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Leaving my hand collared around his neck, I lifted my stare to Coach. We shared a look, perhaps a brief, quiet battle for dominance in this situation. I wasn’t giving in, and as curious as I was about whatever “condition” Matthew had, I wasn’t going to find out because he was forced to tell the room.
If he told me, it would be because he trusted me enough to share.
“I got this,” I told Coach, holding his stare.
Coach’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you going to do? You’re in just as much shit as he is.”
Just then, the door to the same room Matthew had been in last night opened, and a man in a three-piece suit stepped out. There wasn’t a hair out of place, his tie was easily four times the cost and style of the detective’s behind me, and despite the early morning hour, he looked like he’d slept a full eight.
“Niles,” I said, drawing his attention.
Changing direction, his brown Italian loafers moved soundlessly over the floor, the briefcase in his hand merely a prop for the impact of his presence when he was in the room.
“Arsen.” Niles’s voice was clipped. “It’s too early for this. Come on. Let’s go.”
Beneath my hand, Matthew tensed. “He can go?”
Niles flicked a glance at Matthew, quickly dismissing him. Looking back to me, he said, “Now. I have a busy day.”
Matthew rotated toward me, dislodging my hand from his neck. “Who is that?”
“My lawyer.”
“So if you dropped the charges against Arsen, then you did for P too,” Kruger said, relief clear in his tone. “C’mon, P. Let’s blow this joint.”
“The charges have not been dropped,” announced the detective who’d been with Niles.
“What the hell kinda lawyer are you?” Kruger accused Niles.
Impervious to the insult, Niles looked down his nose at Kruger. “And who are you?”
“About to be your worst nightmare,” Kruger answered.
Niles turned his bored expression to me.
“Niles,” I said.
He sighed. “I was sent to collect you, Arsen. No one else.”
“I’m not leaving here without him,” I said, pointedly looking at Matthew. “I’m the reason he’s even here in the first place. How would it look if I let someone else take the fall for my mistake?”
Niles fired a look at the detective. “That was not an admission of guilt. That was my client expressing his deep regret over his…” He paused. “Friend not having legal counsel.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the detective muttered.
“Niles,” I repeated, this time with an impatient edge to my voice.
“Fine,” he said, clearly perturbed.
Ask if me I gave a damn.
“There are no charges to drop because they have no evidence to hold you. Neither of your prints were on the drugs. Your drug tests came back clean. There could be assault charges, but I’m good at my job,” he told the room.
I didn’t bother reminding him that he was good at his job because my father was loaded and probably paid my way out of here.
He glanced at Matthew. “What’s your name?”
“Matthew Prism.”
