“Okay,” I whispered. “Just… let me get dressed properly.”
He stepped back, watching me with predatory focus as I moved toward the bed where my backpack lay. I needed to keep the phone hidden, needed to keep him talking until help arrived.
“Why did you come here?” I asked quietly, trying to sound defeated rather than stalling.
Marcus smiled, the expression chilling. “Because you’re mine, Alex. You’ve always been mine. And tonight, I’m going to remind you exactly what that means.”
Damian
I WASdreaming of courtrooms with empty jury boxes when my phone’s shrill ring jolted me awake. My hand shot out automatically, mind still foggy with sleep as I squinted at the display. Alex’s name flashed on the screen.
“Alex?” I answered immediately, sleep vanishing as adrenaline surged through me.
His voice came as barely a whisper. “Marcus is at my motel. He’s trying to break down the door.”
I sat bolt upright, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “What’s your room number?”
“Twenty-three. Parkview Motel on Queen East.”
“I’m calling 911 right now. Stay on the line with me. Find somewhere to hide if you can.”
A tremendous crash echoed through the phone, followed by silence. I grabbed my digital recorder from the nightstand drawer—the one I used for case notes—and pressed record, holding it near the phone speaker. With my other hand, I reached for my work mobile and dialed 911, putting my personal phone on speaker.
“Alex?” I called out, hearing nothing but rustling fabric. “Alex, can you hear me?”
The emergency operator answered. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“My name is Damian Richards. I’m an attorney, and my client is in immediate danger,” I said, keeping my voice measured despite the panic clawing at my chest. “Marcus Delaney has broken into his motel room at the Parkview Motel on Queen East, room twenty-three. My client has an open line to me right now, and I can hear Delaney threatening him.”
As if on cue, a voice came through my personal phone—Marcus’s voice, slurred with alcohol but unmistakable. “You know what today cost me? My reputation. My standing. Do you have any idea how much it cost me to buy those two jurors?”
I relayed this to the dispatcher, my blood running cold.
“Sir, I’m dispatching officers now,” the female dispatcher said, her voice reassuringly professional. “They should be there in approximately five minutes. Please stay on the line.”
I was already pulling on sweatpants with one hand, phone cradled between my ear and shoulder. “Tell them to hurry. The perpetrator has a history of violence. He nearly killed my client two months ago ago.”
Through my personal phone, Marcus’s voice continued, each word making my stomach tighten further. “Fifty thousand dollars each to make sure they’d never vote your way, no matter what evidence theysaw.”
“He’s just confessed to jury tampering,” I told the dispatcher, grabbing my keys and racing down the stairs. “He paid jurors fifty thousand dollars each to deadlock the trial.”
I fumbled with my work phone as I reached my car, putting it on speaker as well so I could drive. The dispatcher continued asking questions as I started the engine, but my attention was split between her voice and the horrifying scene unfolding through my other phone.
Marcus’s voice was getting more threatening by the second. I texted Sandra with one hand as I pulled out of my driveway: “SOS. Alex in danger. Parkview Motel, Queen East. Room 23. Coming now.”
Her response came almost immediately: “On my way.”
I ran a red light, then another. At this hour, the streets were nearly empty. I pressed the accelerator to the floor, my car’s engine roaring in protest as I took corners too fast, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“No protective order now,” Marcus’s voice continued through the speaker. “No one watching. Just you and me, like it should be.”
“I’m three minutes out,” I told the dispatcher. “Where are your officers?”
“Units are approaching the scene now, sir.”
I could hear Alex trying to stall, his voice so small compared to Marcus’s threatening growl. Every instinct screamed at me to drive faster, push harder.
“You’re coming home with me tonight. Where you belong.”
