Chapter Thirty-Two
Three weeks later
Elle sat on the hard, wooden bench in the courtroom, turning her engagement ring around and around. She’d not been able to eat much for the past week thanks to her anxiety about this hearing, so the ring was loose, as were most of her clothes. Ross sat next to her, dressed up for the occasion and looking incredible in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie. The place was filled with her friends from Fitzgerald Brewing, all there for moral support on this day when it would be decided if she had to stand trial for manslaughter.
After an hour, it seemed as though things would go her way. Austin’s lawyer had spent the last week with her, going over her life in detail—as much as she would give—to establish that she was neither insane nor murderous. He’d called Evelyn to the stand, which was awful and made both Austin’s and Ross’ faces bright red when she told the story of how the asshole Tim attacked her in her office in front of the baby and was about to rape her when Elle had blown his useless brains out.
He’d interviewed Melody about that day as well, so she could testify regarding Tim’s general demeanor and his past, inappropriate activities in the pub, hitting on women then getting angry when they rejected him. Bryan, fully recovered and content in his role as cellar man, told his story—how he’d tried to ask her out and had taken her rejection in stride but had noticed Tim being rude to her face, and talking about her behind her back.
By the end of the long day of testimony, a clear picture of Tim as a sexist, predatory, angry man had been established, as well as Elle’s as the innocent victim who only agreed to file the harassment report at Evelyn’s insistence.
Elle spoke last. Melody and Evelyn had helped her buy a decent, navy blue suit for the event, with mid-high heels and a pair of pearl earrings so she felt physically ready for it. But inside she was a mess. Sweaty under the suit, breathless with terror, horrified that she’d even done it.
But the lawyer—Jack Galyan was his name—had prepared her well and she answered his questions calmly, in a clear voice. Yes, she was licensed to carry the gun. Her credentials were presented. No, she had never shot anyone or anything ever before. Her non-existent criminal record was shown. Yes, she suspected something when she’d pulled it out of her locker but she’d been convinced Tim would come for her on her way out of the brewery, which is why she’d been keeping the weapon at work.
No, she had no idea he’d go for Evelyn, but something had made her go back up the metal steps to the office overlooking the brewery that night. Partly intuition, but mostly the loud shout that only she had heard. And she’d seen them, Evelyn with her blouse ripped off, her skirt hiked up to her waist and that horrible man, fumbling with himself, while the child screamed from her the carrier on the table right next to her mother. She’d reacted on instinct. And now, he was dead and both Evelyn and the baby were safe.
“Thank you, Miss Nagel,” Jack Galyan said, his dark brown eyes full of sympathy. “That’s all, Your Honor,” he said to the judge.
“You may step down, Miss Nagel,” the judge said to her. She’d made her way across the expanse of marble floor and was almost back to Ross’ side when the door at the back of the courtroom opened with a loud bang.
“May it please the court,” a voice boomed into the high-ceilinged room. “I call a witness on behalf of the victim, Mr. Timothy Harris.”
The judge frowned and banged his gavel to calm the crowd. Elle stood stock still, confused by the interruption. The strange man who’d walked in to declare the witness looked at her, then over his shoulder. That’s when she saw him.
The Monster.
He was here, in the courtroom, standing tall and slim and smug, dressed in a coal-black suit, shiny black shoes and open collar shirt. His long nose, thin lips and slicked-back hair were all the same. His gaze darted around the room, seeking her, she knew.
Nolan Blanchard.
Her tormenter.
Memories flooded her brain, making her sway on her feet. Bile burned her throat. The myriad injuries he’d done to her body all flamed hot, most especially on her ass, where his initials were etched into her flesh. She put a hand to her throat. When their eyes met, his nostrils flared as if he smelled something rancid. She dropped her gaze to the floor and nearly fell to her knees in the sort of sick, Pavlovian way he’d trained into her. But Ross was there, holding her up and helping her back to her seat.
The crowd around and behind her, her friends, all muttered as one, “Is that him? Is that him? Is that Him?”
She pressed her face into Ross’ shoulder, hearing the rumbling in his chest, indicating he was speaking. But she could no longer make out words. She kept her face averted the entire time the attorney argued with the judge and demanded that his witness be heard. It had direct bearing on the proceedings, he insisted.
Finally, the judge allowed it. She felt Ross stiffen beside her. Saw his right hand curl into a tight fist. She put her palm on it, but kept her gaze away from the front as Nolan Blanchard was called as witness for Timothy Harris, the deceased.
After being sworn in, he began to speak. His voice shot a spike of ice straight into her soul. It was thin, presumptive, bossy in the way only the French can be. He was leaning heavily on his accent, she could tell.
By the end of his testimony, the judge called both lawyers to the bench, then excused the witness. Nolan stood, shot his cuffs, sneered at the room in general, and made his slow way out of the witness box and across the floor. When he reached the bench where she sat with Ross on one side and Evelyn on the other, he stopped.
“I am disappointed in you, Elisa,” he said in a low tone. “But I suppose you think you’ve landed well.” He sniffed, indicating his general opinion of Ross. She gripped Ross’ hands to keep him from reacting but he was pulling against her and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him back for long.
“Move along,” a voice said from the bench behind her. Brock, she thought. “If you know what’s good for you.”
Nolan buttoned his jacket and glared disparagingly at the gathered group. “We will meet again soon,” he whispered to her. The sound of his voice curled up in her head, embedding in her brain, and bringing forth a scream from her throat before she could stop it.
“Go,” she yelled, standing up and clambering over Ross’ knees to get at him. “Get the fuck away from me, you god damned monster!”
Nolan stepped back, with a fake expression of fear on his face. He glanced at the judge, shrugged in a ‘I told you she was a crazy bitch’ way, then smiled at her. That tore it. Everything she’d been holding back for a decade—the memories, the humiliation, the filth, the pain and the final betrayal all rushed up from the soles of her feet, into her chest and burst across her brain like fireworks.
“You can’t have me, Nolan,” she said, moving close to him and shaking Ross’ hand off her arm. She stood, glaring up at him, directly into the eyes she’d been trained defer to, to look away from out of ‘respect’ for his dominance over her. “You are not a real man. You only pretended to be. But I got away from you, in more ways than one. I’m free of you. And that’s making you crazy, isn’t it, you fucking asshole. I have a real man with me now.” Her voice kept rising, clanging around in the cavernous space.
“Miss Nagel,” the judge warned. “One more outburst and I’m holding you in contempt of court.”
“I told you she was unstable, Your Honor,” Nolan said in an apologetic tone.
“You can stop talking too, Mr. Blanchard.” The judge glared at him. She hoped lawyer Jack had filled the good judge in on how, exactly, Mr. Blanchard knew her.
Nolan turned to her, his eyes snapping with fury. But for the first time since she’d met him and he’d seduced her so he could later hold her hostage in mind and body for his own sick pleasures, she didn’t drop her gaze. “You have lost, Nolan,” she said, keeping her voice light and conversational. “Now that you’re here, I’m going to blow your little sick life right out of the water, do you understand me?”
In a flash, he grabbed her wrist, bruising her almost instantly and making her yelp in pain. “You always were a useless bitch,” he hissed. She sensed the crowd around her rising, reaching for them.
In a slight trance, she raised her other hand and slapped him, hard, twice, then again for good measure. Before she could do anything else, Ross lunged past her, had Nolan pinned to the floor, and was pounding his face into a bloody pulp.
“Ross,” she screeched, trying to pull him off. But arms were around her, pulling her back from the ugly scene.
The judge hammered on his desk so hard his gavel broke. Brock and Austin dragged Ross off the now inert form of Nolan Blanchard. The other lawyer was screaming about more lawsuits. The bailiff had her by her arms and wrestled her out of a door next to the judge’s bench as she screamed Ross’ name over and over again.