The water was scalding.
David stood under the shower head, letting the heat pound against his shoulders, his neck, his chest.
Steam filled the bathroom.
He closed his eyes.
Leena.
Her face flashed in his mind.
Her body. Her voice. The way she'd looked at him in the car.
"You'll never be satisfied without me."
David's jaw clenched.
I have to get over her.
I have to.
He reached for the soap, lathering his hands, scrubbing his chest.
Sarah is my wife.
Sarah loves me.
Sarah—
The shower door opened.
David's eyes snapped open.
Sarah stepped inside, completely naked.
David's heart lurched. "What are you doing?"
Sarah smiled. "What? We can't shower together."
David blinked. "You've never done this before."
Sarah shrugged, stepping closer. "I'm trying new things."
David's pulse quickened.
The hickey.
She can't see the hickey.
He turned slightly, angling his neck away from her.
Sarah reached for the body wash, squeezing some into her hands.
"I saw a movie trailer yesterday," she said, her voice light. "It looked really good. Maybe we could go see it this weekend?"
David nodded quickly. "Yeah. Sure. That sounds great."
Sarah began washing his chest, her hands moving in slow circles.
David's breath hitched.
Just stay calm.
Don't let her see.
Sarah's hands moved lower, across his stomach, down toward his hips.
David grabbed her wrists gently. "My turn."
He tried to turn her around, but Sarah shook her head.
"Not yet," she said.
She poured more body wash onto her hands.
Then she rubbed it across her breasts.
David's eyes widened.
Sarah pressed her body against his, her breasts sliding against his chest, his stomach.
She moved lower.
David's breath caught in his throat.
Sarah's breasts wrapped around his cock, slick with soap and water.
She moved up and down, her hands pressing them together.
David's head fell back against the tile.
Oh god.
Sarah's movements were slow. Deliberate.
David's cock hardened in seconds.
Sarah rose back up, her lips finding his chest.
She kissed him. Slowly. Moving upward.
His collarbone.
His neck.
David's eyes snapped open.
No.
He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around quickly.
"My turn," he said, his voice strained.
Sarah's back was to him now.
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his.
And for just a second, David saw it.
The flicker of recognition.
The way her gaze had caught on his neck.
She saw it.
She saw the hickey.
Sarah said nothing.
She just turned back around, facing the wall.
Then she reached back, her hand wrapping around his cock.
Hard.
David gasped.
Sarah bent forward, her hands pressing against the tile wall.
She guided him inside her.
And then she started moving.
Hard.
Fast.
Desperate.
David's hands went to her hips automatically, his mind reeling.
What the hell—
Sarah slammed back against him, her ass hitting his hips with a wet slap.
Again.
Again.
David had never seen her like this.
Aggressive.
Demanding.
Normally, he was the one who initiated. The one who set the pace.
But now—
"Please," Sarah gasped. "Hold me."
David's grip tightened on her waist.
He started thrusting, matching her rhythm.
The sound of their bodies colliding echoed in the small shower.
Sarah's moans grew louder.
David's breath came in ragged gasps.
This is—
This is—
He came hard, his body shuddering, his fingers digging into her hips.
Sarah stayed bent over for a moment, her chest heaving.
Then she straightened, turning to face him.
She kissed him.
Soft. Gentle.
"Was it good?" she asked.
David nodded. "Yeah."
But there was a hesitation in his voice.
A pause.
Sarah saw it.
Her smile faltered.
Just for a second.
Then she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.
***
David dried off slowly, his mind still spinning.
What just happened?
Sarah had left the bathroom, wrapping herself in a towel and disappearing into the bedroom.
David looked at himself in the mirror.
The hickey was still there.
Dark. Visible.
He turned away from the mirror and walked into the bedroom.
Sarah was waiting.
She stood by the bed, her towel still wrapped around her.
David opened his mouth to speak.
But before he could say anything, Sarah moved.
She pulled him.
Hard.
David stumbled backward, falling onto the bed.
His towel came loose, dropping to the floor.
Sarah climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
"Wait—" David started. "We just—we just did it. And we just took a shower—"
Sarah pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shh," she whispered. "Let me handle it."
David's eyes widened.
Sarah reached down, guiding him inside her.
She started riding him.
More aggressive than she'd ever been.
David's hands went to her hips, but Sarah grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed.
"Stay still," she said. "Be a good boy."
David's breath caught.
Be a good boy.
That's—
That's what Leena says.
His eyes widened.
She's trying to be like Leena.
She's trying to—
Sarah leaned down, kissing him deeply.
"Do I taste good?" she whispered against his lips.
David tried to flip her over, to take control, but Sarah held him down.
"No," she said firmly. "Stay still."
David's mind raced.
She's impersonating her.
She's trying to fill Leena's shoes.
And then, unbidden, the comparison began.
Sarah's movements. Leena's movements.
Sarah's voice. Leena's voice.
Sarah's face.
Leena's face.
David looked up at his wife, and for a moment, her features flickered.
Sarah.
Leena.
Sarah.
Leena.
"Sarah can never replace me in your heart."
Leena's words echoed in his mind.
"The thrill I give you. The void I fill."
Sarah was trying.
God, she was trying so hard.
She was riding him desperately, her body moving with a ferocity he'd never seen from her before.
But something was missing.
The edge.
The danger.
The way Leena made him feel like he was falling off a cliff every time she touched him.
David closed his eyes.
And in his mind, it wasn't Sarah on top of him.
It was Leena.
Leena's body. Leena's voice. Leena's face.
"My favorite man."
David's breath quickened.
His hips bucked upward.
Sarah moaned, her movements growing more frantic.
David's hands gripped her thighs.
Leena.
Leena.
Leena.
He came hard, his body tensing, his mouth opening.
"Lee—"
He caught himself.
Just barely.
The name died on his lips.
But Sarah heard it.
The almost-slip.
She froze for just a second.
Then she kept moving, riding out his orgasm.
When it was over, she collapsed onto his chest, her breath coming in slow heavy gasps.
"I love you," she whispered.
David's chest tightened.
"I love you too," he said.
But the words felt hollow.
Sarah lay there, her head on his chest, her body still trembling.
And David stared at the ceiling, his mind a storm of guilt and desire and shame.
What have I done?
***
The federal courthouse loomed ahead, its stone facade cold and imposing.
Jack walked up the steps, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
Calloway walked beside him, his briefcase in hand, his jaw tight.
"Remember," Calloway said quietly. "Don't say anything. Let me do the talking."
Jack nodded.
They pushed through the heavy doors and into the lobby.
The security checkpoint was quick. Jack emptied his pockets, walked through the metal detector, and collected his belongings on the other side.
Calloway led him down a long hallway, their footsteps echoing against the marble floor.
They stopped outside a courtroom.
Calloway turned to Jack. "You ready?"
Jack's lips curved into a faint smile. "As I'll ever be."
Calloway pushed open the door.
The courtroom was smaller than Jack had expected.
Rows of wooden benches. A judge's bench at the front. An American flag in the corner.
A few people were already seated.
Reporters. Observers. A sketch artist in the back row.
Jack walked down the aisle, his eyes scanning the room.
At the prosecutor's table sat a woman in a dark suit, her hair pulled back into a tight bun.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Diane Mercer.
She didn't look at Jack as he passed.
Jack and Calloway took their seats at the defense table.
A moment later, the bailiff stood.
"All rise," he said. "The Honorable Magistrate Judge Patricia Harlow presiding."
Everyone stood.
Judge Harlow entered from a side door, her black robe flowing behind her.
She was in her fifties, with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense expression.
She took her seat at the bench.
"Be seated," she said.
Everyone sat.
Judge Harlow looked down at the file in front of her, flipping through the pages.
"United States versus Jack Malone," she said. "This is a detention hearing pursuant to the Bail Reform Act. Ms. Mercer, you may proceed."
Diane Mercer stood, buttoning her jacket.
"Thank you, Your Honor," she said.
She walked to the podium, her heels clicking against the floor.
"Your Honor, the government respectfully requests that the defendant be detained pending trial. Mr. Malone is not simply a bar owner, as his counsel may suggest. He is the head of an organized criminal enterprise. He controls a network of employees who are loyal to him. He has access to large amounts of unreported cash. And he poses a significant risk of flight and witness intimidation."
Judge Harlow looked up. "What evidence supports these claims?"
Mercer opened her folder. "Your Honor, the government has obtained recorded phone calls in which Mr. Malone instructs an associate to 'handle it'—a clear reference to witness intimidation. We also have security footage showing Mr. Malone observing illegal fights from a private balcony at his establishment. Additionally, we have evidence of bank transfers structured below federal reporting thresholds, indicating an attempt to conceal income."
Calloway leaned over to Jack, whispering. "She's laying it on thick."
Jack said nothing.
Mercer continued. "Furthermore, Your Honor, the government has a confidential informant whose identity must be protected. This informant has provided critical information regarding Mr. Malone's operations. If Mr. Malone is released, there is a substantial risk that he will attempt to identify and intimidate this witness."
Judge Harlow frowned. "What about ties to the community?"
Mercer nodded. "Mr. Malone does own property locally. However, wealth increases his ability to flee. He has the resources to disappear. And given the severity of the charges—RICO violations, prostitution, illegal gambling, racketeering—he faces significant prison time. That creates a powerful incentive to run."
Judge Harlow looked at Calloway. "Mr. Calloway, your response?"
Calloway stood, his expression calm but firm.
"Your Honor, the government's case is built on speculation and innuendo. Mr. Malone has no prior criminal convictions. He is a successful businessman with deep ties to this community. He owns multiple properties here. He employs dozens of people. He is not a flight risk."
Mercer scoffed quietly.
Calloway ignored her. "Mr. Morris is willing to surrender his passport. He will accept house arrest with an ankle monitor. He will post a multimillion-dollar bond. He will comply with any conditions this court deems appropriate."
Judge Harlow leaned back in her chair. "What about the allegations of witness intimidation?"
Calloway shook his head. "Allegations, Your Honor. Not evidence. The government has provided no concrete proof that Mr. Malone has intimidated anyone. A vague phone call saying 'handle it' could mean anything. It's not evidence of a crime."
Mercer stood again. "Your Honor, if I may—"
Judge Harlow nodded.
Mercer stepped forward. "The government invokes the Bail Reform Act. Under 18 U.S.C. 3142, there is a rebuttable presumption that no condition or combination of conditions will reasonably assure the defendant's appearance or the safety of the community. Mr. Malone is charged with racketeering—a crime that carries a maximum sentence of twenty years. The weight of the evidence is strong. He has organizational control over a criminal enterprise. And there is a serious risk of obstruction of justice."
Judge Harlow was silent for a long moment.
She looked down at the file again, flipping through the pages.
Then she looked up at Jack.
"Mr. Morris," she said. "Do you have anything to say?"
Calloway put a hand on Jack's arm, but Jack stood anyway.
"Your Honor," Jack said, his voice calm. "I'm not running. I'm not hiding. I'm here because I believe in the system. I believe in justice. And I believe that when all the facts come out, I'll be vindicated."
Judge Harlow's expression didn't change.
"Sit down, Mr. Morris," she said.
Jack sat.
Judge Harlow took a breath.
"I've reviewed the government's evidence," she said. "And while I agree that some of it is circumstantial, the totality of the circumstances gives me pause. Mr. Morris, you are charged with serious crimes. The government has presented evidence of financial irregularities, recorded phone calls, and security footage that suggests involvement in illegal activities. Additionally, the presence of a confidential informant raises legitimate concerns about witness safety."
Calloway's jaw tightened.
Judge Harlow continued. "The Bail Reform Act requires me to consider the nature and circumstances of the offense, the weight of the evidence, the defendant's history and characteristics, and the danger to the community. In this case, the weight of the evidence appears strong. The defendant has organizational control over a business that the government alleges is a front for criminal activity. And there is a credible risk of witness tampering."
She paused.
"Therefore, I find that no condition or combination of conditions will reasonably assure the defendant's appearance or the safety of the community. The defendant is remanded to federal custody pending trial."
The gavel came down.
The sound echoed through the courtroom.
Jack's expression didn't change.
Calloway's face went pale.
"Your Honor—" Calloway started.
"The hearing is concluded," Judge Harlow said. "Bailiff, take the defendant into custody."
Two U.S. Marshals stepped forward.
Jack stood slowly, his hands at his sides.
One of the marshals pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
"Hands behind your back," he said.
Jack complied.
The cold metal closed around his wrists with a sharp click.
Calloway stood beside him, his voice low. "I'll file an appeal. We'll fight this."
Jack nodded. "I know."
The marshals led him toward the side door.
Jack glanced back at Calloway.
Their eyes met.
Calloway looked devastated.
Jack's lips curved into a faint smile.
"It's not over," Jack said.
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him.
Calloway stood there, staring at the empty space where Jack had been.
Diane Mercer packed up her files, a satisfied smile on her face.
The reporters in the back row scribbled furiously in their notebooks.
And the courtroom slowly emptied.
Outside, the sun was shining.
But inside, everything was dark.