydream when I hear a man’s harsh voice cut through the air.
“You’re telling me that Elliot Baker is asking you to throw the series?” the detective repeats. Jackson simply nods.
“Why in the fuck would he want you to do that?” the detective cries.
Jackson sighs and looks over at me. I know he’s going to tell, Detective Brody, about my time with Elliot. I don’t mind because his threats are enough to terrify me. I think back to the last time I saw him, his hands on me in that alley, and a chill runs down my spine. I nod my encouragement to Jackson before I speak.
“I met him at a club. A uh… a sex club. I refused him. He threatened me - told me watch out, basically. It frightened me, but I just assumed he was angry and he would get over it. I haven’t heard anything else from him,” I explain.
Jackson smiles sadly and I can see a little bit of pride shining through. He’s proud of me for saying what I did, without being encouraged. I don’t think I could have talked openly about sex, or the sex club, months ago. I am beginning to discover this lifestyle of ours, this life of ours, is nothing to be ashamed of.
“This doesn’t look good, for you Jackson, at all. Coupled with that tape and the investigation that isn’t turning up anything but your fingerprints along with your brothers - who by the way we can’t find. Jackson, tell me exactly what is going on. Don’t bullshit me.” Detective Brody urges, but Jackson shakes his head.
“I don’t have dick to do with any of this. I don’t want to believe my brother had anything to do with the video, but I can’t deny the evidence, which suggests it was him. The team’s PR Company is doing a great job of trying to brush the video under the rug. They’re charging me a pretty penny for it too. If I hear from my brother, I’ll contact you. But this shit with Elliot, this isn’t something I can just ignore. It’s a totally separate situation. He’s dangerous,” Jackson says, his voice stern and serious. Detective Brody nods and something flashes across his face, something I don’t quite understand.
“I know exactly how dangerous he is, Jackson. I’m going to keep a guy on Maggie at all times.”
Detective Brody nods before lifting his chin to Jackson. Something passes between them, a look is exchanged. My back stiffens in response to his words and I know he is one of them – a Dom. It makes me shiver, but not with disgust. He knows about Elliot, which is frightening, and the fact that he’s putting an officer on me means that Elliot isn’t just some hot head. He really is as dangerous as Jackson has told me.
“You’ll be safe, Maggie. We’ll get this bastard. I’ve been wanting to nail his balls to the wall for years. This is going to be fuckin’ sweet.” I gasp at his words and his gleeful smile, but he just waves us off.
“Everything is going to be okay, Maggie. Don’t worry, babe,” Jackson murmurs placing a soft kiss against my temple. I nod. Jackson grasps my hand in his and we walk back to my place.
As soon as we arrive back at my apartment, Jackson instructs me to pack a bag. Apparently part of the Keep Maggie Safe plan includes me staying at his place. I really don’t mind in the slightest. I actually enjoy Jackson’s apartment much more than my own. Since the sex scandal, he’s ramped up his personal security, including his apartment, which is wired with the best security system money can buy. He called some specialist to put it up. Now they claim it’s locked up tighter than the pentagon, or tighter than a virgin’s pussy, which gives me a visual I don’t need. I don’t care what type of system he has, as long as it keeps me off the internet and out of the arms of the creepy and dangerous Elliot.
“Everything is going to be fine. I’m going to play my best and let the police deal with Elliot and his crazy ass. You’ll be safe up in the owner’s box. Then after the game, we’re going to have a great time partying with all of our friends. After the party – I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk for a week.” Jackson grins as I shake with laughter, turning around to wrap my arms around his neck.
“You’ve got an awfully specific list of things we’re going to be doing. You know that all of this won’t happen after game one, right?” I look deep into his dark eyes and he continues to grin at me, his lips positively alluring.
“Babe, I’m definitely going to be fucking you hard after every single game,” he whispers before nipping my earlobe. I sigh and melt a little closer to him. This wild man of mine. He’s so perfect for me.
Game six of the series is a loss. A devastating loss. The Yankees won the first three games and now they are tied. Game seven will be the tiebreaker that determines who, in fact, will rule, bearing the 2014 World Series Champion ring. I sit in the owner’s box with Amalie, Libby, and Victoria. Not one of us gets up to leave, all of us wishing to avoid the reality that is outside the safety of this box. We know that when we get home to our men, there won’t be any warm kiss or laughter; there will be only heartache, anxiety, and an overwhelming amount of testosterone wrapped in anger.
“I really don’t want to go home. Do you know what I’m going to have to do tonight to get him in a better mood?” Victoria lets out a shaky laugh, looking straight ahead.
“Same thing we’ll all be doing, honey. Taking the verbal abuse and then trying to love them back to good for tomorrow,” Amalie says softly with a shrug.
“I probably won’t see Pete at all,” Libby whispers offhandedly. I pinch my brows together in confusion.
“Why wouldn’t you see him?” I ask. I want to know what ails Libby and I want to help her.
There is a depth to which her hurt descends that she doesn’t often show. Yet, when she does, I see it. It is so deep, it penetrates her soul. Something isn’t right with Libby and I know it – I can see it. I can feel it.
“Oh, he doesn’t take loss well. He’ll probably stay here at the gym all night and fight it out with a bag.” She looks away from me. I don’t miss the sadness in her eyes. Right now, she is open and vulnerable. I want to know more but, in spite of her vulnerability, Libby isn’t going to share her problems. That isn’t her.
Marcus, who has dubbed himself our group’s personal security guard, coughs at the doorway. He then jerks his head, telling us in his own way that it’s time for face our men. I can hear the Darth Vader Imperial March playing in the back of my mind. I don’t know how Jackson is going to react to the loss; the pressure of one more game, the fate of the championship in question.
The cab ride back to Jackson’s apartment is deathly quiet, for which I am grateful. But when I open the door to step out, I am bombarded with lights from the paparazzi. I was so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t even notice them as we pulled up. Since the series started, the press has been worse - constantly hounding me about the tape. Now they’re shouting questions about how the video is so obviously affecting the team, Jackson’s playing, and the entire state of New York. I want to curl into a ball and cry, but I don’t. I push my shoulders back and walk purposefully toward my apartment.
I won’t let them see me break.
I won’t let them see me cry.
The apartment is cold, dark, and foreboding as I enter. Taking a deep breath, I let the anguish from the game go. I want tomorrow to be over. I want the team to win and
I want to finally go to a victory party. I close my eyes and lean back against the closed door, thinking about the last time they won the series. I was still married to Sammy. It had been a horrible night for me.
Sammy told me there was a party and that he would pick me up at home after the game so he could take me with him. I hadn’t seen my friends since we had all gone to lunch together the first time Amalie came to see Jarrod play. I was excited to see Libby, Victoria, and Amalie again. I was hoping to get to know them better in, a more social atmosphere, where we weren’t half distracted by the guys’ game.
I hurried and dressed in my sexiest dress. I hadn’t gone anywhere at night in a while and I was excited to dress, instead of just wearing yoga pants and hanging out on the sofa. I put on more makeup than usual, curling my hair before I slipped into my highest high heels.
Then I waited for Sammy.
I waited for hours. At two in the morning, I gave up. I washed the makeup from my face and changed into my pajamas with tears streaming down my face.
It wasn’t the first or even fifth time that Sammy had forgotten me at home. I wanted to celebrate the victory with my husband and my friends. I was excited and I stayed awake until my eyes just wouldn’t stay open. I finally fell asleep around four in the morning and didn’t see Sammy until the next evening.
He hadn’t even apologized for standing me up. He just made excuses about how he went with the guys and got caught up in the night. He informed me that Jarrod announced Amalie’s pregnancy, which made the party go full force, and by the time he looked at his watch, it was after one in the morning. He assumed I just went to bed.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there. Have a bad day?” The cold voice coming from the living room growls, sending chills up my spine.
“What are you doing here?” I ask shakily. More importantly, how did he get past the security in the building and the alarm system? An alarm system, I’m not realizing, that has obviously been disarmed – only, I didn’t disarm it. I was too caught up in my thoughts of the past.
“Doesn’t matter. I have my ways. Your little boy toy isn’t doing what I want and he only has one more chance to do so. I would suggest you make him understand exactly what will happen if his team does not lose tomorrow night.” He stands and calmly walks over to me. I wrap my hand around the handle of the door, but he sees me. I know because his own hand wraps tightly around my wrist.
“If your fuck buddy doesn’t lose tomorrow. If he doesn’t throw that game, I will have you. I will take you and I will make you my fucking slave, do you understand me, slut?” Elliot’s other hand wraps around my throat and squeezes tightly, effectively cutting off my breath. With wide eyes, I nod my understanding. I’m not about to smart mouth this psycho asshole.
“You’re going to look so pretty on your knees, bruises littering your white flesh, my cock shoved down your throat. Please hide this little meeting from him so they’ll win and I can make you my fucktoy,” he breathes in my face. Then he licks the side of my neck, traveling all the way up to my cheek, before pushing me to the side. I fall down to the floor, my hip hitting the ground hard, sending a blast of pain down my leg and up my spine.
“Until next time,” he laughs coldly, opening the door as he leaves me in a pile on the floor. I rifle through my purse with shaky hands and grab my phone. I scroll through my contacts and find the name of the detective we met with, Detective Brody. I call him immediately.
“Brody,” he barks into the phone.
“This,” I take a deep breath, “this is Marguerite Rogers and Elliot Baker was just in Jackson’s apartment. He choked me and threatened me. It should all be on tape. Jackson’s had a surveillance system set up. I need to file a report against him,” I rasp, sounding so much stronger than I actually am.
“Hang tight, honey. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I hang up the phone and scoot on the floor until my back hits the wall, and then I wait. I wait for Jackson and I wait for Detective Brody. I try my hardest not to cry. I need to be strong - for Jackson, I need to be so fucking strong.
Minutes tick by and finally the doorknob jiggles and Jackson walks in. He flips the light on and looks around, for me, I assume. His eyes catch mine and go from lazy and soft to downright lethal. It should scare me the way his jaw tightens and his fists ball tightly at his side, but it doesn’t.
“What happened?” I don’t miss how his eyes flick away from mine to focus on my neck.
“Elliot was in the apartment when I got here. He - he choked me and he threatened me. I called Detective Brody. He should be here any minute,” I admit without reservation. Jackson’s body shivers and jolts before he falls to his knees in front of me and roughly pulls me into his chest.
“I didn’t protect you.” His voice is harsh and ragged and it breaks my heart.
“It isn’t your fault, baby,” I whisper to him, my fingers twisting in the soft material of his cotton shirt.
Jackson doesn’t say anything else because the knock on the door interrupts him. He slowly stands, pulling me with him. My hip aches, but I grin and bear it. I don’t want him to know that I’m hurt anywhere else.
“Brody,” Jackson grunts, opening the door and then leading me toward the sofa.
“I have a few officers out to pick him up, Maggie. He isn’t going to get away with this.”
I nod and close my eyes, willing myself to keep the tears at bay until after this is dealt with - until he leaves. Then and only then can I fall apart, safe in Jackson’s arms. I grab Jackson’s hand and intertwine my fingers with his. I need him to anchor me, to keep me whole and to keep me brave.
“You said you have surveillance footage?”
“I’ll go get it.” Jackson kisses my cheek and walks away to get the video.
“Everything will be on there - the threats, everything,” I explain as the detective nods.
“I thought you had a guy on her,” Jackson interrupts, handing Detective Brody the CD.
“We did. We do. He was on her, but nobody was here at the apartment. I could only get clearance to have one guy on the detail at a time. I chose to have him on her instead of on the apartment. I’m so fucking sorry this happened,” Brody admits, shaking his head. I nod in understanding but apparently that isn’t good enough for Jackson.
“You guys fucked up, man. I’m going to hire a private firm to keep an eye on her,” Jackson spits angrily.
“The threat is gone, Jackson. They’re going to be bringing him in now.”
Jackson nods but doesn’t commit to anything. He shakes the detective’s hand, who tells us that he will be in contact with us soon, before he escorts him out.
Without a word, Jackson locks the door and comes over to the sofa, picking me up and carrying me to his bed. Gently, he strips the clothes off of me and exhales as his eyes trail up and down my body. I want to tell him that I’m fine, that Elliot didn’t hurt me, not really. He may have scared me, and maybe I have a bruise or two, but I’m breathing and I’m with him, with Jackson.
“He hurt your thigh?” Jackson sounds tortured as his eyes fixate on my hip.
“I fell,” I confess, rising to my knees and placing my hands on his chest.
“He hurt you. You’re mine and he hurt you.” Jackson’s voice sounds pained, so fucking pained. It kills me.
“I’ll be okay, Jackson. I have a few bruises, but I’ll live and I’ll be living right here at your side.”
“Fuck yeah, you will be. You’re mine,” Jackson’s lips take mine in a bruising kiss. He continues to consume me, kissing each and every bruise on my skin. We spend the entire night enjoying each other’s bodies and he makes me come so many times, I almost pass out. The final game isn’t until later in the day, so we stay up well into the morning. When the phone rings, it wakes us up from our deep sleep.
“What?” Jackson cries. He sits straight up, fumbling for the remote control before he quickly turns on the television. He punches a few numbers, finding the statio
n he’s searching for. He hangs up the phone without a word and stares at the news channel. I look up and gasp at what I see.
Elliot is on television being hauled away from a gorgeous building in handcuffs.
“Top criminal defense attorney Elliot Baker is being arrested today for conspiracy and stalking, along with assault and breaking and entering charges. While police were searching his home, they found several cells in his basement. Three of the four cells contained abused women. Evidence points to Baker being involved in sex trafficking and human sexual slavery. The whole investigation is disturbing,” the pretty female news anchor says just as my stomach drops.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. Jackson doesn’t wait for more commentary before he clicks the television off and then his phone rings again.
“Lexington,” he says softly, still in shock and awe from what he has seen on television.
“Yeah. I saw. Okay. Keep me posted.” He hangs up and turns to me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders before he hauls me onto his lap.
“That was Brody. Elliot’s been arrested and will be arraigned. Brody’s confident that he will be held without an option of bail. Fuck, babe,” Jackson whispers into my hair. I nod, feeling numb.
“That could have been me in one of those cells,” I murmur, staring off into space.
“Never,” Jackson growls, gripping his hand in the back of my hair before twisting my neck so that I am facing him.
“I would never let another man take you from me. I’d fucking kill them all, slowly,” he rumbles and I gulp.
Jackson sears my lips with a hard kiss before he fucks me roughly, all the while reiterating the fact that I am indeed his. He needs this, so I let him have it. I want to give him what he needs just like I know he gives me what I need. We are desperate to rid our minds of the horror we just witnessed on the news and the cold, simple fact that it could have easily been me locked up in one of those cells.
Catching Maggie Page 20