The probie and his biker chick (Iron vipers book 3)

The trial starts

*Tommy*

The courtroom buzzes with an energy that feels both electric and suffocating. I sit in the front row with Dylan, Tom, Zac, Nick, and LZ, a united front. I glance sideways at Dylan, who’s gripping my hand tightly. Her palm is warm, and for a moment, it anchors me amidst the chaos swirling around us.

Isabella stands at the front, her expression fierce yet focused, ready to take on the monstrous figure who has haunted so many lives, including Willow’s. As the judge enters, silence falls over the room. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the anticipation almost unbearable.

“Court is now in session,” the judge announces, his voice carrying authority that somehow feels inadequate for the gravity of this case.

I catch a glimpse of Caleb Sinclair at the defendant’s table, his smirk plastered across his face like a mask, the very embodiment of arrogance. He’s dressed impeccably, the picture of charm and wealth, poised to manipulate the narrative to his advantage. It makes my stomach churn. I can’t shake the feeling that he relishes this… playing the role of the victim, the misunderstood good guy who just happens to be wealthy and untouchable.

“Where’s Willow?” I lean over to Zac, my voice barely above a whisper. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes clouded with concern.

“She didn’t want to see him,” Zac replies, his jaw tight. “Can you blame her? It’s her stepbrother, after all. She doesn’t want anything to do with that family anymore.”

I nod, feeling a wave of sympathy wash over me. Willow was caught in a nightmare, and it would not just be watching her brother on trial; it would be opening up to her entire past.

The prosecution begins to lay out the case, and I watch as Isabella meticulously presents the evidence, her voice steady and unwavering. With each word, I can see the young woman… the victim… sitting on the stand, her eyes darting nervously. She looks so fragile, a stark contrast to Caleb’s confident swagger.

“Can you describe what happened that night?” Isabella prompts gently, her demeanor as comforting as it is commanding.

The victim takes a deep breath, her voice trembling. “I wanted to hang out, just a casual thing. I thought we were just going to talk… but then…” Her voice falters, and I feel Dylan squeeze my hand tighter.

“Take your time,” Isabella encourages, her tone soothing.

“I… I went out back with him,” The victim continues, “He started getting aggressive. I told him to stop, but he just… hit me. I didn’t want that. I kept saying no, but he didn’t listen.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I hear her words. The room seems to shrink around me, the weight of her pain almost suffocating. I want to reach out, to tell her she’s not alone, that we’re all here for her.

Then, the defense attorney rises, striding toward the jury with an air of false confidence. “You claim you didn’t want it, correct?” he asks, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Yes,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

“But you also admitted to wanting to be with Mr. Sinclair. You were flirting with him that night, weren’t you?” he presses, a predatory glint in his eyes. “You agreed to have s*x with him.”

“I thought we were just going to… like totally normal s*x. I didn’t want anything more than that,” she protests, her composure cracking.

“Isn’t it true that you asked him to be more rough with you?” he challenges, his words sharp as daggers.

The victim visibly flinches. “No! I never meant it like that! I just… I thought we were joking around. I didn’t think he would actually hurt me.”

Caleb watches from his seat, a smug grin creeping onto his face as if he’s winning the argument. My blood boils at his audacity. I can see Dylan’s fingers digging into my skin, her face a mix of anger and disbelief. I want to shout, to tell the jury how twisted that logic is, but I know better. This is a game to him, a sick performance, and he’s playing it to the hilt.

“Your Honor,” the defense attorney says, turning to the judge. “This young woman is clearly confused, perhaps even regretful of her actions that night. Isn’t it possible she’s fabricating these claims to cover her own embarrassment?”

A murmur ripples through the courtroom, and I can see the jury’s faces flicker with uncertainty. I wish I could scream that she’s not confused; she’s terrified. She’s been put on trial not just for what happened that night, but for her very character.

“Why didn’t you leave?” the defense attorney asks, trying to regain control. “If you were uncomfortable, why didn’t you just walk away?”

“Because I thought I could trust him, he is rich and… kinda famous around here” she cries, her voice rising, filled with desperation. “I didn’t think he would hurt me. I didn’t want it to go that far.”

“Isn’t it true that you were in the alley willingly?” he presses, his voice dripping with false concern.

“Yes, but… I thought we were just having a fling. I didn’t think he would turn violent!”

The courtroom is silent, the tension boiling over into a storm of emotions. I can feel my chest tightening as I fight against the urge to leap to my feet and confront Caleb. He’s a monster hiding behind a facade, and I want to expose him, to tear down the false narrative he’s weaving.

Dylan shifts closer to me, her presence a reminder of why we’re here. We’re fighting for every woman who has ever been silenced, every victim who has ever felt afraid to speak out. I take a deep breath, letting the fire of our purpose fuel me. We won’t let him win.

As Isabella continues to question the victim, I can see the cracks beginning to form in Caleb’s polished exterior. The jury is watching closely, and I can feel the tide starting to shift.

“Did you tell him to stop?” Isabella asks, her voice steady, grounding amidst the chaos.

“Yes! I told him to stop! He hit me and I said stop,” The victim’s voice rises, filled with desperation. “I kept saying no, but he just… he just wouldn’t listen.”

Sitting here, realising people are actually considering if this is rape or not makes it take everything in me not to scream, to lash out at the injustice of it all.