Page 40 of Bent, Not Broken

“I don’t need your compliments, Polunin.” I twisted the knob of the faucet and water shot from the tap. Adding the plug to the sink, I dumped some soap in before twisting the knob off again when the water was high enough to wash up a few dishes. “I don’t care that you fucked other guys. I don’t understand how you could get into bed with a criminal. A man who’s responsible for the deaths of who knows how many people. Aaron Arthur isn’t innocent.”

He laughed and my jaw tightened again. “Are any of us innocent?”

“I mean it.”

“So do I. We’re all guilty in some way or another. I like to think of life as a game. Some people are just more competitive than others. The survival of the fittest. I’ve done some not-so-innocent things, and I’m not always proud of what I’ve done, but I don’t regret any of it. I bet my entire savings you’ve done bad things too, Evan.”

“Not like the Kings of Men.”

He sighed, his breath teasing the skin on my back through my shirt. “I’m a lawyer. Defending them is what I do, and I’m not going to feel bad because you don’t like them.”

“It’s not… you. It’s what you represent.” I fucking stuttered over the words, and my jaw ached as I gritted my teeth.

“I don’t understand.”

“Come with me.” I turned in his arms and kissed him, a gentle tap of my lips against his, before I led him out of the kitchen and toward the couch in the living room. I fell onto the cushions of the couch, dragging him down until he half sat on me. One of his knees was hooked over mine, and he used the position to kick off his shoes, leaving him in black socks. The long sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up next, and I watched the way the muscles in his forearms tensed with the movement. My mouth watered.

“This”—I waved between us—“doesn’t leave here, Polunin. I’m not doing this fucking heart-to-heart again after this, got it?”

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, Evan.”

Was he calling me by my first name just to piss me off, or did he actually like saying it? Either way, it sounded better than hearing him call me Slater. I rolled my eyes and curled my arm around his waist, dragging him closer. The warmth of his body felt right against mine, an unnerving sense of comfort that I enjoyed.

“My father is only in prison for my mother’s murder. He went to court a little while before her death for the other women and was found innocent. It’s why he’s not doing life.”

“Oh, wow. I hadn’t managed to dig that up yet.”

“Mom swore he didn’t hurt those women, but I think she knew he had. She didn’t want to scare me. His lawyer got him off on those charges. If he hadn’t, my father wouldn’t have killed Mom. She’d still be alive.” I squeezed his ankle and ran my palm up his leg, the pants a barrier between our skin.

“So you hate all lawyers because we’re doing our job? Everyone is entitled to a fair trial, and you of all people should know that. You’re a cop. If you want to blame anyone, the jury found him innocent, not the lawyer.” His lips twisted and he blinked at me, sending me a look that told me he didn’t understand where I was coming from, and my grip on his ankle tightened.

“No, the lawyer was the one who presented his case,” I argued.

“Yes, under the assumption he was innocent. We don’t know who’s innocent and who’s not. It’s not our job to ask. We’re paid to defend who we assume is an innocent person.” His words rang sharp, but he still relaxed into the couch, like a man not fazed by the fact that we were teetering on an argument. I had to remind myself that Polunin lived for this type of thing.

“Bullshit, Madden. You know for a fact that the Kings and Harlots are anything but innocent.”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Officer.” He waved a finger at me and grinned, cocking his head. “Did you call me Madden?”

Fuck. I did. “No.”

The bastard knew he’d caught me because his grin widened, and he shuffled a little closer. “Yes, you most definitely did. Aren’t you just the cutest?” He tapped my nose. I shoved his hand away from me, and he laughed as a result. Condescending asshole. His laughter petered off and his face went stern, a seriousness I’d only ever seen in the courtroom. “This is the singular deep conversation we’re having, right?”

“Yeah. Whatever happens here won’t be repeated.”

He nodded and his gaze flicked from me to the floor, and then back to me again, and it was almost as though he didn’t know how to broach the topic on his mind, which was fucking weird. “Okay, then let me say this. I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through and how you feel about what you saw. I’m sorry for what happened to you, but you can’t blame all lawyers for that. Be angry, you have every right, but don’t take it out on me or River. Take it out on the person who deserves it. Your father. He’s the one who committed the crime, not us, or any other lawyer in the state of New York.”

His words were like a jackhammer to my chest. I swallowed, acid burning in my throat, remnants of the Blue Moon making my stomach churn worse than ever. I hated how right he was, and a childish part of me wanted to pretend I didn’t hear the cold hard truth, to tell him off and throw him out the door like I had that first night. But I couldn’t because he was fucking right.

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

I pressed my lips together tightly and considered changing the topic. This was Madden Polunin, lawyer of the Kings and Harlots. What if he used this against me? “He calls often. I don’t give him the time of day.”

“But you accept his call?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t.” He held out his hands to me like it was completely obvious. “Evan, you’re not going to move on if you keep holding on to him. I’m not a fucking shrink, but he doesn’t deserve to hear your voice. He’s obviously looking for some normalcy while he’s behind bars, and you’re what he needs. So don’t give him that. Let that be your punishment for him. Make him suffer.”