Chapter Thirty-two
It came as no surprise that the first witnesses were Percy and Lola.
They scuttled into the courtroom arm in arm, dressed in matching lavender silk and just as heavily made up as the one and only time I’d met them before.
Neither of them looked my way until the court asked them to confirm that my appearance no longer matched the one they’d assigned me.
Even then, the glance they threw my way was fleeting, as though the mere act of looking at me offended their sensibilities.
I was shaking my head long before they launched into how uncooperative I’d been during my ‘makeover’ and how they had to sedate me so they could do their jobs.
The audience lapped it up, pulling suitably horrified expressions at my reported rudeness.
At one point, Lola even started blinking back tears, as though recalling one of her most difficult customers—her words, not mine—was genuinely traumatic.
I sprang to my feet after their dismissal. “Hey,” I shouted. “Where’s my lawyer?”
Mr. Cartwright stood. “The Wonderland legal system works on a prosecution-only basis.”
Of course it did.
“Then I get to question them. Right?”
A ripple of laughter spread through the gallery, presumably at the absurdity of me thinking I had the right to defend myself. Meanwhile, Percy and Lola had already seized the opportunity to leave, rendering the argument pointless. With a muttered curse, I sat back down.
Harlan Maddox and Marcus Hale were called in rapid succession.
Dorian Moss had either been incapable of staying awake long enough to make a court appearance, or he hadn’t been conscious for enough of my time at the supper club to offer anything useful.
Either seemed equally plausible. The evidence Harlan and Marcus gave was ludicrous, revolving around my refusal to provide gossip whenever they asked.
It was so ridiculous I didn’t even bother objecting.
The next witnesses all revolved around my turning down sexual offers: the couple from the drug den, and Drake from the supper club. Was there anyone I’d met in Wonderland who wasn’t going to be paraded in front of me?
Tom Cheshire’s arrival only reinforced the theory. What exactly was I supposed to have done to him? Apparently, ignored his advice. Which led neatly to Donovan being called. He was the first person whose expression said he didn’t want to be there.
“Tell us how this man”—the lawyer accompanied his words with a dramatic sweep of his arm in my direction—“came to stay in your house for an entire night when you knew it was against the rules.”
Donovan’s eyes met mine. It was obvious from his expression that he needed to lie to protect himself. Given the endless procession of witnesses, I doubted his testimony would make much difference, anyway. When I gave him a small nod, his shoulders visibly relaxed.
“He barged into my house,” he said.
True.
So far.
“Did he threaten you?”
Recalling the difference in our sizes, I snorted.
“He did,” Donovan agreed.
“I presume he had a weapon?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of weapon?”
Donovan frowned. “He had a… um… a metal bar.” He nodded enthusiastically, warming to the idea. “Yes. A metal bar. I don’t know where he got it. He must’ve found it. He came in waving it around, saying I had to let him stay or else.”
“Did you believe he would’ve used it if you hadn’t complied?”
Donovan shot me another guilty look. “I did.”
“So you feared for your life?”
“Yes.”
A dramatic gasp swept through the gallery.
I rolled my eyes.
“And what did the defendant do while inside your property?”
“He ate my food. He slept in my bed.”
Fucking hell. I was Goldilocks.
“And where did you sleep?”
“I stayed in a chair.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
Donovan shook his head.
The story had more holes than a sieve. Even if I’d somehow intimidated him with an imaginary metal bar, once I’d fallen asleep he could’ve easily overpowered me without breaking a sweat and thrown me back onto the street.
It also failed to explain how he’d gotten me out of the house the following morning if I was so scary.
By now it was painfully obvious this courtroom—and I used the word courtroom in the loosest possible sense—had nothing to do with truth.
The Duchess came next. She spoke at length about my attempts to defraud her casino and claimed I’d cheated at one or more of the games.
Considering I’d barely understood the rules, I couldn’t honestly say that wasn’t true.
Given the rest of the testimony, though, I doubted facts had much to do with anything.
Proceedings paused after that.
Some of the audience took a bathroom break while Henry Hart wandered the room, chatting to people as if he were hosting a cocktail party.
Still no Nico.
Every time the courtroom door opened, hope flared inside my chest before dying just as quickly.
Where the fuck was he? Did he not know this was happening? Or did he simply not care?
The next arrival carried a metal bowl. I watched with growing revulsion as he handed it to Kellan, who filled it from a bottle on the table before placing it on the floor in front of his captive.
The man immediately shuffled forward and lowered his face into it. This clearly wasn’t his first time drinking from a dog bowl.
I wanted to look away, but it was like watching a car crash. How broken did someone have to be before something like that felt normal?
It was almost a relief when court resumed and I had something else to think about, even if it was my impending downfall.
The accusations only grew more absurd over the next hour until I couldn’t keep quiet any longer, meeting each allegation with increasingly acerbic comments.
Zane and Zeke took the stand together. This time, I was the one who couldn’t bring myself to look at them. They had no such reservations. Both wore identical smirks throughout.
Would seeing them again have been easier if I hadn’t watched the recording?
Probably.
Unfortunately, I had, and there wasn’t enough brain bleach in the world to erase that memory.
“Did the defendant intend to pay?” the lawyer asked.
Zane shook his head. “He was adamant he was leaving. He kept arguing.”
“It was one fucking drink,” I shouted. “I didn’t even want the drink. And nobody asked me to pay for it when they handed it to me.“
The judge banged his gavel. “Silence, Mr. Carroll. You mustn’t obstruct proceedings.”
“What proceedings?” I shot back. “This is a kangaroo court. It’s a joke. You’re a joke. Everyone in here is a joke.” I turned toward the audience. “And yes, I’m including all of you.”
Reactions were mixed. Some looked mildly offended, others openly amused. One man in the front row jeered as if he were at a football match.
The judge struck the bench again. “I will not warn you again, Mr. Carroll.”
“What are you going to do?” I challenged. “Put me on trial?” I pointed to Mr. Cartwright, the scroll still in front of him. “Actually, someone get him a pen. We can add this to my list of offenses. It’s ridiculous enough to fit right in. How about... refuses to speak only when spoken to?”
The judge looked toward Queenie. She considered me for a few moments before giving the smallest shake of her head. “Perhaps one more chance,” she said smoothly.
Henry Hart smiled adoringly at her. “You are too kind, my angel.”
I stopped talking. For now.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Let’s continue.” He turned back to the twins. “This debt the defendant incurred. Did he leave without paying it?”
“He did not,” Zane said smoothly, offering Henry and Queenie an obsequious smile. “We run a much tighter ship than that.”
“Glad to hear it,” Henry said.
“So, how was the debt settled?”
“We made a film with him,” Zeke replied with a grin.
“A film? What sort of film?”
I fixed my gaze on my hands, my cheeks burning. Don’t say it.
“A porn film,” Zane supplied cheerfully. “The three of us. You know. Fucking. Sucking. Blindfold. Handcuffs.” He smiled. “Premium content.”
A collective gasp that said the audience simply couldn’t imagine such depravity swept through the courtroom. Fucking bunch of drama queens.
“I see,” the lawyer said. “Do you have a copy? We’ll need to play it as evidence.”
My head snapped up, and I forgot how to breathe.
Surely not.
The twins exchanged a glance.
“Unfortunately, no,” Zane said after what felt like an eternity. “The master file disappeared before we made a copy.”
“Disappeared?”
Zeke shrugged. “Or got corrupted. It happens sometimes.”
For that, at least, I had Nico to thank.
The audience, who’d previously seemed scandalized, now looked visibly disappointed that their day in court would not include free pornography.
The twins were dismissed after that, both smirking as they left. Zane went a step further and winked at me.
It was noticeable that the narrative had again excluded Nico.
Zane had even said the ‘three of us’. It begged the question of what would have happened if the film had been available.
It would have been difficult to erase Nico’s role when he’d have been there in all his glory as a more than willing participant.
Hell, strike that. He’d orchestrated the whole thing.
I’d watched the film, and it had been obvious that Zane and Zeke weren’t the ones calling the shots.
“For my next witness,” the lawyer announced. “I call Victor Chronis.”
I stared at the courtroom door, the knot in my stomach tightening. Seconds ticked by. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe I’d be spared this.
I should have known I wasn’t that lucky.
The door swung open, and Victor strolled inside.
A woman sitting near the aisle dramatically fanned herself as he passed. Her friend leaned over, whispered something in her ear, and both dissolved into giggles.
Back at his apartment, I’d been too stunned by the truth to study him objectively. Now, I’d had more time to get used to the idea that he was a duplicitous agent of Wonderland, who went around collecting people like they were knickknacks to display on a shelf, rather than Warren White.