After removing my thumb from Justine’s address scribbled across the paperwork, I ask, “Is this what you want?”
As Justine’s throat works hard to swallow, she raises her eyes from her address written in thick black ink to me. “It isn’t about what I want, Nikolai.” The professionalism in her voice is replaced with the pitch of a woman desperate to break away from her dull existence when she adds, “This is about you, and what’s in your best interest.”
While returning her wanton stare, I take a moment to consider the consequences of my actions. Since it’s not something I do often, it is a long, drawn-out thirty seconds. Roman, my somewhat advisor, would be proud—ifI had given the voice of reason in my head more than two seconds to plead its case. I’m listening to the sadistic one instead, the one that usually sees me facing a line-up instead of a three day long weekend in a stranger’s bed.
It could be worse.
A grin tugs at my lips when my request for a pen doubles the throb in Justine’s neck. Her response is understandable. I told her only seconds ago how I can kill a man with a pen in ten seconds, yet, she still hands one to me. If that doesn’t prove she wants this as much as me, I don’t know what will.
Evil is a power only the good are afraid to harness. The hesitant gleam Justine’s eyes get every time she looks at me reveals she knows this better than anyone. She’s mostly good, but I guarantee there’s a little bit of black inside of her dying to be nurtured to its full potential, and who better to bring out that side of her than darkness itself?
As the van comes to stop at the front of the courthouse stairs, I hand the signed home arrest documentation to Justine. She murmurs her thanks as my shackles are unlocked and I’m guided out of the van by the man responsible for throwing her into hell with me.
Even from a distance, I see suspicion form in Trey’s eyes when the courthouse bailiff’s pat down fails to find the document he’s meant to switch before he hands it to the judge.
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but it increases the smug grin plastered on his.
After arching my brow at him, demanding he get his eyes off Justine’s ass before I gouge them out with a fork, I nudge my head to the officer who felt the need to enter a war he didn’t belong in.
Trey jerks up his chin, advising he understands my request before straying his eyes to Dion. Two seconds after their quiet word, Dion slips into the driver’s seat of a blacked-out escalade, and just like that, Officer Lennox’s life expectancy is shorten from years to hours—if Dion is feeling playful. He only tortures them when he’s bored. If he is entertained, Officer Lennox won’t make it a mile from where he stands.
As I’m chauffeured up the stairs of the courthouse, the media circle me like starving sharks. It’s like this everywhere I go. Evil may be the root of pain, but it is also the stuff of legends. Love it or hate it, for as long as Earth has rotated the sun, key members of the underworld have been seen as celebrities.
We make it into the chamber with only a minute to spare. A judge with bushy brows and a wonky smirk sits at his podium, wrongly believing he’s the ruler of this town. Sasha, a woman as eager to jump ship as Carmichael was almost thirteen years ago is positioned on the right side of the courtroom, and Justine, Carmichael, and I take up the left.
I’m not surprised to discover the seat next to the ADA is empty. The plaintiff’s lack of respect reveals he’s nothing but a bottom feeder in Dimitri’s crew.
Doesn’t mean I’ll let his snitching ways be forgotten, though. If Dimitri doesn’t sniff him out as the rat he is, I’ll send some of my men to Hopeton to aide in the extermination of his rodents.
When Carmichael commences proceedings by crawling so far up the judge’s ass, we’ll need a tire wrench to get him out, I cradle my head in my hands. “Judge, the Hawaiian sun did wonders for your complexion.”
I take a mental note to add this judge’s name to a list of potential replacements for when Judge Santos retires when he sees straight through Carmichael’s bullshit. “Yes, yes, Carmichael. Save your yakking for my wife. She’s waiting for you outside.”
My knowledge on Carmichael’s relationship with the judge’s wife is unknown, but if the whitening of his gills is anything to go by, the judge didn’t marry his wife for her looks.
After being granted permission to approach the bench, Carmichael hands the judge the doctored request for my home arrest. “Our client’s request for house arrest has been signed by the defendant and endorsed by the DA’s office.” Sasha gasps in a sharp breath when he waves his hand at her nonchalantly. They fucked, and he snuck out while she was asleep. I guarantee it. She wears the look of a scorned woman well. “With lockup overrun with rowdy school leavers, one less occupant is best for all involved.”
The judge’s old-timer eyes shift to Sasha, who’s still reeling over Carmichael’s hand thrust. “Are Mr. Fletcher’s claims true, Ms. Sheridan? Are you siding with the defense so their client can be bailed under the condition of house arrest?”
“Yes. But our agreement is merely to stop Mr. Fletcher’s client from coercing drunken fools into becoming members of his... association.” I hit her with a frisky wink when her eyes drift my way during the last half of her statement. If the hue on her cheeks is anything to go by, she doesn’t just want to defend criminals; she wants to be bedded by them, too.
The pulse of victory drums through my veins when the judge says, “Very well. With both parties agreeing to the terms as stated, I have no reason to decline your request, Mr. Fletcher.”
As the crowd filling the chambers whisper their surprise about the judge’s verdict, blood floods my cock. Its inflation has nothing to do with the vehement eyes of the ADA watching me under hooded lids, and everything to do with Justine’s breaths hitting my neck. Her excitement is as stealthy as mine. We just have different reasons to be excited. She thinks today’s victory awards her the privilege of being my counsel. It does, but it’s only one of the many perks I plan to award her with.
“However…” My eyes snap to the judge, my gaze set to kill. I hate stipulations as much as I despise the men who feel they have the right to issue them. “I’m only agreeing to the request for house arrest because the defendant is not being housed in any compounds associated with him or with any known associates of his.”
When Carmichael’s eyes rocket to Justine, wordlessly demanding an explanation to the judge’s comment, it is the fight of my life to hold in my grin. It’s pulling at my lips, begging to be freed as much as my cock wants out of my jeans.
I lose the chance to hold back my grin when the judge says, “I hereby sentence Nikolai Popov to serve bail under the terms of house arrest at Unit 23 431 West Lucy Lane, Las Vegas,” so I set it free.
As the color drains from Carmichael’s cheeks, Justine leaps up from her chair. “That’s not the correct address. You’ve made a mistake.”
I almost order my second hit of the day when the judge glares at Justine as if she’s simple. The only reason I don’t is because the hellion I see hiding deep within Justine’s eyes jumps to her defense before I can. “Please check. Someone has made a mistake. If not you, someone else.”
“I don’t make mistakes, young lady.”
Except the one you just did.
