READ AND REVIEW :)

Margo called in sick the day after her date with Roy. It was a cowardly thing to do, she knew it, but the thought of facing him made her stomach clench. As horrible as last night had been, Margo knew his attitude this morning would be even worse. She had agreed to dig up information about Cohen's drug racket, not be emotionally harassed by a jackass detective. This was where Margo drew the line.

She spent the majority of the morning in bad spirits, moping around in her curlers and bathrobe, angry at not being able to pull off the job. Everything had been going so well at the start. Roy had done everything Mickey had said he would do. What had happened? Somewhere between her fifth or sixth Manhattan and her hand down his pants things had taken a turn. Margo had been assured over and over that sex was a sure way to get what she wanted from Earle. Had he been overcome with some moral epiphany? He sure picked a hell of a time…

The phone rang around eleven-thirty, jerking Margo out of her doze on the couch. She fished around the floor in front of her for the receiver, found it, and pressed it against her ear.

"Hello?" She murmured. There was no answer. "Who's speaking?"

Heavy breathing came over the line, ragged and deep. Margo's blood chilled. Slowly, she slid off the sofa and crossed to the living room windows. Peeling back the curtains, Margo caught sight of a man at the payphone across the street. He was staring up at her window, phone in hand. Her grip around the Bakelite tightened.

"What does he want?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

The man didn't answer but his lips curled in a sinister smile. He hung up and slipped into the shadows of a neighboring alley. Margo let the curtain fall in front of her face. How had they known she hadn't gone to work today?

Calmly, she replaced the receiver and slipped on her shoes.

Outside, the man in the alley waited.

Roy drained the last cold dregs of coffee from his cup and rubbed his eyes. Seven hours of staring at pica type had made him go slightly cross-eyed and a dull headache pulsed at the base of his skull. Paperwork was Roy's least favorite thing about police work. He had let it pile up for months, purposefully avoiding it until the mountain of case files on his desk became so unbearably ridiculous that he had no choice but to sort through it. Now he was suffering the consequences. At ten o'clock at night, he was the last person remaining on his floor. Roy could hear the patrolmen goofing around below him but they never came upstairs. It was just him. He should be at a bar picking up some dame, not cloistered away like a monk transcribing the bible.

Roy yanked open the top drawer of his desk and sifted around for his bottle of aspirin. It was empty.

Great, Roy thought with a sigh, tossing the empty bottle into the wastebasket next to him. Maybe there'll be some in the breakroom…at least I'll get to move around.

He pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, stretching. His back cracked loudly. Maybe he'd get more coffee while he was up, or go harass the boys downstairs for a bit.

Anything to get out of that goddamn chair.

Margo patted more powder over the angry purple bruise that was forming on her cheek. She winced as pain flared hot and white behind her eyes. Mickey had really laid into her. The DA was at his heels threatening indictments, the L.A. police department was rounding up people left and right, and Cohen was convinced it was Earle's fault. Her only job had been to deliver proof, give him a scapegoat to throw the DA off the trail, and she had failed because of her own stupid pride. Mickey had never beaten her before today. He had told her she deserved it…

The cabbie kept throwing her curious glances in his rearview mirror. Margo ignored him the best she could, keeping her eyes trained on the rain streaked window. She was headed to the office, as per Mickey's "request"…she would finish the job tonight, no excuses.

The cab pulled up in front of the L.A. Police Department and Margo passed a ten dollar bill to the driver. Not waiting for change, she slid herself out of the car and hurried through the rain into the building.

The light was on in the patrolmen's break room. Voices and the clinking of coffee cups drifted into the hallway. Margo tiptoed down the dark hallway and up the staircase to the Vice desks. The frosted glass windows of Earle's office were aglow with soft yellow light. His door was open slightly and Margo could hear him rustling papers and opening drawers. She quickly ducked into the shadows of a nearby office, her heart fluttering a little. Margo hadn't expected him to be here; normally he ducked out before five to head to the bars. She should have known better. The papers on his desk had been teetering too precariously to ignore forever.

A silhouette materialized on the glass and Margo held her breath. Roy opened the office door and headed for the staircase, coffee cup in hand. The door to his office gaped wide behind him, a sea of papers clearly visible on the desk. Margo backed further into the darkness, scarcely allowing herself to breathe until Roy had passed her. The sound of his shoes on the staircase faded to nothing and Margo pulled herself into the hallway. Apprehensively, she leaned over the banister and listened. The patrolmen had fallen silent, then Roy's voice, loud but indecipherable, cut the air. There was a rumble of laughter and the scrape of a chair being pulled out. Roy was settling in.

Margo slipped down the hall and into the office like a ghost. Once inside, she headed toward the desk. The piles of paper loomed at her mockingly, daring her to find anything of use among its haphazardly stacked mounds. Margo doubted Roy would just leave incriminating evidence lying around willy-nilly, but she had to start someplace. Gingerly, she began searching, moving papers piece by piece so as not to disturb anything too much.

This is crazy, Margo, he's not going to just keep whatever it is you're looking for on his desk…at work…you should be trying his house, or maybe that stupid car of his.

She sighed, replaced the papers, and pulled open a desk drawer.

"Good evening, Margo."

Roy watched her rifle through the papers on his desk from the doorway. A steady rage began to boil inside of him. She wouldn't find what she was looking for, he knew that, but that wasn't the point. Nobody took advantage of Roy Earle. Fuck Mickey Cohen, fuck his whole operation. He was a pintsized asshole with an attitude problem and Roy wasn't going to sit back and allow himself to be thrown under the buss. He had risked his ass for that bastard too many times to be disregarded like that. He wasn't a pawn. Mickey was going to understand that, he'd make sure.

And then there was Margo. This woman had pressed just about even button Roy owned and he was tired of it. Whatever feminist illusions she held about them being equals was bullshit, and he was fucking sick of it. Everything about her made his stomach churn with anger, raw and unyielding. Roy had put up with it long enough. He should have just destroyed her that night at the Blue Room. At any rate, she'd learn her place now.

"Good evening, Margo," he hissed coolly. Margo's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide when she saw who it was. "I thought you were sick today."

Roy stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. He turned the lock, never taking his eyes off Margo. Her face was slowly draining of color. She closed the drawer she had been going through. Roy smirked and slowly walked toward the desk, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he did.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to snoop through other people's things?" He was directly across from her now. All that separated them was the desk. "What exactly did you expect to find?"

"I wasn't snooping," Margo said, forcefully. She was still white as a sheet but her voice was strong, defiant. "I was just—"

"Mickey give you that?" Roy asked suddenly, nodded at the welt on her face. The start she gave betrayed her before she had even opened her mouth.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He must be pretty angry," Roy said, staring her down. His lips curled around his teeth. "Did you cry? I bet you did."

Margo drew herself up and returned his gaze with a boldness that caused Roy's anger to blaze white hot. Here she was all but cornered and still she didn't get it.

"I told you, I don't—"

Roy's open palm had made contact with the side of Margo's head with a thunderous crack! The force of the slap nearly sent her flying to the floor. Still, she didn't make a sound, not even a whimper. Roy pulled pack and slapped her again, harder this time. The ring he wore on his middle finger cut across the bridge of her nose and blood smeared her cheek.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Roy growled, whirling around to her side of the desk and holding her by the cheeks. "I know you're working for Cohen, you fucking whore, I've know the whole goddamn time." Margo glared at him, unyielding. This bitch was pushing it. He caught a chunk of her hair in his fist and slammed her face against the desk. Margo sputtered a little; he leaned down next to her cheek. "But that's not what gets me. What really pisses me off is this fucking attitude you have, Miss Donahue. I've tried to be nice…but you insist on doing everything the hard way."

Roy reached under her skirt and tore her garters from her stockings. Margo went to scream but he slammed her face against the surface of the desk again. Sharp pain and then the taste of metal, Margo's teeth had cut through her tongue. Blood dripped onto the desk, staining the papers red. Margo gurgled indistinctly and her body went slack. Roy's hand felt between her thighs. His fingers drew across her panties and then slipped underneath them. She was soft and warm. He savored her for a moment before tearing her underwear from her body. Margo let out a soft sob and Roy's pants tightened. He nibbled at her earlobe.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk," Roy whispered, pressing his dick against her ass, "and when I'm done you're not going to know whether to thank me or damn me to hell."

Roy whipped her around, shoving the folders off of the desk, and slid her onto the flat surface. Margo thrashed underneath him, weakly beating his chest with her fists. The blood in her mouth made it hard for her to yell but she was squealing shrilly. Her eyes were glassy with fear. Roy's blood pumped faster. Seeing her helpless and terrified underneath him almost made him salivate. He reached up and tore the buttons from her blouse, exposing her breasts in their white lace bra. Pinning her arms to her sides, Roy leaned down and took her right nipple in his mouth, biting hard. Margo flailed wildly and tried to knee him between the legs. Roy caught her by the throat.

"Try that again and I'll squeeze the life out of you, bitch," he hummed. "You're going to lay here and take it or I'm going to slit you from ear to ear with a letter opener, understand?"

Margo's face was going blue from lack of air. She clawed at his hand, nodding fervently. Roy loosened his grip but didn't let go. He didn't believe she wasn't going to try and escape again. With his other hand he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to his ankles. He hiked Margo's skirt up around her waist and positioned himself at her opening. Roy felt her shaking and the desire to giggle like a kid on Christmas overcame him. God he was hard.

Something wet dripped onto the first around her throat and he looked up at her. Margo was sobbing silently, mascara running down her face and mingling with the smears of blood. She wasn't fighting anymore, wasn't even moving, her whole body was limp under him. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling and her lips were moving rapidly. Roy caught a few whispered words and realized she was praying, begging for help or mercy or whatever people prayed for when hell was upon them. He stopped.

She felt his pause and their eyes met. Roy felt disgust rise in his belly and a sweeping wave of nausea overcame him. Was she really just going to lay there and let him do this? He knew he said for her to…but…

Roy pulled back and punched the top of the desk. Margo winced, expecting it to be for her. When she opened her eyes again Roy was pulling up his pants.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said, not looking at her. "Get the fuck out of California. I never want to see your goddamn face again. And if you ever tell anyone about this I'll hunt you down and finish what I started."

He picked up his jacket and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.