Chapter 14 #2
The drive to Anchorage takes time. Long stretches of highway cutting through wilderness, mountains rising on either side.
Eli's hand stays on my leg the entire time, thumb occasionally stroking in slow circles that have nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with claiming.
I shift in my seat, trying to ease the ache he left this morning, and his hand tightens.
"Still thinking about it?" His voice is low enough Traci can't hear through her headphones.
"Yes."
"Good." His fingers dig in slightly. Deliberate pressure. "Want you thinking about me. About what I did to you. What I'm going to do to you later."
My breath catches. Wrong time for this. Wrong place. But my body doesn't care about timing when his voice drops into that register.
"Eli—"
"You're wet right now, aren't you?" Not really a question. He knows my body too well. "Sitting there in the passenger seat, trying to act normal while you're remembering how I felt inside you this morning."
Heat floods my face. "Traci—"
"Is listening to music and can't hear a word I'm saying." His hand slides higher on my thigh. Not quite touching where I need him, but close enough to make the point. "Answer the question, Helena."
"Yes." Barely a whisper.
His mouth curves. Satisfaction and dark promise. "Later, then. When we're alone. Going to make you show me exactly how wet you are."
The rest of the drive passes in a haze of anticipation and frustration. Every casual touch feels deliberate. Every glance carries intent. By the time we reach Anchorage, I'm wound so tight I can barely focus.
The time that follows passes in careful preparation—and constant, burning awareness of Eli.
Special Prosecutor Whitmore coordinates everything from Anchorage. Conference calls with Rebecca Macintosh, the victim advocate who's been working with Traci since the initial rescue. Trauma-informed testimony protocols. Security arrangements for transport and courthouse access.
Traci handles it with quiet determination. Writing responses when asked questions. Nodding when Rebecca explains what to expect. Processing information without breaking.
But I see the cost. The way her sleep deteriorates as the trial date approaches. How she startles at unexpected sounds. The nightmares that wake her gasping for air until Eli appears in her doorway.
And I see Eli. The way he moves through the hotel suite we're sharing like a caged predator. Checking locks. Monitoring hallway traffic. Running scenarios in his head that I can read in the tension of his shoulders.
Late at night, after Traci's asleep, he comes to my room. Doesn't knock. Just walks in like he owns the space. Like he owns me.
"Can't sleep," he says. But that's not why he's here.
I'm sitting up in bed reviewing testimony notes. Professional behavior. Trying to focus on what Traci needs instead of what my body wants.
Eli crosses the room. Takes the notes from my hands. Sets them aside. Then his hand is around my throat, thumb pressing against my pulse.
"You're thinking too much."
"Someone has to—"
"Not right now." He leans in close. Mouth against my ear. "Right now you're going to stop thinking about testimony and start thinking about what I'm going to do to you."
"Eli, we can't. Traci's close by—"
"Then you better be quiet." His other hand slides under the covers. Finds bare skin. "Or do you need me to cover your mouth again?"
I should say no. Should be responsible. Should remember that we're in a hotel suite preparing for a federal trial and this is completely inappropriate.
But when his fingers slide between my legs and find me already wet, responsibility doesn't seem nearly as important as the need burning through me.
He makes me come twice with his hand. Once slow and deliberate, building the pressure until I'm shaking. Once fast and rough, fingers ruthless on my clit while his other hand covers my mouth to muffle the sounds.
Then he's gone. Back to his room like nothing happened. Leaving me wrecked and wanting and completely unable to focus on testimony notes.
It becomes a pattern. Days spent preparing Traci. Nights spent with Eli claiming me in ways that make it impossible to think about anything except how thoroughly he owns me.
Three days before the trial, Whitmore pulls me aside.
"Defense is going to argue she's been coached," he says without preamble. "That her testimony is unreliable because of trauma-induced memory issues. That she can't definitively identify Graves as the person running the trafficking operation."
"She can identify him," I say. Voice steadier than I feel. "She was held in his compound. Saw him directly."
"I know. But they'll push the reliability angle. Try to create reasonable doubt about her mental state during captivity." Whitmore meets my eyes. "That's where you come in, Dr. Sage. As the physician who's been treating her, you can testify to her cognitive function and memory reliability."
My stomach tightens. "When?"
"After Traci's testimony. Defense cross-examination will likely challenge her credibility. We'll call you to establish her competence and the validity of her account."
That night, Eli finds me on the hotel balcony. Cold air. Anchorage lights spread below. Trying to process what testifying will mean.
He doesn't say anything. Just pulls me back against his chest. Arms wrapping around me. Solid warmth cutting through the cold.
"You'll do fine," he says quietly.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're competent. Because you know Traci's condition better than anyone.
Because you don't break under pressure." His mouth finds my neck.
Not sexual, just connection. "And because I've watched you handle emergencies that would make most people freeze.
A courtroom is nothing compared to that. "
I turn in his arms. Look up at him. See the absolute certainty in his expression. The belief that I can handle this because he's seen me handle worse.
"What if I mess up? What if my testimony isn't enough?"
"Then we deal with it. Together." His hand cups my face. Rough calluses against my skin. "You're not doing this alone, Helena. You're never doing anything alone again."
The promise settles something in my chest. Makes the fear manageable.
He kisses me then. Slow and thorough. Taking his time despite the cold. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker.
"Inside. Now."
I go. Always do when he uses that tone.
He backs me against the closed door. Hand finding my throat. The other working my pants open with practiced efficiency.
"Need you," he says roughly. "Need to be inside you. Need to feel you come apart while I'm buried so deep you can't remember where you end and I begin."
He takes me right there. Standing against the door. One hand braced beside my head. The other hitching my leg over his hip. Thrusting into me with the kind of controlled intensity that makes my vision blur.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth. "Say it."
"Yours." Gasped between thrusts. "Always yours."
He makes me come twice before he lets himself finish. Then holds me there, both of us breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine.
"After tomorrow," he says quietly. "After Traci's testimony. I want us to be together. A family. Officially. Not on a trial basis. Permanent."
My heart hammers. "Eli—"
"I know what I'm asking. Know it's fast and complicated and probably tactically unsound." His mouth curves into something that's almost a smile. "I don't care. I want you in my life and in my bed. Every day. No more pretending it's temporary."
Heat floods through me. Not just desire, though there's plenty of that. Something deeper that settles into my bones and makes everything make sense.
"Yes," I whisper. "After tomorrow. After Traci's testimony. We go home and make it permanent."
He kisses me hard. Claiming and grateful and possessive all at once.
That night I actually sleep. Wrapped in sheets that smell like him. Body sated and marked and exactly where it needs to be.
Morning arrives too soon. Weak sunlight filtering through hotel curtains. I dress carefully. Professional but not intimidating. The kind of competence that establishes credibility without making Traci feel intimidated.
Eli's eyes track me as I move around the room. Possessive assessment that makes my skin heat despite everything ahead of us.
"Stop looking at me like that," I tell him.
"Like what?"
"Like you're planning what you're going to do to me later."
His mouth curves. "I am planning what I'm going to do to you later."
"Eli—"
"After the trial. After the verdict. Taking you home and keeping you there for at least two days.
" He crosses to me. Hand sliding into my hair.
Grip firm enough to control without hurting.
"Going to make you forget every word you said on that stand.
Going to make you scream my name until your voice gives out. "
My breath catches. Wrong time. Wrong place. But arousal pools low in my belly anyway.
"Courthouse. Now," I manage.
His laugh is dark. "Yeah. Let's go get justice. Then I'll give you exactly what you need."
Traci's already in the hallway when we emerge. Federal marshals positioned at either end. Rebecca arriving from the elevator.
Traci looks small in dark pants and a simple sweater. Hair pulled back. Face pale but set with determination that makes my chest ache.
We walk to the federal courthouse through cold morning air. Security protocols activate before we reach the entrance. Federal marshals maintaining perimeter. Reporters already gathering despite the early hour, cameras tracking our approach.
Eli moves between Traci and the cameras without appearing to. Blocking sight lines. His hand finds the small of my back. Heavy and possessive even here. Claiming me in front of anyone watching. The pressure sends heat through me despite the professional setting.
Inside, the courthouse feels like every federal building I've ever entered. Concrete and glass and institutional authority.
Rebecca guides us through security. Eli's jaw tightens when they make him surrender his sidearm, but he complies. Federal marshals are already positioned throughout the building. Whitmore meets us on the other side of the scanners.
"Courtroom's on the third floor. Judge called us for nine sharp. Traci testifies first." He looks at her directly. "You've prepared for this. Trust your memory. Tell the truth. The evidence supports everything you're going to say."
Traci nods. Grips her notebook tighter.
We take the elevator to the third floor. The hallway outside the courtroom is already filling with people. Federal prosecutors. Defense attorneys. Court staff moving through pre-trial procedures.
And at the far end of the hall, federal marshals escorting a prisoner.
Simon Graves.
Even in orange prison jumpsuit and restraints, he projects authority. The kind that comes from years of law enforcement credibility and the certainty that systems exist to protect men like him.
His eyes find Traci across the distance.
She freezes.
Eli moves immediately. Positions himself between Graves and Traci, blocking the sight line. His hand finds her shoulder. "Don't look at him. Look at me."
Traci drags her gaze away from Graves. Focuses on Eli with visible effort.
"He's in restraints," Eli says quietly. Voice carrying absolute certainty. "Federal custody. Can't touch you. Can't hurt you. He's already lost. Today you just make it official."
Traci's breathing steadies. She nods once. Sharp and determined.
Graves disappears into the courtroom with his defense team. The door closes behind them.
Whitmore touches my arm. "Dr. Sage, you'll wait in the witness room until we call you. Eli can stay with Traci until she testifies, then he'll join you."
Rebecca guides Traci toward the courtroom entrance. She pauses. Turns back.
Looks at Eli, then me. Her notebook comes out.
Thank you. For everything. For not giving up on me.
My throat tightens. "We're not going anywhere. We'll be right outside."
She nods. Then she follows Rebecca into the courtroom.
Eli and I stand in the hallway. His hand finds mine. Squeezes hard enough to hurt. The pain grounds me. Reminds me this is real. That we're here. That Traci's facing her nightmare and we're waiting on the other side.
"She's going to be okay," I tell him.
"I know." His voice is rough. "Doesn't make this easier."
The courtroom door closes. Through the small window I can see Traci taking her seat beside the prosecutors, Rebecca positioned nearby. Judge entering from chambers.
The bailiff calls the court to order.
And Traci Vance prepares to face the man who destroyed her life one final time.