They’d talked of pleasures, and she …

He sensed movement behind him, felt a terrible, shocking pain. His cry started as a croak, broke into a scream.

And she stepped into view.

Not the Frenchwoman.

Who was this woman, this creature smiling at him who wore a silver mask, with dark hair edged with silver spilling around her face, with her body curving in black?

She wore silver boots and a kind of—good God—breastplate in black leather with the letters LJ emblazoned on it in silver, like the boots.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I want my many moments of pleasure.”

He felt a thin thread of relief weave through the fear. “Solange? Don’t—”

“Do I look like Solange?” Snarling, she tapped the electric prod a bare inch above his penis, had him convulsing with pain as the burn seared across, spiked down. “I’m Lady Justice, you adulterous prick. And Nigel B. McEnroy, this is your time of reckoning.”

“Stop, stop, don’t. I can pay. Whatever you want, I can pay.”

“Oh, believe me, you will. For your wife.” She slapped the prod over his belly. “For your daughters.” His chest. “For every woman you’ve raped.” His buttocks.

His screams bounced off the walls. “No, no, no. I haven’t raped anyone. You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Have I? Have I, Nigel?” She gave him a little lick of shock across the balls, and imagined only dogs could have heard the high pitch of his scream from that one.

Each time she said a name—one of his victims—she shocked him again.

He gibbered, went limp, but she was patient.

After snapping a vial under his nose to revive him, she started again.

He begged—oh, how he begged—he cursed her, he wept and screamed and pissed himself.

And oh, oh, oh, those moments of pleasure.

“Why, why are you doing this?”

“For all the women you’ve betrayed, humiliated, abused. Confess, confess, Nigel, to your crimes.”

“I never hurt anyone!”

She slapped the electric rod hard over his buttocks. When he could speak again, he sobbed out the words. “I love my wife, I love my wife, but I need more. I’m sorry. It was only sex. Please, please.”

“You drugged women.”

“I didn’t— Yes, yes!” He shrieked it to hold off the pain. “Not always, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You used your position to intimidate, to pressure women who wanted work to have sex.”

“No— Yes—yes! I have needs. Please.”

“Your needs?” She picked up a sap, slapped it across his face. Shattered his cheekbone. “Your needs were more important than their free will, than their wishes, their needs? Than your vows to your wife?”

“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I—I need help. I’ll get help. I’ll confess. I’ll go to prison. I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Say my name.”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net