Page 64 of Client Privilege

“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 final, massive crash, and the door flew open, banging against the wall. I ducked into the bathroom, not quite closing the door—I needed to see what he was doing.

Marcus stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the parking lot lights. His normally immaculate appearance was dishevelled—suit rumpled, hair wild, tie hanging loose around his neck. He swayed slightly, scanning the darkened room.

“There you are,” he said, spotting the bathroom door ajar. “Hiding like always.”

I pressed myself against the wall, clutching the phone to my chest, trying to muffle any sound. Damian would hear everything, but Marcus couldn’t know I was on a call.

“Alex?” Damian’s voice was tiny from the speaker. I couldn’t respond.

Marcus moved into the room, kicking the broken door shut behind him. “You know what today cost me?” He knocked something over—the lamp, from the sound of it. “My reputation. My standing. Do you have any idea how much it cost me to buy those two jurors?”

His voice was getting closer. I could smell the whisky from here.

“Fifty thousand dollars each,” he continued, his voice dropping to that terrifyingly soft register I knew too well. “To make sure they’d never vote your way, no matter what evidence they saw. And it’s all your fault.”

He pushed the bathroom door open fully, his large frame filling the doorway. “There you are.”

I clutched the phone tighter, pressing it against my stomach, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Nothing to say?” Marcus stepped closer, towering over me. “No clever testimony prepared?”

“Please leave,” I managed, my voice barely audible.

He laughed, the sound devoid of humour. “Leave? When I’ve gone to so much trouble to find you? When we have so much to discuss?” He reached out, grabbing my chin roughly. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I raised my eyes to his, seeing the familiar cold rage beneath the drunken haze.

“Ten jurors,” he hissed. “Ten people who believed your lies. Too many. I had to pay through the nose to make sure it hung.”

“They weren’t lies,” I whispered.

His hand moved from my chin to my throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there—a promise of what could happen. “Everything about you is a lie, Alex. Everything. I made you. I gave you everything. And this is how you repay me?”

I could hear Damian’s voice, tinny and distant from the phone pressed against my body, but Marcus was too focused on me to notice.

“No protective order now,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly. “No one watching. Just you and me, like it should be.”

“People know where I am,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Your lawyer?” Marcus laughed. “He’s already moving on. The case is over. You’re yesterday’s charity project.” His free hand moved to my waist, fingers digging painfully into my side. “But I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”

His face was inches from mine now, breath hot and sour with alcohol. “You’re coming home with me tonight. Where you belong.”

“No,” I said, with more strength than I felt.

His expression darkened. “That wasn’t a request.” The hand at my throat tightened, just enough to make breathing difficult. “We’re leaving. Now. And if you make a sound, if you try to run, I will make you regret it for the rest of your life.”

I stood frozen, the phone still pressed against my stomach, Damianlistening to every word. How long until help would arrive? How long could I stall?

“Get your things,” Marcus ordered, finally releasing my throat.

I didn’t move.

“NOW!” he roared, his control slipping.