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He stops, checking his shiny watch. “I don’t give second chances.” His voice dips so low that I sit straight up in my chair. Those eyes flash to me from over his shoulder, taking me in.
How’s that saying go? It’s better to be with the devils you know than the devils you don’t.
And I know them. Kind of. Not the legal system I’m about to be foisted into. The Devils and I have a history together, spanning months now.
I take a deep breath, confusion soaring through me. I don’t know what the fuck is happening right now. But I know I have two choices: them or prison for crimes I didn’t commit.
“This is your only chance,” he warns, coming toward me again. “I will walk away if you question me again. I want your complete and utter compliance.” He sets the pages in front of me again.
“A contract,” I state.
“Indeed. Read through it if you’d like, but it won’t change anything. This is non-negotiable.”
And so I do. I read through the contract for over an hour, trying to take in all the legal mumbo jumbo and decipher the words. They melt together. Not making a lick of sense. The only words I see are the ones he’s mentioned—the rules. I'm being released into the Devils’ custody for an undetermined amount of time. I'm only allowed to leave the property if one of them escorts me.
“Time is ticking, Little Chaos.” A pen clicks in my face, and before I can even question what I’m doing, I sign the contract without knowing what I’m getting into.
“Stand,” Jericho demands.
Again.
He's always fucking demanding things with that stern face and fire in his eyes like he wants to bend me over his knees and punish me. Fat chance. There's no way in hell I'm letting this man get anywhere near my ass with his hand.
Maybe.
No. I'm fucking pissed off. First, they let me get arrested, taking the blame for Leighton's car. Then, I had to sign the contract. I was set up. Bamboozled. Fucking played. And for what?
We want you.
Why?
“I'm attached,” I grunt, getting to my feet and pulling at the cuffs attached to the table.
“Never underestimate me, Little Chaos,” he says, digging into his pocket. “It'll be the worst thing you can ever do.”
I stiffen. It's a warning. Why? For what? I haven't a damn clue. But I take note as he undoes one loop of the cuff from the table and then attaches it to his own wrist, leaving one secured to me.
I'm fucking trapped, attached to him. Bound. Forced to be by his side. I want to cry and whine like a fucking baby.
There goes my quick escape. Not that I would have gotten very far. I'll bide my time and figure this out one day at a time. There's no way in hell they can keep me in their mansion for the next few months. Or, God forbid, years.
Shit. I'm a damn prisoner.
A-fucking-gain. I'm sick and tired of being someone's prisoner.
I need out. Time to suck it up and formulate one hell of a plan.
“Noted,” I grumble, eyeing his movements.
This entire interaction feels like a damn test. Him locking me to him, leaving the key conveniently in his suit pocket, accessible to my sticky fingers. I could reach my grubby hands right in there and take it before he even felt it. My skills? Yeah, that's courtesy of my monster and his stupid lessons. Something I’ll take care of later. I’m sure word will get back to him that I’ve been arrested and now taken by Jericho. I can’t assume anything, though. I’ll need to free myself and go to him and explain.
“Come now,” Jericho murmurs, tugging at my wrist and pulling me from the interrogation room with force.
Outside the room, Officer Dumbass leans against the wall and slowly follows behind with a disapproving look, throwing a fit about losing my confession. Sucks to suck, asshole. Don’t be in the mafia’s pockets if you don’t want them to bail people out then.
“What about my stuff?” I grunt, attempting to keep up with his long legs.
I’d really like to not have my phone left behind. The dress? Meh. I don’t really mind that or the shoes. But my phone. Now, that’s another story.
