10. Grace
10
GRACE
I bounced my knee in Judge Dixon’s conference room adjacent to his office, looking out at the fog masking Boston’s skyline. The heavy tick of the wall clock marked each second I waited to face my destiny.
One week had passed since I caught Carl Dixon attempting to rape Andie, and the weight of that night and every other problem in my life weighed heavily on me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
My lawyer, Kelton Maxwell, paced on the other side of the room, phone pressed to his ear as he dished out commands to his assistant. He assured me there was a ninety percent chance I wouldn’t see the inside of a jail cell, but the remaining ten percent gnawed at my gut. At minimum, I would pay a fine for discharging my weapon in a residential neighborhood. A small price to pay, really. I would do it again in a heartbeat to protect Andie or any other woman.
I shuddered where I sat. The past week had been hell. Nightmares jolted me awake with scenes from my past. I still had the eerie feeling that someone was watching me, but as much as I was on high alert, no one was there. I swore I was going crazy. It had to be the nightmares playing tricks on me. So much so that my nerves were on edge, causing me to drop things at work, and I could barely focus on my social theory and inequality classes. Three months away from graduating two semesters early, and now everything I’d worked tirelessly for hung by a thread.
It’s your fault , that adult voice in my head taunted. You could’ve fought him off harder than you did. You have the training to do that.
My cell vibrated on the table as I scolded myself. Fran’s name lit up the screen. I’d missed her call yesterday, and I had yet to respond. After a quick glance at Kelton, who was still absorbed in a discussion on his phone, I tapped on the accept button.
“Hey,” I said softly to Fran. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. I only have a few minutes.”
“This won’t take long,” Fran said, her voice bright. “I have extra tickets to the scholarship banquet this Thursday night. Maybe you could come with my dad?”
Despite everything going on in my world, I smiled. Fran, ever the matchmaker, had dropped hints about the chemistry between her dad and me at our last Thanksgiving dinner. As much as my crush seemed to flourish after being in his arms the other night and his intimate words to me at the gym, Brian would never risk his friendship with Duke. Maybe it was for the best. I had to work out my own problems anyway.
“Are you trying to set us up?” I teased, trying to keep my voice light.
She giggled. “You two have chemistry, Grace. It’s not hard to see.”
I begged to differ. Duke hadn’t seen it until the other night. Or maybe he had but kept his thoughts about Brian and me to himself. After all, Duke knew that Brian wouldn’t touch me.
Why the hell were there rules about friendships? Screw the rules , the rebel in me thought.
“Let’s focus on the banquet,” I deflected. “Between work and school, I’m not sure I can make it.” I couldn’t tell her the real reason—I might be in jail. She worried enough about her father’s criminal past. “Is your dad in Boston permanently now? I know he returned to Nashville to finalize the sale of the restaurant.”
“He drove in early this morning. But Grace…” Her voice dropped. “Do you know anything about him working for the cartel again? He hired a bodyguard to protect me.”
My stomach clenched. Duke had done the same for me, claiming I needed protection because he thought I was being followed.
“No, I don’t.” My voice trailed off as I tried to figure out if there was a connection between both Brian and Duke hiring bodyguards. Maybe one of their former enemies was watching Fran and me. “If I hear something, I’ll let you know.”
After I agreed to get back to her about the banquet, we hung up. My thoughts continued to spiral. Was Brian returning to Boston to pick up his drug empire again?
I didn’t get the chance to dive deeper into the question. Kelton settled into the chair beside me, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
“The judge and his son will be here momentarily.” His blue eyes fixed on me with laser focus. “Three things, Grace, and I want no resistance from you. One, no outbursts. Any on your part won’t help your case. Two, answer Judge Dixon’s questions professionally. Three, do not engage with Carl. Are we clear?”
I would have laughed if it weren’t for the way he was glaring daggers at me. He knew the Harts well enough to expect trouble. He’d represented Denim, Duke, and now me.
“Crystal.”
The door squeaked open, and in waltzed Judge Dixon, followed by his son, Carl, who was hobbling on crutches.
My jaw clenched at the sight of him. Bastard. Regardless, I schooled my expression, sitting up straight. The bullet wound in his leg would serve as a permanent reminder of his actions, though right now, his cheeky grin suggested he thought he’d gotten away with attempted rape.
Kelton rose to shake hands with the judge while Carl awkwardly lowered himself into the chair across from me then propped his crutches against the table.
I dug my nails into my palms, fighting the urge to wipe that smirk off his face. I had to stay calm, not because Kelton ordered me to but because this meeting would determine my future, my freedom, and most importantly, justice for Andie.
Whether the latter happened or not, Andie was doing better, thanks to Sela, the shelter’s psychologist. However, before I walked out of here today, I needed to ensure Carl would own up to his actions and give her a genuine apology. She deserved that much, at minimum.
Judge Dixon, who had thinning dark hair and bags beneath his eyes, settled in his chair next to his son.
Suddenly, the tension skyrocketed, especially when the judge studied me. He had a look that seemed to question how I dared to have shot his son.
I met his stare head-on, no matter how much my nerves were making me sweat.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Kelton said, his voice steady and professional. “I’m sure all of us want to resolve this case without going to court. My client will cooperate fully regarding her actions.” He opened a folder with deliberate care, as if the papers inside held secrets. “If I may, Judge, I would like to ask your son a few questions.”
The judge gave Kelton a nod.
“Carl, did you add Rohypnol to Andie Baker’s drink?” Kelton’s question was sharp, as though his words could cut ice.
Carl kept his narrowed gaze on me. “No, I did not.”
I supposed that anyone at that party could’ve spiked Andie’s drink. Regardless, his answer didn’t absolve him of what had happened next.
“Did you know that Ms. Baker had been drugged?” Kelton pressed on.
“I thought she was drunk.” Carl’s casual tone made my blood boil.
“So you took advantage of a woman who wasn’t coherent?” The words burst out before I could stop them. “That’s just as bad as drugging her.”
Kelton held up his hand to me. “Grace.”
I forced myself to sit back in my chair and clasped my hands in my lap. Otherwise, I was tempted to give Carl two black eyes.
“Did Andrea Baker give her consent to have sex with you?” Kelton asked.
Andie should be here, although she wouldn’t be able to confirm anything other than Carl taking her into a bedroom. Not only that, I was the one in the hot seat for what I’d done. If Andie wanted to pursue charges against Carl, she would have to make that happen. As it stood, she didn’t have enough evidence.
Silence closed in, and I felt like I was about to be crushed between two stone walls.
“She was all over me,” Carl replied.
“It’s a yes-or-no question,” the judge tossed out.
“I’m not the one on trial here,” Carl complained to his dad.
Steam practically rolled off the judge. “If you’re innocent, then you shouldn’t be deflecting. Now answer Mr. Maxwell’s question.”
Kelton regarded Judge Dixon. “Do we need to have a court recorder in here?”
Judge Dixon fidgeted in his seat. “We agreed not to. But if my son doesn’t cooperate, then we?—”
“Fine,” Carl snapped. “No, Andie did not give me her consent.”
I slumped in my chair, the air whooshing out of my lungs. Finally, the truth would set him free, and maybe me as well.
“But I didn’t have sex with her,” Carl was quick to add.
“Thanks to me,” I said under my breath.
Memories of him on top of Andie made me want to puke.
The judge and Kelton both glared at me.
The judge opened a leather folio. “Ms. Hart, instead of shooting my son, why didn’t you go for help?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “If I had left that room, he would’ve penetrated Andie. If I had screamed, no one would’ve heard me because the music was too loud.” I touched my face where the bruises were fading. “I tried to tackle him, and this is the result.”
Taking a deep breath, I continued, “Whether this helps my case or not, I was the one who called the ambulance. But in my experience, there is no stopping a man with alcohol or drugs in his system who is dead set on having sex.” Memories of my past bombarded me. “I’ve seen men like Carl before. The man who bought me put a bullet in a client’s head because he wouldn’t get off one of the girls.”
The silence that followed was deafening. One tear escaped before I could stop it. “If you want to send me to jail, Judge Dixon, go right ahead. I’ll take my punishment. Will Carl?”
Carl’s face was blank.
The adrenaline was charging through me at warp speed as my pulse raced like a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Even as I sat there, I wanted to punch Carl’s lights out.
“As wrong as my son’s actions were, you could’ve killed him.”
Little did the judge know that if I had wanted to kill Carl, I would have. But I kept that to myself.
Kelton cleared his throat. “Sir, my client exhausted all options before taking action. When she told your son to get off Ms. Baker, his response was, ‘Fuck off. Or maybe you want to join us. Though I could fuck both of you with this.’” He paused, jaw tight. “Referring to this as his erect penis.”
Judge Dixon turned to his son with glacial slowness, his face darkening to a dangerous shade of red. “Is this true? And don’t think to lie to me.”
Carl’s complexion was stark white. “Yes, sir.”
Kelton closed the folder. “Judge, you wanted to keep this case out of court to protect your reputation and that of your son’s. I propose the following—my client’s concealed carry permit will be permanently revoked.”
What the fuck?
As if Kelton knew how I felt, he gave me a “don’t you dare argue with me” look. “Also, she’ll pay a penalty for discharging her weapon in a residential neighborhood. As far as your son is concerned, he will deliver a heartfelt apology to Ms. Baker.” His voice hardened. “Additionally, I’m opening an investigation into Omega House. As an alumni of BU and a board member, I will make it my mission to shut down every fraternity house if necessary to prevent another incident like this.”
Pride in my lawyer warred with frustration over losing my permit. Lives were definitely more important than a gun. But I needed to speak up, not just for myself but for every woman—in the past, present, and future—who found herself in a situation like mine or Andie’s.
“May I say something, please?”
The judge nodded, his expression guarded but attentive.
“I spent four years in a sex-trafficking ring, enslaved to the man who purchased me.” The words tasted bitter, but as much as I wanted to put those memories behind me, it was useless. They would always be part of who I was. “I know what it’s like to get raped, to watch men force themselves on young girls. Women don’t recover easily from that type of trauma. The bullet was only meant to stop Carl. I know it wasn’t the best solution. But as Kelton said, we need to prevent any more incidents on all campuses across the country.”
“What do you propose?” Judge Dixon asked with genuine interest.
“My brother Dillon owns the Hart of Hope Shelter. We distribute special nail polish that can detect date-rape drugs.” I sat up taller. “I recommend including the nail polish in all incoming freshman orientation packets and making it readily available to every woman on campus.” My gaze shifted to Carl. “If you’re truly going into politics, I suggest you take on this issue as your first priority and start to ensure women are protected from men like you.”
The judge flashed his dark eyes at Kelton. “I accept your terms. Ms. Hart’s concealed carry permit will be revoked immediately, and she’ll pay a five-hundred-dollar fine for discharging her weapon. As far as the investigation into Omega House, I’ll leave that to you, and my son will be at your disposal to assist. If you find anything to prosecute, I’ll make sure I’m the presiding judge.”
Then the judge finally addressed his son, his expression stern and unyielding. “Carl, you will apologize to Ms. Baker, and it will be sincere. If I hear otherwise, I’ll cut you off from your trust. In addition, you will assist Mr. Maxwell in his investigation. I want you leading the charge to stop and prevent incidents like this. Is that understood?”
Carl’s lips thinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The judge stood. “This meeting is over, and I don’t want to see you again, Ms. Hart.”
The feeling was mutual. Though losing my permit stung, it beat jail time. I had other ways to protect myself, and more importantly, the bullet in Carl’s leg would ideally serve as a reminder of his actions. If it didn’t stop him from attempting to rape another woman, I would find another way to handle him.
Rising from my chair, I felt lighter. One crisis down, and now I could focus on my problems—my classes, my complicated feelings for Brian that were slowly blooming, and the growing suspicion that I was being followed. The question remained, though—who was following me? Or was it paranoia that was all in my head?