Page 119 of Play Dirty

Grim and Rage, two guys who work for the security company Saylor uses for her own protection—they didn’t have to be here personally. But they know Stevie from the gallery, and from what I gathered, theyvolunteeredto do this. They’re not even getting paid. Saylor just covered their travel expenses.

Even Stevie’s sister, Jeri, whom I haven’t met yet, made the trip.

And Madeline.

She definitely didn’t have to be here, much less pay her own way. She doesn’t do anything for free, but she is for Stevie.

And that’s okay.

That’s the magic of Stevie.

Everyone loves her.

She’s the only one who doesn’t see it, but I plan to spend the rest of my life working on it until she does.

* * *

Stevie’s testimonybreaks my heart.

Her recounting of what happened the morning of the attack is gut-wrenching.

However, no matter how many ways Damien’s attorney tries to twist her words, she was well-prepped by Lorna and the prosecutor. I didn’t think it possible to hate Damien more than I already do, but watching how they’re trying to portray Stevie almost kills me.

Luckily, the prosecutor has a plan because she has responses to every point Damien’s lawyer makes.

And when Stevie talks about the aftermath of the incident that morning at her brownstone. The broken ribs. The concussion. The miscarriage and subsequent hysterectomy—the jury isn’t feeling much love for Damien. Even when his attorney tried to talk about her pushing him into a state of temporary insanity, it’s obvious they don’t agree.

The psychiatrist they call as an expert witness isn’t much help to them either, in my opinion, and after Damien takes the stand, I left the courthouse feeling pretty good about things.

Stevie, however, is a mess.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, leaning forward, wrapping my fingers around hers as we get into Madame Bertrand’s limo. “I’m right here.”

She shivers slightly, and I wish I could scoop her up and take her far away from all of this.

I keep my fingers threaded with hers, hoping to keep her grounded. I know all the lawyer’s talking points as he wove a web of half-truths, exaggeration, and outright lies bothered her. It was mind-boggling listening to him describing Stevie as some drug-addled airhead who creates drama wherever she goes, has no friends, and whom no one wants to work with.

Hopefully, this will all be over tomorrow.

Closing arguments will be in the morning and then, if we’re lucky, the jury won’t deliberate for long. The case is open and shut as far as I’m concerned—you don’t get to inflict violence on someone because they’re irritating.

It’s been a long day, and Stevie demurs when dinner is suggested by the group.

“Rest,cherie,” Madame Bertrand says softly as we pull up to the hotel. “Tomorrow, by the grace of God, this will be over. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Stevie and I get out, and Grim walks us inside.

“Rage is parking the car,” he says. “We’re in the adjacent room. If you need anything at all, just call.”

“Thank you.” Stevie huddles against my side but doesn’t say anything as we get into the elevator and ride up to the floor her suite is on.

Grim nods before going into the room next to hers and then, finally, we’re alone.

Stevie tosses her jacket to the side, kicks off her heels, and then throws herself on the bed.

“You hungry, babe?” I ask softly.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes are closed, and she just lies there, not moving.

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