She hadn’t heard a single thing he’d just said. Wrinkling her nose, she looked at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said, ‘Your Masters wouldn’t be pleased if they saw you like this.’ Your habit of drinking whenever you’re sad is getting out of hand.”
“Today should be an exception. Cort’s getting his trial date, and Ford’s dealing with his father and—”
“Things have been hard lately. I get that. But all these exceptions are leading to you drinking every day.” He put his hand on her shoulder, massaging the tight muscles with his fingertips. “You’re better than this, Akira. Stronger. Your men need you to be.”
“There’s nothing I can do for them! I’m not ready to go to another funeral. I don’t want a quick wedding before Cort gets locked away for ten years and—”
“A wedding?” Dominik drew in a sharp inhale and straightened. At first she wondered if he was upset, but then a wide grin spread over his entire face. “Congratulations, little one! We need to celebrate! I’ll get the champagne!”
He’s lost his mind. Akira frowned at him, then glanced over at the whiskey on the counter. She wanted more of that, not champagne! “I thought you wanted me to stop drinking?”
“I do, but this is a very good exception.” He tossed her his keys. “Bring my car out front. And call your girls.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Akira pushed out of her chair, watching Dominik over her shoulder as he went through his liquor cabinet. “I can’t drive. I’ve been drinking. And do you seriously want me to get my girls together to get drunk over me getting engaged?”
Dominik went still. His muscles tensed. “No, that’s not what I want. Cort and Ford trusted me to take care of you. And right now I feel like I’m doing a shitty job of it. I managed to get you past your fears, managed to help you find yourself in the scared little girl you’d been for so long. But I’m failing miserably at showing you how to deal with all the crap life might throw at you.”
“It’s not your fault, I just . . .” I’m just doing what I asked Cort and Ford not to. I’m giving up. The thought had her more than a little disgusted with herself. Dominik felt responsible for her, but she was the only one who could make sure her men didn’t come home to a woman wallowing in alcohol and ice cream. She’d had girls come to her with all kinds of problems, everything from breakups to illness and deaths in their families. And she told each and every one the same thing.
“Keep living.” Take the time you need to be sad, to mourn, then find a reason to carry on. Those you love want that for you. And Akira knew Cort and Ford would be upset to see her let herself go.
Not that they’d care that she’d gained a few pounds, but they’d hate knowing how often Dominik had carried her to bed after she’d passed out on the sofa after a few too many. That she’d cancelled practice for the Ice Girls a few times. That she went days eating too little, or too much.
Enough was enough. Yeah, things had been rough, but Dominik was right. She was better than this. Her girls were counting on her. Her men would need her to toughen up if things did go bad. And would want the woman they loved to be waiting for them whenever they finally came home.
She bit her bottom lip and met Dominik’s eyes. “Can we make it non-alcoholic champagne, Dominik? I’m hoping I can fit in practice with the girls before the game tomorrow.”
His smile alone was enough to make the step toward dealing with things worth it. He inclined his head and put the bottle he’d taken out away. “That I can do. I’m very proud of you, Akira.”
The statement warmed her, but she quickly shook her head. “I haven’t given you a reason to be proud of me yet.” She did up her jacket, then pulled on her boots. “But I will.”
* * * *
A meeting at the courthouse, a building no different than the many others he’d been in. A touch of classic appeal with paintings and statues of judges and Justice herself. Everything was big, every sound echoed with an ominous finality, but it was the cold Cort felt every time he entered a building like this that brought back the same grim reality.
He was guilty. Even if he was innocent, he was somehow guilty. Didn’t make sense, but there was no debating the accusation in the still eyes on the walls. Painted immortality, all knowing.
Some fucking sci-fi images in the back of his head had him snorting and his lawyer cast him a questioning glance over his shoulder. From Clark Kent to Han Solo. He was losing his shit.
“Are you quite all right?” His lawyer, Jason Purcell, slowed his pace. “You remember what I said, don’t you? The prosecution will offer a deal to get this done with quick. I’ll refuse.”
Cort scratched his jaw, giving the lawyer that was about a foot shorter than him and looked like he should be on a skateboard instead of in a suit, a questioning look. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I know it is. I represent a lot of high-profile criminals, Cort. I’d get them a deal.” The tiny man’s brown eyes narrowed. “You don’t need one.”
If you say so. Cort rolled his shoulders and went with his new habit of putting one foot in front of the other. And just moving forward. Nothing would happen today to keep him from walking out those doors again. He was still free.
For now.
He blinked when Jason grabbed his wrist, only then realising he’d been rubbing both wrists like cuffs had just been taken off. Jason inclined his head when Cort gave him a sheepish smile, then spoke low. “Don’t show them you’re nervous. Believe it or not, they all know you did the right thing.”
Bullshit. Cort snorted. “I murde—”
“What did we say about using that word?”
“Don’t.”
“Excellent.” The midget made Cort feel like a kid when he talked like that, but something in his smile reminded Cort of the one Sutter gave him sometimes. Like “You’re a dumbass, but it’s all good.”
That got him down the long hall. He spotted Laura and Detective Hamilton standing outside huge, dark wood double doors. Laura smiled. Hamilton kinda grunted a greeting—it was something at least.
Beyond the doors was a . . . library? Cort blinked at the walls lined with leather-bound books, the long, polished wood table, and a man with the friendly smile who rose as Cort and Jason walked in.
The man came around the table and held out his hand. “Mr. Nash, I am—”
“It’s Cort.” Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.
Big, friendly smile fading, the man’s eyes became sharp and assessing. He wasn’t old, despite the flecks of gray in his dark hair. His suit, unlike Cort’s, looked right on him. Like he was comfortable in it. He gave Cort a sharp nod, then gestured to a chair.
“Perhaps it would be best if you let your lawyer speak.” His lips thinned, and his tone was a lot like an adult would use with a child with learning disabilities. “Unless someone says ‘So, Mr. Nash . . .’ or maybe ‘Answer the question, Mr. Nash.’ We’ll get you used to answering to being called that so you don’t get confused.”
Jason scowled, stepping between Cort and the prosecutor “Tony—”
“Mr. Skeans. Let’s form good habits with your client, Mr. Purcell.”
All right, Jason looked like he was going to lose it. He gave Mr. Skeans a stiff smile, then gestured for Cort to take a seat. Cort’s jaw clenched as something passed between the lawyers that he couldn’t quite read.
He liked Jason. Which meant Skeans being a jerk to him was an issue.
Not one Cort could do anything about. Which pissed him off. He dragged his chair out and plunked down on it.
Skeans’s brows shot up. He turned to Jason. “Have you worked with this man at all? He does realize he’s not in . . . what do bikers call it? Church?”
“Cort’s never been to ‘church,’” Jason said curtly before taking a chair beside Cort. The man had clearly misinterpreted what Cort had meant by that when they’d talked about Stephan’s wardrobe rule, but that didn’t matter. Cort was making his lawyer look bad. And he didn’t want
that.
He sat up and pulled his chair closer to the table as Skeans went around to sit across from them. Put his hands on the table and tried to appear nice and calm.
Skeans ignored Cort, but some of his words seemed directed Cort’s way. “I am Assistant Crown Prosecutor Skeans. Tony Skeans, but your client will call me ‘Mr. Skeans.’”
Jason nodded. Glanced over at Cort as though to make sure he understood.
Cort wanted to say he got it, but followed Jason’s lead and nodded too.
“Perfect. Now.” Skeans turned to Cort. “You are currently charged with murder. We have reviewed your file.”
Putting a hand on Cort’s forearm before he could comment—the man was getting to know him pretty well—Jason faced Skeans. “We are open to hearing the Crown's thoughts on a plea deal.”
“You’re not getting one.”
What the fuck? All the assurances Jason had given about this meeting, about having the upper hand, were gone. Cort moved to stand. Jason grabbed his arm and jerked him down.
Then practically snarled at Skeans. “Then what’s the point of this meeting?”
“If he gets arrested for coming after me, you’ll lose whatever advantage you have in this case. Besides the fact that without a choker chain, I’m not sure you can control your boy.” Skeans smiled at Cort. “Heel.”
Okay, fuck this shit. Cort carefully set Jason aside and placed his hands on the table. “I’m no fucking dog. But I’ll listen to this man because I respect him. Don’t waste his fucking time or—”
Jason stood beside him. “Cort!”
“Threats don’t go over well with a judge, Mr. Nash.” Skeans leaned back in his chair and grinned as the door opened. “This should be interesting.”
Detective Hamilton practically barked at Cort as he held the door open for a small, curvy woman with curly blond hair. “Sit the fuck down, Cort!” He glared at Skeans when the prosecutor laughed. “He slugs you and I ain’t arresting him. Seriously, Tony?”
“It’s ‘Mr. Skeans.’ Mr. Nash needs consistency.” Skeans steepled his hands on the table. “Please excuse us. Mrs. Norris, can I help you?”
“The judge needs your signature on something. If you have a moment?” Mrs. Norris was giving Skeans the same look people often gave Cort. The “Are you mentally challenged?” look.
Skeans got up and headed out without a word.
Rather than back out and close the door, Hamilton stepped in, leaving Laura to watch the hall as he approached Cort. He held up his hand to Jason, his expression grim. “I won’t ask your client a single question, Purcell, I just wanted to explain something to him.” Hamilton turned to Cort at Jason’s nod. “Not sure if Skeans is just being his usual, wonderful self, but to his credit, you’d suck in front of a jury right now. I’d probably lose it dealing with Skeans’s shit too, but in the end, he’s on the same page I am.”
“What page is that?” Cort probably shouldn’t talk to the guy without checking with Jason, but . . . the man seemed on the level.
Hamilton rolled his shoulders, glancing back toward the door. “The evidence doesn’t look bad for you. Some even say the fucker got what he deserved.”
“And what do you say?”
“Said all I’m going to. Just don’t let me see you back in here after we set you loose.”
Set me . . . Cort held his breath as Skeans returned. His pulse was thumping hard between his ears as Skeans started talking, using legal terms that Cort didn’t understand. He got the gist of some of it, but—he rubbed his hand over his face, not sure he’d heard Skeans right.
He was gonna sound stupid again, but he didn’t really give a shit. “What?”
“I cannot say for certain, but the evidence in this case is not in favor of the Crown.” Skeans tapped his steepled fingers together as he watched Cort’s face like he’d just told Cort he’d won the fucking lottery.
But this was better. So much better.
Cort blinked. Swallowed. Tried to find words.
Jason squeezed his forearm as he addressed Skeans. “So there is a chance there won't be an indictment against Mr. Nash?”
Skeans inclined his head. “It is a strong possibility that Mr. Nash will never be prosecuted. But it is what it is and will be in the hands of the Crown's jury.”
It took leaving that room, crossing the long hall, and stepping outside for a breath of snow-sweetened air before Cort could really absorb all that had come out of the meeting. His court date wasn’t for another month. Nothing was definite, but . . . but things were looking fucking good. For the first time, he had hope. Hope he wasn’t trying to grasp for Akira’s sake, or Ford’s.
He still had his freedom. And the way things sounded, he just might get to keep it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Akira whooped as she hung up the phone with Chicklet and scrambled to get her jacket on. She drove her car to the small motel on the edge of town where Cort’s message said to meet him. After parking, she darted across the lot, slipping on the icy pavement several times in her rush, but she made it to the room in one piece.
The door flew open and she almost fell through it. Cort chuckled and grabbed her, lifting her up into his arms and planting kisses all over her face as he kicked the door shut.
“Are you sure, Cort?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, not letting go even as he sat her on the bed with the ugly green ivy-print comforter. “There’s not enough evidence to convict you?”
“That’s what the lawyer said.” Cort stripped off her jacket, kissing along her throat as soon as he had it bared. “The detective said the same. This isn’t done with. I’ll still have a trial, but . . . it looks good, Tiny. Real good.”
Akira framed his face in her hands and kissed him, shifting as needed so he could take her shirt off. She’d been so afraid for him, she could tell going back to jail would have broken him. Now, all she wanted was to have him as close as possible. And by the bare lust in his touch, rough despite the tenderness in his eyes, she could tell he felt the same.
This, this moment of hope that wasn’t so desperate anymore—she wanted to share this with Ford too. He’d be so relieved. He was still dealing with a lot.
“Did you get the message to Ford?” She gasped as Cort finished stripping her and flipped her over, dragging her over the edge of the bed so she had her feet on the floor and her body bent over the mattress.
Cort pressed his hand to the center of her back, keeping her in place. “Chicklet tried to get in touch with him, but he didn’t answer. He could be in a meeting.”
This celebration should include Ford, and yet, she was burning up, and Cort wasn’t giving her time to think of anything other than his hands. His body. She needed Cort. Needed to feel her . . . her fiancé taking her with all the energy of a man who’d escaped being caged. Needed to feel him so filled with life, looking at his future like it would be a good thing.
Looking at their future like she was, like they were finally getting all they’d ever wanted.
She expected him to take her hard and fast, to feel the full force of all those chains being gone. She braced for it. He moved against her. Stepped back.
His hand came down hard on her exposed butt and she yelped.
“Cort!” The fiery pain spread and her core throbbed in time with the heat, causing her hips to thrust back even though she should probably get her ass out of the danger zone. She glared at him over her shoulder. “I thought you’d never punish me like—”
“I’m not punishing you. I’m doing this for fun.” He winked at her. Hauled back. Then chuckled when she pressed her eyes shut. “And because I can.”
He smacked her butt again. Rubbed it and bent down to kiss away the blossoming pain. It hurt so bad, but she remained still, trying not to grunt each time his hand came down. This wasn’t a sensual spanking, and yet . . . it was still erotic. Cort was testing his limits with her, using his freedom as a Dom to play with her body in whatever way he chose. And that was what had her
trembling with lust as each solid smack came down.
So often, he worried too much about pleasing her. Which had her worrying that she wasn’t pleasing him. That he’d go deeper into the lifestyle simply taking her lead. That he might still be doing it to satisfy her needs.
Which didn’t satisfy her at all. This side of him, this man who took all she would give him and more, he fulfilled her in every way.
A vicious slap resounded and the stinging spread across her throbbing flesh. Tears filled her eyes as she rested her forehead on the bed, sucking in air between wet lips, trembling as she wondered what he’d do next. She winced as he pressed his fingertips into the burning flesh at the swell above her thighs.
“I went too far.” He traced what felt like finger-shaped welts a little higher up. “Why didn’t you tell me I went too far?”
She hissed as he drew his fingers over a spot that would likely bruise later. Then she forced the words out because she had to say them. And he had to really hear them. “You didn’t go too far. You finally took what you wanted. Which is everything I have to offer.”
“Fuck, Akira, I want you.” He let out a throaty moan as he slid his finger between her abused butt cheeks, making her twitch as his fingertip hit the little bundle of nerves still tender from the last time he’d taken her there. He pressed a little, one hand on her back to keep her still as he penetrated her. The sensation of taking his thick finger dry was gritty, with a dark pleasure-pain that she wasn’t sure she liked. Her protests died on her lips as he whispered, “Shh, you know I won’t do anything that will hurt you.” He pumped his finger slowly, letting out a low laugh at her breathy little cry. “In a lasting way.”
“I know.” She panted as his finger dragged in and out, her pussy tightening and releasing as the emptiness of her hot, moist folds became more pronounced. She almost begged him to touch her, to fill her up in every way, but the desire was shallow. The deeper need was for him to continue just as he was. Acting as though he knew she belonged to him.
He bent down and lightly nipped along the base of her spine. “I stopped by a store to pick up a few things on the way.” His pelvis bumped against her, driving his finger in a little deeper. “I’m going to play with you, Akira. There are so many things I’ve wanted to do to you—”
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 48
