“That man loves you more than anything in this world,” Mike growls. “More than his wife, his son, his career. You are the light of his life. You are the stars in his endless darkness. And you are snuffing yourself out and leaving him with nothing, all because you chose to be some nigger lover.”
“Don’t call him that,” I say, managing to work some firmness into my tone. “And don’t call me that.”
“I’ll call it like I see it,” he says. “You know what? I hope he proves us all right and destroys you in the end. Lord knows you have it coming.”
My phone buzzes as he storms away, nine minutes after my initial alarm went off. Fuck. I needed to be ready to be called almost fifteen minutes ago, and now I have no time to compose myself. I run inside, pushing my hair out of my face and dabbing the moisture from my eyes.
“What happened?” the ADA, a young man with freckles and thin hair, asks as I rush in. “Doesn’t matter—they need you now.”
“The defense calls Miss Riley McLeon,” I hear the district attorney say. The ADA flies back, only having cleared half the tears from my face, and urges me through the double doors. I straighten my shoulders and walk down the aisle, managing to get into the witness box and swear in without collapsing.
Dad sits next to his lawyer, to my horror happens to be a middle-aged black woman with sad brown eyes. He looks up at me and all color drains from his face, his brow knitting together in concern. He opens his mouth like he would dare ask if I’m okay in this environment, but immediately shuts it again. Two shaking hands settle on the desk in front of him as he bites down on his tongue, forcing himself to be silent.
I want to hug him. I want this all to be a horrible, terrible nightmare. My chest is spasming trying to hold back the tears, and I might throw up.
God, I need to throw up.
Mike sits behind Dad, sneering at me over his shoulder. He’s not concerned at all. I look away, find Lincoln sitting in the back of the courtroom, his dark eyes like saucers on his face. I purse my lips, struggling to not fall apart right there.
“Miss McLeon,” the judge speaks before the DA can approach me. “Are you alright to proceed?”
I draw in a gasp. “Yes,” I hiccup. “Yes, yes, of course, Your Honor.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.
Lincoln catches my eyes again, mouthing, “It’s okay,” and I close my eyes. I’m shaking all over, black spots dance in my vision, but the hearing carries on.
And my crying, stuttering, broken-hearted daughter routine does more harm to the prosecutor’s case than my silence ever could have.
“This is hopeless.”
I spin to look behind me, checking if Riley has come out of the bathroom yet. It’s the final day of the trial, a verdict will be ordered today. And despite my best attempts to apologize to the handcuffs I snubbed what feels like so long ago, tie her to the bed and distract her with my oral talents, she insisted we needed to be here.
“Lower your voice,” I snap at Rhett. “She feels guilty enough already without us adding on to it.”
“It’s not her fault,” Rhett says indignantly. “His attorney was vicious. I don’t know how she got away with half that shit.”
Martin’s attorney took a savage approach to ripping into Riley’s motives for testifying. She made Riley sound like a child throwing a tantrum, like this all stemmed from her dad not approving of her relationship with a man he found to be ‘inherently dangerous’. She leapt on the tears streaming down Riley’s face when she first came in as some admission of guilt, like Riley was the one on trial and not her father. Victim blaming in full effect, ladies and gentlemen.
Apparently her uncle, some Michael McLeon, was on the stand before I was, and preached Riley had been expressing concern about me to him for months. It circled back to Martin, who happened to recognize my name upon pulling me over for a broken taillight.
It was no different from the first time I was on the stand. The cop was the good guy, and I was something less than human.
I’d done this before. I’m used to be treated like dirt. Riley is not.
She still hasn’t told me what tore her apart before she got in there. She was anxious when I left her, sure, but nowhere close to how she was when she swore in. If I’d known this woman was going to make her feel so small, I’d have abducted my girl and ran.
“If you’re saying that, it must be even worse than I heard,” Duke says to Rhett, crossing his arms. They’re both in picket attire, dressed for fighting, not court. At this point I wonder if it’s doing more harm than good.
Riley steps out of the bathroom and puts herself under my arm, hiding her colorless face in my chest. She has streaks of old make-up on her cheeks, new mascara applied shakily to too-wet lashes and smeared under her eyes.
“Hey, Trouble,” I say easily, hugging her against me.
She grumbles out some type of inaudible response, sniffling. Rhett raises a brow at her but says nothing. He still acts like she’s got rabies, but the hint of pity in his eyes is too hard to ignore.
People start funneling back into the courtroom, and Riley picks her head up. “The jury’s in already?”
“It hasn’t even been a half hour.” Duke looks down at his watch and sighs.
Rhett shakes his head. “You sound surprised,” he says. He catches my glare as Riley flinches, and he cringes. “That’s the court system for you. You can’t convict a cop, not even with a god on the offense.”
Nice save, but it doesn’t matter. Riley’s got all the weight on her own shoulders, as usual.
“C’mon,” she mumbles. She takes my hand and tugs me into the courtroom, sitting in the aisle closest to the door. Most of the lanes are empty at this point, vacated by those who already know the outcome before it’s been spoken, or removed for being too rowdy. The latter group has no doubt joined Rhett outside at this stage.
Martin is told to rise as the jury gives their unanimous verdict. “Not Guilty on all charges,” bounces off the wooden walls and is drowned out by the Denver precinct cheering that justice prevailed. Mike rises and hugs Martin over the barrier, smacking his shoulders triumphantly as the judge announces he is free to go.
Riley is frozen beside me, eyes to the ground, soft lips parted in a scream that can’t quite break free. I pull her into my arms, her tremors rippling through me and turning to rage.
I want to rip the jury apart, break his attorney’s neck, and anyone else who pressured her into fighting a losing battle. Anyone who put hope in her mind this could turn out any other way is on my fucking list.
“I’m so sorry,” Carly says on her way out. She pats Riley’s hair and squeezes her hand, but doesn’t linger to force the conversation. At least three more people apologize to her, but she doesn’t look up for one of them.
And then Martin stops next to us.
“Marty, let’s go,” Michael says, not even sparing a glance at his muted, sobbing niece.
Martin’s eyes are locked on mine, warring with himself on who to follow. He holds a hand up to his brother and steps back, squatting down in front of Riley’s seat and saying, “Star girl.”
Her whole body goes rigid and she pulls away from our hug, her hands still fisting my jacket like she needs to hold on to something to keep her from bolting. “Dad,” she chokes out, the fear in her voice making me see red.
“This isn’t appropriate,” I say, pulling Riley closer to my side.
Martin pierces me with a dark look, but visibly shakes himself before he can tell me where to shove it. He swallows and says, soft expression back on Riley, “I just want five minutes.”
“And I want to wake up from this nightmare,” she says. “Too bad, neither one of us can have what we want.”
She stands up and I follow suit, keeping my body between the two of them as she storms through the double doors and out of the room. She cowers away from Michael when she passes him, and I make sure to plow my shoulder into his on the way out. I hope he burns
the suit he’s wearing, too disgusted my blackness to salvage it.
“Riley, please,” Martin calls after us. “Please, just hear me out.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” I bark at him. “You’ve had her whole life to be a good father and you fucking blew it. You don’t get another chance.”
But Riley stopped walking at the sound of his pleading anyway. She looks up at me and grabs on to my shirt, shaking violently as she looks between me and her father. She looks so broken, but so curious, and completely torn in pieces by her indecision.
“You stalked my boyfriend,” she hisses finally. “I don’t care what that jury thinks you did. I never told you a damn thing about him, ever, and it’s because I knew you’d do something stupid like this!”
“And how was I supposed to know who he was?” he barks. “You hid him for months. Did you retain anything I taught you? He could’ve been hurting you.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because I’m black?”
Martin sighs. “You don’t know what I’ve seen, boy, but it’s not fucking pretty. That girl is my life—”
“And you almost killed her because you can’t see through your own fucking hate,” I spit.
To my complete disbelief, he winces, and doesn’t argue with me.
“You could’ve come to me with those concerns,” Riley whimpers. “You could’ve asked, or talked to me. Instead you threw around slurs and said you’d kill him, and then you tried to do just that.”
“I thought he went after you.” His voice is so thick, I think he actually believes that. He believes it like he believes Phillip Jordan was pulling a gun. “If I wanted to kill him for nothing, Riley, I had the perfect opportunity when you hit the ground. I was trying to protect you, my whole life I’ve done nothing but try to protect you.”
He’s ashen, shaking, and on the verge of tears, and it feels like a punch to the chest. Spite wants me to tell him he failed, that he did nothing but twist her mind so deeply she may never fully recover. He’s aged two decades since I saw him last, his hair more white than black now, the dark circles under his eyes taking up near all of his face.
His guilt is tangible, right there to be touched, struck, broken. Not for me, or his beliefs. No, his cold indifference hasn’t thawed in the slightest.
But he loves his daughter. It’s the only thing keeping me in line.
“Listen to me,” he says, stepping closer to the two of us. He looks like he wants to touch Riley, to reach out and hug her, but she doesn’t move out from under my hands, and he doesn’t try to take her away. “I adore you, Riley Alison. You are my whole world—you’re my star girl. And if you love him...fuck, I’ll try. As much as I fucking hate it, please, you’ve got to let me try.”
Sincerity crashes off him in time with his pleading, and for a moment I think he’ll drop to his knees. He’s still a racist prick, and can’t look me in the eye without sneering, but this has him spooked. Losing everything is enough to make him think.
What I would give to be the monster he thinks I am, for just five minutes. He doesn’t deserve Riley, and I want to tell him that. But it’s not my decision.
“You’ll never be okay with him,” Riley breathes. “I know about Ryker. And Mom.”
What little color he had left in his face floods out like a plug was pulled. He glances back over his shoulder, at his brother who is looking at Riley like she is the epitome of evil, but eventually gulps and nods. “I never should have lied to you,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
Riley’s face crumbles and she hides behind her hand, turning her back on the both of us. She gasps and clutches her throat, shaking her head before looking at me for answers, for direction. I should grab her and leave, get her as far away from the pain he’s causing as I possibly can.
But I don’t. I can’t make her choose between the two of us—it’s not my place, no matter how badly I want her away from his toxic behavior. If she wants us both, I’m willing to try and be friendly with him.
So long as he doesn’t go waving his fucking gun in my face again...
I look back at him and extend my hand. “My name is Lincoln Sanders, and I’m in love with your daughter.”
Nothing like making a grown ass man squirm at the thought of touching you. He grits his teeth for a solid ten seconds before slamming his hand down against mine, squeezing and shaking my hand like he’s trying to break it. “Martin McLeon,” he grunts back.
“Let’s get lunch,” I suggest. “The three of us. And talk.”
Riley looks surprised at me, but not upset. If anything, I think she’s glad the choice isn’t all hers anymore. She sniffles and offers me the tiniest grin before putting herself back under my arm, and we walk out of the courthouse together.
A black guy, a racist cop, and the girl we both love too much to tear in two.
I could live a million and one lifetimes and never deserve Lincoln Sanders.
My heart is pounding a million miles an hour, my entire body consumed by anxious shaking. I don’t even know if I want this, to go and sit with a man who tried to kill a person who would set aside his comfort for my own. The scar in my hip is warm, like the interaction with my father has caught me on fire from the inside.
A broken part of me wants so badly for this to be real. Dad truly is...was my best friend, and my heart wants nothing more than for the two of them to be in my life. It was my own selfishness that made it so hard to choose, wasn’t it? My own hope that I’d wake up one day and he’d magically be okay with this?
It never happened. I woke up every day with Phillip Jordan’s dead eyes at the forefront of my mind. And now I get to carry the weight of his parents hugging me, telling me how heartbroken they were for me.
For me.
My father took their child, and they’re hurting for me. That’s what a monster my own dad is—he annihilated the world of two of the kindest, most selfless people on this earth.
The sun is shining when we step outside. It’s a beautiful day. The sky is bright and dotted with fluffy, cartoonish clouds, and a soft breeze carries away the burning sunshine.
It’s disgusting.
It actually upsets me how beautiful it is out here, when the corruption is thriving just beyond the closing doors behind me.
Talk about a fucking wake-up call.
Rhett’s protesters see us exit the courthouse, and swarm to block us in along with news anchors and cameramen. Lincoln huddles me into his side, and Dad’s attorney takes his side, along with Uncle Mike.
“Officer McLeon, Officer McLeon, will you be returning to the force?”
“Miss McLeon, is it true you were dating a black man at the time of the shooting?”
“Officer McLeon, Officer McLeon, what is your statement to the black community?”
“Miss McLeon, what do you have to say regarding your father’s actions?”
“C’mon, no comment,” Lincoln snaps at them, shielding me from the press and throwing his arms out in front of him. “Back the hell off!”
Rhett struggles to herd his group backwards, elbowing his way through the crowd and pushing people away from us. They still push forward, shouting over the newscasters what horrible people Dad and I both are. A few of them curse at Lincoln for standing at my side through this whole thing. Most pretend he’s not there at all.
“Officer McLeon is elated the court ruled in the favor of justice,” Dad’s attorney says cheerfully, much to the bane of the protestors. “At this time, he is slated to return to work at the start of next month.”
“So he can keep killing us?” a voice in the crowd bellows over the rest. I peer over Linc’s shoulder and catch the man’s eye. He’s tall, thin but muscled, with scars on his face and arms that suggest he’s won a scuffle or two. He’s wearing a white wife beater and a black ball cap, a cursive D embroidered on it.
At his feet, a little girl is crying, clinging to his hand for dear life. She’s being shoved and kneed and kicked by the rumbling crowd, and I doubt anyon
e even sees her.
“Linc,” I say, tugging on his jacket and pointing her out.
He follows my gaze, and instantly his skin turns red from his strong cheekbones all the way down his tensed neck. “Sonofabitch,” he says. “Danika! Come to me, sweetheart. Derrick, let her go!”
The little girl looks up at his voice, searching for his eyes in the swarm. The man, Derrick I presume, glances in our direction and sneers at me in particular, but doesn’t release his hold on the little girl.
His other hand comes up fast, and the hollow sound of gunfire silences the endless questions of the media personnel, only to replace them with frightened screaming.
Startled gasps and loud curses split the crowd, everyone ducking and running from the shots. No less than three dozen follow after it, court marshals and any police that were present for the trial peppering the entire group in an attempt to hit one bad guy.
I throw my arms up over my head and drop as low to the ground as I can. Lincoln comes down over me, one hand on my back as his eyes remain focused on the little girl. She screams and wrestles away from Derrick, his body spasming as bullets tear through his chest and legs.
Lincoln pushes into the fray and grabs her out of the way, a bullet whizzing past the two of them and embedding in the calf of an onlooker. The little girl, Danika throws herself at me and Lincoln covers us both.
The gunshots eventually end, but the screaming carries on. Danika is shrieking in my arms, her body shaking double what Linc’s and mine are. I raise my head and peer around, taking in the carnage. Cops are restraining people, people who had nothing to do with the shooting. One of them pushes Duke down on his stomach, cuffing his wrists behind his back as he wails that his friend needs help.
Rhett is beside him, blood gushing from his shoulder and stomach. I move to stand, but Lincoln pushes me back against the wall. “D-Don’t move,” he stammers. His face is so pale I worry he may pass out.
Fearless Page 17
