After we arrived in the courtroom, we settled in two rows close to the front. We were a somber group as we waited in reverent silence. As part of my job I had been in court too many times to count, but this was the first time I had seen this level of support and unified strength for a victim.
We hadn’t been seated long when the bailiff asked us to rise for the judge. Once the judge was seated, he asked the prosecution to call their first witness.
“We call Ansley Marie Butler.”
Ansley slowly rose out of her chair. Her legs shook violently like a newborn colt’s. As she started down the row, everyone patted her on the back. Some bumped fists and some of the women reached out to hug her. When she got to me, I smiled and patted her back. Although words seemed totally inadequate in that moment, I bit back the tears as I whispered, “You’ve got this.”
After giving me a weak smile, she started up the aisle to the witness box. As she took the stand, I suddenly became overwhelmed with a flashback so intense that I began shaking in my seat. When I stared ahead, it was no longer Ansley raising her right hand to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth on the Bible.
Instead, I saw my nine-year-old self as I testified at the trial of the man who killed my father.
Feeling the bile rising in my throat, I clamped my hand over my mouth and bolted out of my seat. I ran down the aisle and burst through the courtroom doors. My gaze spun wildly around to find a restroom. When I saw the sign, I broke into a run. I barely made it into a stall before I emptied the contents of my stomach. Over and over again, I heaved until there was nothing left within me.
When I finally finished, I flushed the toilet and staggered out of the stall. I placed my palms on the sink basin and stared into the mirror. As I was transported back to that horrible place, tears overran my eyes, sending mascara-blackened tears down my cheeks.
The morning I was due in court, my mother had come into my room to dress me. She had put me in a simple black dress that had scratchy material and made my skin itch. My protests about the fabric fell on deaf ears as my mother brushed my hair. She swept it back on the sides with black barrettes. She ignored me once again when I protested that I wanted to wear my usual ponytail. That morning she seemed to be in an almost trancelike state of going through the motions. She didn’t talk to me or my brother or sister. We had exchanged looks among ourselves during the period of silence.
As I eased down onto the hard chair in the witness stand, I kept my head tucked to my chest. I didn’t dare look across to the defendant’s table. I knew if I did I would lose all my nerve, and I wouldn’t be able to give the carefully rehearsed answers that the prosecutor had gone over with me. Earlier that week, I had spent several miserable afternoons reliving in horrific detail the night of my father’s murder.
My stomach twisted tighter and tighter into knots as Mr. Greenly led me through the events of that night. I swallowed hard to keep down the bile rising in my throat. I didn’t want to do anything wrong, least of all throwing up. I knew everyone was counting on me to put Willie away. Most of all, I felt I couldn’t screw up because I owed it to my father to get him justice.
The questions seemed to go on and on. Finally, we got to the one I was dreading the most. Mr. Greenly approached the witness stand. He leaned on the railing and gave me a reassuring smile. “Samantha, is the man you saw shoot your father present in the courtroom today?”
When I stared into Mr. Greenly’s dark blue eyes, he nodded encouragingly. Slowly, I began turning my head to the defense table. All the while, I kept my gaze on my lap, staring at the silk handkerchief my mother had slipped into my hand right after they called my name. “He’s over there,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry, but I need you to repeat that,” Mr. Greenly said.
Raising a shaking hand, I pointed at the table. “He’s there.”
The defense attorney’s voice caused me to jump. “Your Honor, the witness has not visually identified my client.”
I pinched my eyes shut. My body trembled so hard my knee knocked the microphone stand, causing a loud screech to echo throughout the room.
“Samantha,” Mr. Greenly’s kind voice said.
“I can’t,” I murmured.
“Samantha, the court has to have you look at Mr. Bates in order for your testimony to be recorded.”
Tears of agony overflowed from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. With my eyes still shut, I pictured my father’s smiling face in front of me—the way his strong arms felt when he drew me in for a tight hug. And it was then I felt my father’s strength enveloping me.
I opened my eyes wide and stared at Willie. Sitting in a suit and tie, he looked much different from the way he had that night. But all I had to do was imagine him in the leather vest he had worn before, and there were no doubts.
As he sneered at me, I pulled my shoulders back and once again pointed at Willie. “Him. He’s the man who killed my father.”
I was jerked out of my flashback at the sound of the bathroom door flying open. “Sam?”
Lifting my head, I gazed at his reflection in the mirror. “Sorry. I just needed a minute.”
Bishop’s expression was filled with concern. He closed the gap between us and came to stand beside me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Sam. You just bolted from the courtroom, and I come in here and find you in tears.” He put his hands on my waist and turned me around to face him. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
I knew that I had two options. I could concoct an elaborate lie by saying that seeing Ansley had brought back memories of a young girl I had seen murdered. Or I could tell him the truth about my father—or at least the version that wouldn’t out me as an agent.
In the end, it was a no-brainer. I chose the second. “You know how my father died when I was eight?”
“Yeah,” Bishop replied.
“Well, he didn’t just die. He was murdered by a biker named Willie Bates.”
Bishop’s blue eyes widened. “Go on.”
Leaning back against the sink, I told him everything about that night. Then I told him about having to testify at the trial. “When Ansley took the stand, it sent me reeling with a flashback. I had to get out of there.”
Bishop drew me into his strong arms. His hands ran along my back. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he murmured into my ear.
It meant so much to have Bishop’s sympathy, because he knew what it was like to lose a loved one to a violent death. A quiet “Thanks” left my lips, but no other words seemed adequate.
He pulled back to look me in the eye. “Now it all makes sense about the way you felt about bikers. It went deeper than just what happened to Marley.”
“Yes. It does.”
“No one should have to go through what you did as a kid.” Bishop’s hands came to cup my cheeks. “If I could take the pain and hurt away from you, I would.”
Tears pooled in my eyes at his kind words, and I knew he was sincere about taking away my pain. Once again, he was such a paradox of appearing so tough outside and being so tender on the inside. Words seemed inadequate to express my gratitude. All I could murmur was “You really are the sweetest man I know.”
When Bishop started to bring his lips to mine, I brought my hand up to stop him. “Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”
“You get sick or something?”
“Oh yeah. Big-time.”
He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
“What about Rev?”
“I’ll tell him you need to get back.”
“But then he’ll have to ride by himself.”
Bishop chuckled. “He’s a big boy, Sam. He can make it home on his own. He rode all the way to Virginia in the middle of December by himself.”
“What in the hell would possess him to do that?”
“He was going to tell Annabel he loved her.”
“Damn, that’s romantic,” I mu
sed.
“Yeah, Rev’s a deep guy. He’s a hell of a lot more romantic than I’ll ever be.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”
He cocked his eyebrows at me. “You got some crazy feat in mind to make me prove myself?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t always have to be grand gestures. What you just did was pretty romantic.”
Bishop gave me a skeptical look. “I just came to look for you. I’d hardly call that really exceptional.”
“But you cared enough to be worried about me, and you came into the women’s bathroom to make sure I was all right.”
“Oh Jesus, I hadn’t even thought of that. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I laughed as I let him drag me by the hand out the door. “I hate that I didn’t get to say good-bye to Ansley.”
“Don’t worry. She has plenty of support at the moment. Maybe I can get her address and you can send a card or something.”
Once again, I was touched by his compassion. “Thanks. I would like that.”
As we pushed through the plate-glass door, Bishop said, “I just can’t wait for that piece of shit to go to prison. He’ll get tortured in there for being a kiddie rapist.”
“You and me both.”
We spent the rest of the walk to the bikes in silence. When Bishop handed me my helmet, I said, “Thanks.”
“It’s just a helmet.”
I smiled. “No. I mean, thanks for bringing me here today and letting me be a part of what you guys were doing.”
“You’re welcome. And I was glad to have you along.” He planted a soft kiss on my lips. “I always like having you with me.”
“And I like being with you,” I replied. It was the truth. Regardless of the reasons why I had originally started hanging out with Bishop, I genuinely enjoyed his company. At first it had been more about friendship and now it was growing into something much more serious. Although I knew we were on dangerous ground, I didn’t want to worry about it. I just wanted to enjoy the moment.
But in the back of my mind, I knew my secrets couldn’t stay buried forever. You could live a double life of lies for only so long before it caught up with you and you had to pay the consequences.
I just never imagined how hard that would be.
When we got home, I was physically and emotionally wiped. On the ride home, I’d had too much time to relive painful memories from the past of my father and some of Gavin. While I knew I should head on home, I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day alone. Part of me argued that I should go in to work. That at the very least I needed to talk to Peterson about what I had learned so far about the Raiders.
As if he sensed the way I was feeling low, Bishop said, “Why don’t you hang around for a while? Stay the night. You can always get up early in the morning to go home before work.”
Normally, I would have been determined to deal with my problems on my own and not to rely on anyone else to get me through. But I didn’t do that. Instead, I kissed Bishop. “Thank you. I’d really like to stay.”
He smiled. “Good.”
“You’ll let me know when you get sick of me, won’t you?”
“I doubt that will ever happen, but if it does, I’ll be sure to let you know.” As he unlocked the front door, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
“I thought you didn’t have anything in the house to eat?”
“I don’t. But I’ll see if Mama Beth does.”
I laughed. “I think I’ll pass for now. I really just want to take a hot shower and then go to bed.” Bishop didn’t argue with me that it was only one in the afternoon. Instead, he just nodded.
Without another word to him, I cut through the bedroom and into the bathroom. After turning on the water, I stripped out of my clothes and dipped inside. The emotions of the day soon overwhelmed me. Placing my arms on the tile, I buried my head in the backs of my hands and sobbed.
The sound of the shower curtain opening startled me, and I whirled around. Bishop stepped into the shower. Swiping the tears away, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Getting clean. What does it look like I’m doing?” He picked up the bar of soap and started scrubbing himself for good measure.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend so I can save face.”
“I’m just here taking a shower.” He stared pointedly at me. “Unless you want to talk.”
Bringing my hands to my face, I moaned, “God, I hate myself for feeling this way.” As I peeked at him through my fingers, I added, “I hate letting you see me this way.”
Bishop drew me against his chest. “Don’t ever feel that way, Sam. I’m here for you no matter what. Today was a bad day for you. It triggered a lot of long-buried emotions. I totally get that, and I totally get you having some meltdowns today.”
I rested my chin on his shoulder as I rubbed my hands along his broad back. “Even though I don’t want to believe you, deep down I know that you mean every word you say.”
“I do mean it.” He dipped his head to where his breath warmed against my ear. “Now, why don’t you let me take care of you for a little while?”
“Okay. I can try.”
Bishop turned me around to face the showerhead. When he started sweeping the bar of soap over my skin, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you, like I said.”
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Instead of continuing to protest, I pinched my lips shut and just enjoyed what Bishop was doing. It felt so intimate having his hands over my body in not just a sexual way. There was tenderness and care in the way he soaped me up. He took the time to massage my shoulders, and he planted tender kisses along my neck before he washed me there. I’d never had a man take care of me before. Of course, I’d never really wanted or allowed one to. But something about Bishop made me want to give up a little control. He made it easy to want to give in to him, since he was so attentive to my needs both in and out of the bedroom.
Once he had finished soaping me up, he took the showerhead off and rinsed me. When he stopped for a moment, I thought he was done, but he was lathering up his hands with shampoo. “Sorry that you’re probably going to smell like a man with this soap and shampoo. I don’t have anything feminine around here.”
I laughed. “It’s okay. I want to smell like you.”
When he finished rinsing my hair, I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him against the shower wall. Looking him in the eyes, I slid down his body until I was on my knees before him.
“Sam, what are you doing?”
“Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” I took his cock in my hand and began to slowly pump up and down. It quickly came to life, growing and swelling in my hand. Darting my tongue out, I licked and teased along the head. Bishop watched me with hooded eyes.
When I sucked the head into my mouth, he groaned, and his head fell back against the tile. I sucked him harder and faster, taking him deeper and deeper each time. His hands came to tangle in the strands of my hair. “Oh fuck, Sam,” he murmured.
As I continued working him with my mouth, I brought my free hand up to cup his balls. At my gentle tug, he hissed and banged his head against the wall. When I felt them tightening in my hands, I knew he was close to coming.
When he tried to pull me away, I shook my head.
“You gotta stop, or I’m going to come.”
I let him momentarily fall free of my mouth, but I kept pumping him with my hand. “But I want you to come. I want to taste you.”
“Fuck me,” he muttered as his eyes flared.
He didn’t argue with me anymore, which was good because I wouldn’t have listened to him. I wanted to give him physically what he had given to me emotionally. Once again, I slid him into my mouth, my teeth slightly grazing him.
“Sam!” he cried as he found his release.
I lifted my eyes to watch him come. He was so beautiful and sexy when he did. When he was finished, I licked him clean.
Bishop leaned down and helped me up. “I really like the way you take care of me.”
I grinned. “You’re very welcome. I was glad to repay the favor.”
“I’d like to pay some favors to you now,” he said as his hand came between my legs.
I sucked in a breath. “But we were even,” I protested.
“Do we really have to keep score?” he asked as his breath scorched the skin along my neck.
“I guess not.”
He bent down to grab my calf before bringing my foot to rest on the faucet. “You should know by now I don’t play fair.” He then sank to his knees before me.
“No. You don’t.” When his mouth dipped between my legs, I gasped. “But you sure know how to play.”
No man had ever gone down on me like Bishop. He had a true oral gift. This time he had me arching my hips and crying out his name without even using his fingers. His tongue was masterful in the way it was able to be soft and hard and gentle and forceful almost all at once.
After I came, I eased him up off the shower floor. I wanted him inside me as soon as possible, and I was glad to see his cock was already at half-mast again. “Take me now,” I pleaded.
“Jesus, I love it when you beg.” Bishop bent down to slide his arm behind my knees; then he swept me up into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Taking you to my bed.”
“That’ll be a first for us,” I mused. After the many times we had been together over the last few days, we had yet to have sex in a bed. Last night, we had ended up on the floor of the living room after starting out on the couch. I had slept with him in his bed last night, but that was after we had already exhausted each other.
Bishop gently laid me out on top of the comforter. He stared down at me with both tenderness and obvious hunger. I spread my legs wide before him, urging him to take me. He groaned before turning to dig a condom out of the nightstand. Once he had it on, he covered me with his body.