Atonement: An Interracial Romance (Possession Duet Book 2) Page 7

  “He pressed his body against mine, pinning me to the wall.” I squeeze my eyes shut, bile rising in my throat. When a hand grasps my forearm, I jump, gaze flinging wide.

  “I’m sorry,” Sophia offers quickly, scanning my face to make sure I’m okay.

  I look from her to the detectives — one peering at me with distrust, the other with compassion. I’d give anything to stop all of this right now. But I didn’t come this far just to retreat. I need to see this through. Need Nick to finally be held responsible for what he’s done.

  “He threatened to silence me if I dared tell anyone what really happened. So, at my first opportunity, I ducked out of his grasp. I made it a few feet before he tackled me to the floor. I tried to fight him, to defend myself, but he had me trapped on my stomach, my wrists bound in one of his hands over my head. With the other, he…”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, the scene flashing before me, torturing and tormenting me when I’d love nothing more than to forget everything. To erase it from my memory.

  “It’s okay,” Detective Trager assures me.

  I glance at Detective Stocker, who looks uncomfortable. Imagine how it must feel to have to tell it. I doubt he has the ability to sympathize, though.

  I draw in a calming breath and return my gaze to Detective Trager. “I was wearing a dress, and he…” I push down the nausea from the memory of Nick’s hand traveling up my thigh. I uncross and recross my legs, feeling the ghost of his touch on my skin, making the hair on my neck stand on end. “He touched me.”

  “Where?” Detective Stocker asks.

  “Between my legs. He pushed my underwear to the side and…” I pause, taking a moment to get my emotions under control. “He fondled me. When his grip on my wrists weakened momentarily, I took the opportunity and elbowed him in the nose. Then I scrambled for my purse.”

  “Your purse?” Detective Stocker frowns. “Why didn’t you just hightail it out of there? The last thing I’d do if my life was in danger, as you make it seem, is grab my purse.”

  “To make it to the exit, I’d have to get past Nick. My purse was close, and my gun was in it.”

  “So you made the decision to go for the gun instead of trying to get away from the man who’d assaulted you years ago and threatened to do so again?” he presses, skeptical.

  “Again, Detective Stocker,” Sophia begins, a trite smile on her face, “I’d request you not jump to judgment. My client isn’t a trained law enforcement officer able to make quick decisions when her life is threatened. She did what she thought was best.”

  “So arming yourself was the best course of action?”

  “At that moment, yes,” I answer before Sophia can.

  “Do you always carry a gun?” he asks.

  “Yes. Or I did, before I was ordered to surrender them. I have a Georgia Weapons Carry License.”

  “And why do you need to carry a gun?”

  “I didn’t realize someone had to have a reason,” Sophia remarks. “Last I checked, this state doesn’t seem to care the reason for carrying a gun, just that those who want to do so go through the appropriate training. My client was well within her rights to keep a weapon in her purse.”

  He pins Sophia with a pompous glare, obviously not appreciating the way she spoke to him as if he were a child, something I imagine she did intentionally.

  “So you decide to go for the gun,” Detective Trager interjects. “Then what?”

  I place my hands in my lap, reliving the most frightening moments of my life. In retrospect, it was probably only a matter of seconds between the instant I felt the cool metal of the gun against my hand to the shot ringing out in the air. But the struggle had felt like it lasted hours.

  “Once I pulled the gun out of my purse, Nick knocked it out of my grasp. I went after it.”

  “Instead of using the opportunity to escape?” Detective Stocker brings up yet again.

  “I—”

  Sophia raises her hand. “We’re done answering that question, Detective,” she admonishes before shifting her gaze to mine, silently telling me to continue.

  “We both went for the gun,” I correct. “After that, it all happened so quickly.”

  “Just tell us what you remember,” Detective Trager encourages.

  “It’s just snapshots, really. Like a time-lapse. I remember going for the gun, but Nick tackled me back to the floor. When I saw the gun nearly within my reach, I did everything I could to grasp it, but he had the same idea. The second I grabbed the gun, he did, too. I refused to release my hold on the handle. In the melee, I somehow managed to roll over onto my back.

  “As we struggled for control, I used all the strength I had to point it away from me.”

  My throat tightens as I’m transported back to those few awful seconds, how close I was to joining my mother. A few tears escape my eyes, and I swipe them away, but the more I talk, the more tears fall.

  “I never intended to shoot him. I just wanted to get away. To be free of this person who’s hung over my life like a shadow the past several years.” My lower lip trembles, and I bite it, attempting to reel in my emotions, an impossible task. “I didn’t even know where the gun was aimed when the shot rang out. Until Nick collapsed on top of me.”

  “As you can see, it’s clear my client acted in self-defense,” Sophia begins very matter-of-factly, but Detective Stocker holds up his hand, cutting her off.

  “Save your arguments for the judge, Counselor. My only job is to ascertain the facts.”

  “I’m fully aware of what your job entails, Detective. And because you’re under a duty and obligation to investigate criminal accusations, I’d suggest investigating Mr. Jaskulski’s crimes.”

  “Your client admitted the assault happened in New York. That’s out of my jurisdiction.”

  “She also made a statement that he assaulted her here in Atlanta. Last I checked, that’s well within your jurisdiction.”

  “I’m not so sure I’d categorize his actions as assault.”

  Detective Trager opens her mouth to speak, but Sophia beats her to the punch. “No? How would you feel if someone had you restrained on the floor and slid their hand between your legs? Does that not qualify? Correct me if I’m wrong, which I’m not, but penetration isn’t necessary for a sexual battery charge. According to the Georgia statute, sexual battery occurs when the offender intentionally makes physical contact with the intimate body parts of another without consent. My client’s statement supports the charge. Not to mention, I noticed the photographs taken of the bruises on her hip, arms, and wrists when she was booked are attached to that police report you have there. Those most certainly corroborate her story.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Of course we’ll investigate,” Detective Trager interrupts, which elicits a scowl from Detective Stocker, obviously incensed that she’d dare question his authority. “The Atlanta Police Department wants the people of the city to feel confident that all accusations of criminal behavior will be investigated. Particularly accusations of sexual assault.”

  “That’s all my client asks. That the police department takes her accusations just as seriously as they do other crimes. Just as seriously as they’re taking the aggravated assault charges against her.”

  “Of course.” Detective Trager smiles once more.

  “Thank you. If you have any further questions, we’ll arrange another time to get together. My client’s already been through more than enough these past few days.”

  Detective Stocker opens his mouth but is interrupted again by Detective Trager. “I can understand how mentally exhausted you must be.” She stands, extending her hand across the table. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Of course.” Sophia rises and shakes her hand.

  I do my best to appear calm and composed as Detective Stocker pushes out of his chair, pinning me with an annoyed glare before walking out of the office.

  The second I’m alone with Sophia, I sink into my chair, exhaling my held b
reath.

  “You did great, despite everything.” She grasps my hand and squeezes. “I’m so sorry Detective Stocker was here.”

  “It’s okay,” I assure her with a small smile. “I’ve dealt with people like that my entire life. Pretty sure most women have.”

  “You’re right about that,” Sophia mutters just as a knock cuts through, followed by the door cracking open, Detective Trager sticking her head back in.

  “Attorney Mercer?”

  “Detective Trager.” She waves her in. “Did you need something?”

  She steps inside, closing the door behind her. “I want to apologize for Detective Stocker’s behavior.”

  “I will admit, I was rather surprised to see him here.”

  “Captain’s orders. Once he learned about Mr. Jaskulski’s connection to the Bradfords, he insisted. I think it was to nip any possible accusations against him in the bud.”

  “Why would he want that?” I ask, dread settling in my stomach.

  “Because the Bradfords have a lot of pull in this city and tend to dangle political donations like candy in front of a toddler. At least Lydia Bradford does. I just didn’t want you to think your story fell on deaf ears. I heard you. And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I’m not the only one.”

  Chapter Ten

  Weston

  I tap my fingers against the cool wood of my desk, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows in my office overlooking downtown Atlanta and Centennial Park. It’s been over three hours since I walked away from Londyn. Each minute I don’t hear from her only causes my mind to run rampant with every scenario possible. I just pray her interview went well. That they listened. That they believe her.

  “Mr. Bradford, did you hear me?” my assistant’s voice cuts through, snapping me back to the present.

  I look away from the window, meeting Mia’s kind, green eyes as she stands in the doorway. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  “It’s your mother.”

  I roll my eyes. Mia’s more than aware of my preferences regarding my mother’s phone calls. “Tell her I’m in a meeting.”

  “She’s not here. Or on the phone. She…” She trails off, chewing on her lower lip as she rocks on her heels.

  I straighten, squaring my shoulders. “What is it?”

  “She’s… She’s at a press conference. It’s live right now.”

  My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. Sure, there could be any number of reasons my mother would be at a press conference, usually something to do with one of her so-called charity projects that in reality are solely for media attention. But I can’t shake the feeling in my gut today’s is different.

  Turning toward to my computer, I type in a quick search. I click on the first link and am taken to a live webcast of a press conference, the exterior of police headquarters prominent in the background.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Mia says, about to excuse herself as a tall, graying man in a suit walks up to the podium.

  “Stay. You need to see this. If it’s about what I think it is, you need to be informed.”

  Mia nods, stepping up behind me. “Yes, sir.”

  I return my attention to the screen, raising the volume as the man begins to speak.

  “Thank you for being here. My name is Zachary Matthews. I’m a captain with the Major Crimes Unit. As you may or may not be aware, there was a shooting in the Buckhead Village District on New Year’s Day. A single gunshot was fired at approximately 3:12 on Friday afternoon, causing panic to spread through the district, many stores putting their lockdown procedures into effect. After a canvass of the area, the police were able to pinpoint the location to The Mad Batter, a bakery owned by Julia Prescott.”

  The camera zooms in on Julia standing off to the side, an expression on her face I haven’t seen in years. It reminds me of the one she wore during her first society tea or party. Like a deer in the headlights. Like someone desperate to scream out and beg for help but has somehow lost her ability to do so. Like she’s shut down and is simply going through the motions, doing what’s expected of her.

  A caged bird once more.

  “On the afternoon of January first, Ms. Prescott’s husband, Domenic Jaskulski, was in the kitchen of The Mad Batter collecting paperwork for his wife when a woman entered. After a brief altercation, the woman fired a gun she’d concealed, hitting Mr. Jaskulski in the shoulder.”

  The camera moves to Nick sitting in a wheelchair, a sling wrapped around his arm, pained expression on his face. My mother stands beside him, forced tears sliding down her cheeks. I have to hand it to her. She puts on a damn good show. And that’s precisely what this is. A show.

  “Mrs. Lydia Bradford, the victim’s mother-in-law, has prepared a statement on behalf of the family during these trying times, so I yield the floor to her before opening up for questions.”

  The captain steps away as my mother walks toward the microphone. With her hands on either side of the podium, she squeezes her eyes shut, drawing in a shaky breath as she feigns trying to summon strength.

  “First, I want to thank the incredible medical staff who worked tirelessly on my son-in-law so that he can still be here with us today. If it weren’t for them, I don’t want to think about what would have happened.” She chokes out a sob that’s a fake as her nose. As much as I want to storm down to the police station to set the record straight, I need to be here. Need to watch this. Need to know what she’s doing. “The woman responsible for nearly taking my son-in-law’s life, Londyn Bennett, is loosely connected to the family. For the past several months, she’s been dating my son, Weston.” She shakes her head sadly. “I tried to warn him about her.”

  “Warn me?” I seethe through my clenched jaw, rage bubbling inside me with every word my mother says, every lie that falls so easily from her lips. “About what? That she’s black?”

  Mia places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me. I don’t think anything can calm me now. Not when my mother is defaming my girlfriend for the world to see.

  “Call it mother’s intuition,” my mother continues with a slight laugh. “Sometimes you just get a feeling that something’s not quite right. And from the moment I met Londyn Bennett, I knew something about her seemed off. I didn’t want to be right. After all, my only hope is that my son finds the happiness he deserves.”

  “Yeah. As long as it’s with someone who has the right pedigree,” I scoff.

  “Unfortunately, my son couldn’t see what I did. That Londyn Bennett was only after his money.”

  I stare at the screen, trying to figure out what game she’s playing.

  “Publicity stunt,” Mia mumbles, as if able to read my mind.

  While she may merely be my assistant, she probably knows more about the Bradford family than anyone else. I suppose it’s part of her job. And part of that job is knowing exactly who my mother is. About her desperate need to constantly be in the public eye, just to remind everyone in Southern society that she’s still relevant. That she still has a certain level of importance and power in the caste system she’s created with herself at the top.

  “Mrs. Bradford,” a reporter calls out from the assembled masses, interrupting her. “I truly am sorry for your family’s struggles and pray for your son-in-law’s speedy recovery.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was hoping you could clarify something for me, though. Why would Ms. Bennett shoot Mr. Jaskulski?”

  The captain jumps in front of the microphone. “All questions should be held until Mrs. Bradford has finished with her statement. At that point, I’ll be happy to share what I can about the case.”

  “That’s quite all right.” My mother smiles politely at the captain before returning her attention to the reporter. “I’m more than happy to answer. And the answer is I don’t know. You’d probably be better off directing that line of inquiry to Ms. Bennett herself.” She shifts her gaze to the rest of the reporters. “N
ow, as I was saying—”

  “It’s my understanding Ms. Bennett did make a statement to that effect.” The reporter looks down at the phone in her hand. “According to my source, Mr. Jaskulski was a professor at the university Ms. Bennett attended and sexually assaulted her approximately five-and-a-half years ago. Would either you or Mr. Jaskulski care to comment on this allegation?”

  Captain Matthews jumps in front of the microphone once more. “Like I said…” The slight waver to his voice gives the impression that the inquiry caught him off guard. “All questions should be held until the end. I—”

  “No,” my mother snips authoritatively, stepping in front of the captain, almost pushing him aside. “I’m happy to comment on this baseless accusation. That is the problem with this whole ‘Me Too’ movement,” she says, using air quotes, her nose turned up in disgust. “All you have to do is cry rape and people drop everything. But you’ve all heard the story of the little boy who cried wolf. You cry wolf enough times with no evidence to back it up, eventually people will stop believing. And that’s the case with any supposed rape of Ms. Bennett. It’s just her crying wolf. Her way of trying to justify her otherwise illegal action of shooting my son-in-law. She nearly took away my granddaughter’s father,” she chokes out.

  Truthfully, she deserves an award for this performance. If I didn’t know any better, I might believe her emotions are real. But she’s using this to garner sympathy as the doting mother-in-law when, in reality, she never cared much for Nick. Can’t say I blame her. Not now anyway.

  “If her aim was just a few inches lower, he wouldn’t be with us. My daughter would have to bury her husband. My granddaughter…” She dabs at her eyes. “Well, I don’t even want to consider the idea of my granddaughter growing up without a father. This is a tragedy, something I don’t wish on my worst enemy. But our family is extremely resilient, especially in the face of adversity. We’ll bounce back from this stronger than ever. For now, we ask you keep Julia, Imogene, Domenic, and even Weston in your thoughts and prayers during this very trying time.”