Chapter 11 – Lauren
Chapter
Eleven
LAUREN
W hen I wake up the next day, a package has been pushed through my mailbox, delivered by courier. I open the padded manila envelope, and a SIM card falls out, along with a typed note from Jax, advising me on how to be careful with my digital footprint and telling me to insert the SIM into my phone. It will, apparently, be the same phone number, but unhackable. I don’t understand the details, but I trust Jax enough to do as he asks. The smiley face he drew at the bottom of the page makes me laugh.
Today is Saturday, and I’m meeting Samantha at a health club between her house in the country and my apartment in the city. We’re calling it work, but I’m not sure if it counts if you do it in bathrobes while sipping cucumber water. As I do my face before heading out to Surrey, I notice the bite mark on my shoulder, and a little tremor of desire flutters through me at the memory of the man who marked me. Even if it never happens again, I’ll never forget the thrill of last night. The primal way he took me, the delicious threat in his voice when he told me he could hunt me down any time he wanted. Everything about it, including my war wound, was sensational. I apply foundation over the bite, feeling like a teenager with a hickey, and hope I remember to keep my robe collar pulled high.
I find Sam already in her robe by the time I arrive, sitting at a table by the window in the restaurant. After getting changed, I join her, and we decide to order a light lunch and dive into the work part of the day first. I fill her in on our current cases, and together we come up with strategies and update our action points. She’s still only working one day a week and plans to keep it to four after her maternity leave ends. I can’t help thinking, though, that a part-time Samantha is worth a full-time anyone else. She has a laser-like ability to see through bullshit and cut to the heart of cases, and her passion for helping her clients is undiminished by motherhood, marriage, or any of the other demands on her time. I don’t have all the gory details, but I do know she was previously married to a man who abused her and eventually tried to kill her. I’m sure that left its scars, but she has taken the pain and turned it into a mission in our family law practice.
After a couple hours of discussion and note-taking, we’ve managed to get through the whole stack of case files we brought with us. They’re in a giant heap under our table, ready to be put back into my rolling briefcase. I remember what Alejandro said about the women’s shelter being hacked and ask Sam if Donovan, Cook, and Hayes will ever go paperless.
“I like the idea,” she says, poking the pile with her bare toe. “Now I’ve got Max, I’m a lot more interested in saving the planet. And yes, we have started to digitize some of the files, closed cases in particular. When it comes to the ongoing ones, though, so far we’ve stuck to doing it the old-fashioned way. Why do you ask?”
“Paranoia about being hacked,” I say honestly. “There’s a situation with my family back in the States. I should probably tell you about it.”
“Go for it. I’m a captive audience.”
I plunge right in and give her the abridged history of the Montoyas, who thankfully she at least hasn’t heard of. She looks surprised but unfazed when I share my family highlight reel and fill her in on the recent cyberattack.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my family years ago, Sam. I thought you’d be more shocked.”
She laughs. “My life so far has taught me to never be shocked at anything, Lauren, and as for telling me years ago—we were kids. We were at uni. We were all trying to reinvent ourselves to some degree or another, weren’t we? And look, I get it. I grew up around Archangel when it was a lot less civilized than it is now. Talking of which, you should speak to my dad and Gabriel about all of this. I’m sure they can help. I warn you, though, they do have a tendency to overreact to the smallest threat.”
“I was planning on speaking to them, yeah. I feel better for sharing it with you, anyway. I’m sure it’ll come to nothing, but…”
“You never know?”
“Exactly.”
“Right,” exclaims Sam, tightening the belt of her robe. “That’s that sorted. Let’s stow these and get our Jacuzzi on. I feel guilty when I have too much time away from the boys, but the fact that we’ve worked as well means I’m allowed to sauna myself silly for the rest of the day. Ah, pure bliss.”
We make our way around the spa circuit, getting thoroughly warmed, cooled, and steamed as we go. We finish off on heated beds at the side of the swimming pool, luxuriating in the warmth seeping through our skin.
“I know we’re supposed to have finished work, but I wondered how the Volkov case is going?”
I blow out a puff of air. “Not going to lie, it’s a tough one. There’s no doubt at all in my mind about the way that woman has been treated, but the problem is going to be proving it. None of his staff will breathe a word because they’re all too scared, and he made sure she doesn’t have friends.”
“Of course he did,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Have you spoken to her about diary keeping and safe evidence gathering going forward?” I nod and assure her that I have. As much as it breaks my heart to think of her there in that terrifying environment, the more proof Caroline can collect of the abuse, the better. The balance is making sure she and Nicky stay safe while she does it. Plus, she hasn’t made her mind up completely about what she wants to do next—I suspect part of her is simply hoping things improve despite knowing they won’t.
“How many cases do you think you’ve handled that have the same storyline as this one?” Sam asks. “Maybe not as dramatic, but basically the same. Ten? A hundred? A thousand?” I’m not sure she needs an answer, and I’m right. “I just… I get so sad and so angry, you know? So many of these women are sucked in by the surface charm, by the promise of a happy ending. By the attention they’re showered with at the beginning. For ages after what happened to me, I thought I was weak. I thought I did something to attract him, my ex-husband. I even managed to convince myself that it was my fault—that something about me screamed victim and pulled him in. But is it so wrong to want love? To trust? To believe the fairy tale could come true?”
I reach out and touch her hand. “Of course it isn’t. And it wasn’t your fault—I’ll say that even though you now know it. We can’t say these things enough—it was not your fault. Anyway, the fairy tale can definitely come true. Look at you and Gabriel.” She blushes, and her smile leaves no doubt that she’s found her happy ending in every way possible.
“Can I ask you something, Sam? If it’s too personal, just say so, I won’t mind.”
“I won’t know until you ask,” she says. “Go for it.”
“Okay. I was wondering… After what you went through with your ex, how did you feel about, uh, well, about sex? Was it hard to overcome the ghosts of the past? Were you so traumatized that it was an issue for you?”
She sits up, and I get the feeling she can read my mind. “I’m happy to discuss that with you, if you can explain why you want to know. Personal goes both ways, and I’ve learned to be careful with myself when it comes to Jackson and everything he did to me.”
I take a deep breath. Time to be a big girl now, Lauren. “Fair enough. I won’t go into all the details, but last year I was kidnapped and assaulted by a group of men in Florida. I was representing one of their wives, and they decided the best way to deal with the situation was to hold me hostage in a cabin out in the boondocks. I was there for three days, and it was… Well, it was as bad as you can imagine. After that, I was determined not to let them win. Determined not to let it destroy my life, to define me, you know?”
She nods firmly. “I do know. And I’m sorry, Lauren. I’m so sorry that happened to you. To answer your question, yes. I did have a lot of hang-ups. Until I met Gabriel, obviously, who I’ve basically been in love with since I was a child. It’s not always been easy, navigating our way through both our pasts, both our problems, but I have to say… sex is definitely not one of those problems.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. Anyone can see how hot those two are for each other; it’s pretty much written on their faces in neon letters every time they’re together. “What about you, Lauren? How has it been for you since then?”
“Fine. Good. Okay. I mean, I’ve carried on dating. Not all men are kidnapping assholes, and I’ve had a lot of fun. I was married, briefly, before Florida, and the sex with him was so boring I thought my clit had given up and atrophied. After we divorced, I got my mojo back. I started to really enjoy it again, and I couldn’t let those redneck assholes steal that from me. That said, I’ve always preferred sex a certain way. Energetic, loud, and usually with me in charge. Until… Well, until I started enjoying something else, which is kind of freaking me out.”
“What kind of thing are we talking here?”
“Um… I suppose stuff that involves being controlled. Tied up. Restrained. Dark shit. Stuff I should hate, that I should be traumatized by, that I should never in a million years enjoy.”
Sam laughs, shaking her head at me. “There is no ‘should’ when it comes to sex. The body and the mind are complicated beasts. This might be too much information, but I also enjoy those things with Gabe. At first, I couldn’t understand it, and it set all kinds of red flags off in my feminist brain, but then I made a deal with myself—if feminism is about equality, then why shouldn’t I have as many orgasms as a man, any damn way I want to have them? When I was with my ex-husband, it was abuse. With Gabriel, it’s… Well, it’s bloody mind blowing, to be honest. The things that man does to me…” She fans her flushed face. “Anyway, enough of that. The point is, yes, maybe right now with you, it’s a way of reclaiming. Of processing.”
“Maybe. Maybe I can fuck all the pain away.”
“If you’re both consenting adults, why not? Like I said, it’s complicated. If you ever need me, I’m here to talk, and I also have the name of a good therapist. For the time being though, you seem to be having a great time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the bruises or that bite mark on your shoulder. Now that I know you got them the good old-fashioned way, through delicious rough sex, it’s time to tell me all. Who knew cello players had it in them?”
I freeze, my cheeks blazing and my hand going self-consciously to my marked shoulder. Should I lie? Tell her cello players are indeed wild in the sack?
I obviously pause too long, and a look of horror settles on her pretty face. “Oh god, no,” she mutters. “Please tell me I’m wrong. Please tell me you haven’t been talking about my dad all this time. I think I might be sick.”
Part of me wants to laugh at her reaction, although I totally understand it. “Sorry, Sam. What can I say? Your dad’s hot.”
“No, he’s not. He’s my dad. And he’s so much older than you. Can’t we pretend it was someone else? Like, I don’t know, Daniel Craig, maybe?”
“I think Daniel Craig is actually older than your dad.”
She looks frustrated. “That doesn’t matter—at least he’s not my father. Look, I’m being silly, and I know I am. I’m under no illusions about my dad being a saint, and if you two really like each other, then go for it. Just be careful, okay? I love him to bits, but the man collects women like they’re butterflies. I don’t want you to get hurt. Plus, yuck, double yuck, and triple yuck to the images you’ve put in my head.” She shudders. “Come on, let’s go back to mine. I need to drink all the alcohol in the entire world right now. I might have to bathe my eyeballs in vodka.”
I smile, partly at her reaction and the image she just conjured in my mind’s eye, but mostly because it’s because I’m thinking about her dad—and how much I’d like call him Daddy.