I like to stay busy and distracted. Since taking time off, I’ve started building things, from tables to bookshelves, just to give me something to do. I don’t need much sleep, and I’m not one to laze around in bed unless there’s a woman in there with me, which, to be honest, is rare these days. I’ve always preferred quality over quantity, but recently there’s been none of either. There was one woman I was casually sleeping with, before everything happened with Olivia, but I haven’t seen her in a while. Maybe I should message her. I could really use both the distraction and the release. As I go to text her though, my fingers linger over the SEND button without pressing it. I don’t actually want to see her, if I’m being honest.
I don’t know why, but I’d rather be alone. I think having meaningless sex would just make me feel even emptier at this point. I haven’t been the same since Olivia died. I withdrew and started looking at life in a whole different way. She was everything to me, my only family, and someone I’ve loved from the moment I laid my eyes on. Will the pain of losing her ever go away? Will the guilt of not being able to save her ever lessen? That was my job.
To look out for her.
And I failed.
I head home, but only to do more work.
I might as well just stay at my office.
A FEW HOURS’ WORK and one hundred push-ups later, I jump into a lukewarm shower. Hopefully after this I’ll be able to relax a little. I’ll eat something and then watch a movie and fall asleep. For some reason, my mind roams to Scarlett. I wonder what she’s doing right now. As I look down at my cock, which has somehow gotten hard, I consider it nothing more than an inconvenience. As I run my hand along it, I groan a little, the feeling of it so good. I’ve always had a healthy sex drive, but lately I’ve been trying to ignore it. Tonight, however, it looks like it needs to be taken care of. If I had called someone over, she’d be here on her knees in front of me, her mouth on my cock, looking up at me. When I picture that though, it isn’t blue eyes looking up at me—they’re hazel.
Fuck.
I begin to stroke harder and faster, water streaming down my body, my hand pumping away, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. I brace myself against the tiles as I come, each jerk bringing more pleasure than the last. When I come back to myself, and to reality, I cringe.
Did I just jack off to my client?
To Scarlett? A woman accused of murdering her husband?
Fuck.
I’m so inappropriate, it’s not even funny.
I finish showering and hop out, grabbing a towel, unable to even look at myself in the mirror. Never in the history of my career have I ever thought about one of my clients like this, and I’ve represented many beautiful women before. It was a line I’ve never even thought about crossing. It’s wrong, I know, but I can’t seem to help the fact that she’s beautiful. Her eyes are haunting, and her soul—which is begging to be free—simply calls to me, but I need to fight this. It doesn’t matter how fucking stunning she is, it’s not right, and it’s not going to happen. She needs me right now, and not in any other way than to save her from what she’s been accused of, and maybe to be someone she can trust.
I guess I should be careful what I wish for, because I wanted another distraction, and I got one.
chapter 6
Scarlett
I FEEL LIKE THE MORE information we find out, the worse it gets. Jaxon told me how Darren has changed mostly everything into his name, from my properties to a secret bank account where he was pulling money out from our joint account and funneling it into his own. Jaxon also just told me what he found out about Darren’s other woman.
“So she’s part of a motorcycle gang?” I clarify, thinking that she also must have bad taste in men. Then again, maybe I’m wrong. I personally don’t know any bikers, so I shouldn’t judge.
“Yes, the Wind Dragons,” he explains, pushing his glasses up on his nose. I don’t know why I find that cute, but I do. Today he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbows, and black tailored pants. He has expensive taste, judging by the quality of the pieces. I know designer goods—I grew up wearing them and saw them on my parents every day. He must make a lot of money, not that it matters, but when I needed a lawyer, his firm was the one recommended to me over and over again. He has a reputation as a sharp-witted, quick-thinking lawyer who will do whatever it takes to win. He’s known for going above and beyond, and giving each case his all. I think he genuinely likes to help people. I don’t think it’s all about money or his ego, though I’m sure some of that is a part of it.
When I first saw him, dressed in that navy suit, reading glasses on, gray eyes focused on me, trying to see through me, I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he is. The man is good-looking, there’s no doubt about it. I had no idea what the best and most expensive lawyer in town would look like, but I didn’t expect this. Maybe someone older and not looking like he just stepped out of a GQ.
“Unfortunately the only information I got was that Darren was a dirty cop and he didn’t treat her right either. I don’t think any of the MC will stand up in court and testify to that though, so we’re going to need to find another way.”
I’m not surprised, but I don’t like hearing that he made another woman’s life hell too. No one deserves that.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, wondering how exactly I’m going to get out of this. It’s not looking good, every lead is a dead end, and although it seems like Jaxon might now believe me, proving it to the world is going to be an issue. I’m in an even worse predicament than I thought I was, and I already thought that I was pretty damn screwed. Deep inside though, I thought justice would prevail. I didn’t kill Darren, so naturally I couldn’t go to prison for it. The truth always wins, right? I am so naïve.
As if Darren didn’t torment me enough in life, he’s still putting me through hell from beyond the grave.
Apparently I’ll never escape him.
I’m not even lucky enough to get the “till death do us part” vow.
I take a deep breath and look down at my hands. “Darren wasn’t always bad, but after he started taking drugs, he completely changed. He started taking things out on me, emotionally destroying me until I didn’t know who I was anymore. He tried to break me, Jaxon. He tried to take everything I was and destroy it. I wasn’t enough; it was my fault everything happened. And then, when that wasn’t enough, when he wasn’t happy with the amount of pain he was causing me, he started using his hands. He’d push me, slap me. He tried to strangle me once. He’d bully me with his size, try to intimidate me. It took everything I had left to escape all of that, and now it looks like I’m going to, once again, pay for something I’m innocent of. How is this justice? You don’t know what it’s like, living with someone who makes it their life goal to make you feel as small as possible every day. Like you’re nothing. Like you wish you didn’t exist.”
I grit my teeth, hating that I just blurted all of that stuff out to a stranger. But he needs to know the extent of everything that happened to me up until this moment. What brought me here. And although I feel weak and vulnerable after having admitted this to him, it was necessary. Right now, Jaxon is the only person who can help me.
I need to trust him, and I need him to trust me in return, but that still doesn’t make it easy for me to look into his eyes after what just came out of my mouth. Jaxon Bentley is a strong, powerful man, and I don’t want him to see me as weak.
Or worse, as a victim.
I don’t think I could handle seeing pity in those gray depths. Not now.
After a few tense seconds, I manage to lift my head and look at him, but I find that his eyes aren’t even on me. I let out a slow breath of relief that he’s giving me a little space and not staring at me, but then I see the look on his face.
He looks far away, lost in his own thoughts. His brow is furrowed and pain is etched all over his t
oo handsome face.
“Jaxon?” I say, keeping my voice soft and even. “Is everything okay?”
He shakes his head, as if clearing it, and slowly looks at me. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, Scarlett.” His eyes are gentle, but there’s no pity or judgment in them. “But I don’t think you should be giving up so soon. I’ve worked with less and won. It’s not over just yet. I’m going to fight, and I need you to do the same.”
He sounds confident, sure. Is that his ego talking? Or does he really think we can win this?
“Did they fingerprint the gun?” I ask him. “I know it was found in my house, but I wasn’t even in the country then, anyone could have put it there. Can you even test a firearm for fingerprints after two years?”
“Apparently prints can be preserved if the firearm wasn’t in an open environment or in contact with weather or water, and yes, the police ran the prints and said . . .” He trails off, looking contemplative, then turns those eyes on me. “Does Darren have many police buddies?”
I nod. “They’d come to the house now and again, and he always bragged that they’d have his back in any situation, no matter what.”
“Do you even know how to shoot a gun, Scarlett?”
“Of course I do,” I admit, nodding. “Darren taught me when we first met. But I’ve never actually shot a gun anywhere other than the shooting range. I’ve never had a reason to. All the guns in the house were his, even the ones registered to me.”
I don’t think I would pick up a gun even if I needed to.
Does he think that maybe Darren’s colleagues had something to do with this? That he associated himself with corrupt men, just like himself? It’s very likely, if I’m being honest. The few things I overheard are not what upstanding men of the law would say.
“Do you think they lied about the results?” I probe.
“I never said they found your prints on the gun. They said the gun had been wiped clean and had no prints,” he says, leaning back in his chair and studying me. “What if they were covering for someone?”
“Who?” I ask, brow furrowing. “Another cop? And if the gun was just in my house, shouldn’t the fingerprints have been preserved, since there was no water or bad weather to affect them?”
“Exactly,” he murmurs, then makes some quick notes. “And I don’t know, I just feel like there’s more to the story, something we’ve been missing. I want to look at this from every angle, consider every possibility. There has to be an answer for all of this, and I’m not going to discount anything. The trial is set for two weeks from now.”
What he just said shocks me. “Two weeks? Our time is running out. I don’t know what else can be done. No one is going to believe me!” I hear panic rising in my voice.
“We’ll find a way,” Jaxon says, strength in his tone. “It always comes back to the MC or the police force. Someone there knows exactly what happened the night of Darren’s murder, and I’m going to find out who.”
His confidence makes me relax a little. “Okay, well let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You can stay out of trouble and not drive alone to meth labs,” he chastises, but then shakes his head and smirks. “Maybe you should stay with some friends. The more I push the MC and the cops, the more backlash is possible. I’m not saying that to worry you, just for you to be alert at all times.”
“I don’t really have any friends,” I admit, cringing. “I lost contact with all of mine after I married Darren, and then I left to be with my aunt. There’s no one I’d feel comfortable calling anyway. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. The security is good at my place.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “How would you feel if I send a security guy to check it out? I know someone who’s the best in the industry.”
“Sure,” I say, nodding. “That sounds good.”
“Good,” he says, eyes softening. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to have a chat with Valentina Sullivan and see what she has to say about all of this. If she’ll vouch for the abuse and Darren’s involvement in illegal activities, it’ll be good for our case.”
“Do you think she will? Is it safe trying to talk to her, with her MC ties?” I ask, not wanting anything bad to happen to him. “Can’t you take a police officer with you?” I pause, then add, “if you know one who isn’t corrupt, I mean.”
“I can’t take a cop because we aren’t making any arrests and because she doesn’t have to talk to me if she doesn’t want to,” he gently explains. “I’m hoping her hate for Darren will win out and she’ll help us.”
I nod. “Good luck.”
Does he actually believe that I’m innocent, or is he just really good at his job? I don’t know, and maybe I don’t want to know. He’s acting like he believes me, but I guess I’m paying him to, right? I mean, he has nothing to lose, it won’t be him going behind bars, and he gets paid no matter what the verdict is.
He walks me to the door, pressing his hand on the small of my back. I’m unable to hide my flinch as he does so, and I know this, even though I don’t look up at him, because he quickly removes his hand. Over the last two years I’ve gotten much better with letting people touch me, but sometimes, if it catches me off guard, I can’t really help my reaction. It doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t trust or like the person. Feeling like I should probably address the situation or say something about it, I turn to him and am about to explain when he shakes his head.
“It’s fine, Scarlett, you don’t have to explain.”
I close my mouth.
Understanding.
He walks me to my car in silence, opening the driver’s door for me after I unlock it.
“Thank you,” I tell him, looking him in the eye.
I want to say more, but I don’t, and I don’t even know why I want to or what I’d say. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to anybody, and I don’t usually, but in this case I want to tell him. Maybe it’s because he’s a good listener, or maybe it’s because of the way he reacted when I opened up to him. It’s been a long time since I felt like someone’s equal.
He nods and steps back, and I hesitantly get into the car. He waits until I pull out, then heads back into his office. I don’t know how this is going to play out, but it’s all we have for now, so I hope it goes well. I can’t beat Darren alone. I don’t know who killed him, and I feel a little bad that someone has to do time for making the world a better place, but I shouldn’t have to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.
And I won’t.
On the way home I notice a car following mine. At least, I think it is. Something just doesn’t feel right. I purposely change my course of direction and head to a fast-food restaurant where there are lot of cars and people around.
The car continues straight ahead.
I wait until it’s out of sight, then drive home.
Must have just been my paranoia.
chapter 7
Jaxon
VALENTINA SULLIVAN?” I ASK the woman as she walks to her car. She pushes back her hood, exposing a mane of red curls. Her green eyes narrow on me.
“Who’s asking?” she replies, arching a brow and cocking her hip. She gives me a once-over, then crosses her arms over her chest.
“Jaxon Bentley,” I say, offering my hand, which she ignores.
“What do you want, Jaxon Bentley?” she asks, glancing around the parking lot. “I can tell you’re not a cop, so who are you?”
“I’m a lawyer,” I tell her, handing her my card. “And how do you know I’m not a cop?”
She points to my shoes. “Cops don’t wear fancy designer shit. Those are Armani. And what does a lawyer want with me? Perhaps you should speak to my lawyer, instead of following me like a creep.”
“It’s about Darren, your ex-boyfriend,” I tell her, noticing her grimace. Yeah, that seems to be the react
ion I get whenever his name is mentioned. The man sounds like a bucketful of sunshine.
“What about him?” she asks, keeping her expression deceptively neutral. “I saw the news, his body was found and they have a suspect. What does that have to do with me?”
“You don’t have anything to say about the fact that he was married for all those years when you two were together? Or that Darren’s wife is going to do time for a crime we both know she didn’t commit?”
I’m bluffing here.
I don’t know if she knew or not, and I don’t know if Scarlett did it or not, and I don’t know if she knows who might have killed Darren if Scarlett didn’t.
Basically I don’t know much, but I do know how to get information out of people, and I know body language. I also clearly know how to talk myself in and out of a lot of shit.
She looks down, avoiding my gaze. Yeah, she knows something.
“Valentina?” a woman calls out, exiting the store with bags in her hands. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she calls out, then turns back to me. “I didn’t know he was married, no. But Darren, and my time with him, feels like a lifetime ago. I don’t have anything to do with what’s going on now, all right? So yeah, it sucks for his wife, but that’s not my problem. If you need to talk to me again, contact Faye Black.” She turns to her friend and says, “Come on, Shayla, let’s get out of here.”
“Valentina—”
She opens her door, climbs in, and slams it behind her. She can’t get out of the parking lot fast enough. All I can do is hope that my words stick with her, play in her mind, and that maybe she’ll be willing to cooperate in time.
I’m not giving up just yet.
OVER THE NEXT FEW days I try to talk to Valentina again, but she’s never alone. The MC club has clearly gone into protection mode, but I have to wonder why. I’m no threat to her, and I didn’t harm or threaten her in anyway, so why are they acting like I’m the enemy? What are they trying to hide? The whole thing is quite puzzling. Do they think I’m trying to pin the murder on Valentina? When talking in person doesn’t work, I attempt to reach them on the phone. I leave a message. I leave three. I want to try to do this without Faye Black in my face, but if that’s the only option, then I’ll have to take it.
Seducing the Defendant Page 4
