6
Brock
Igrit my jaw and nod. “Plus a witness came forward to say I threw the punch that landed the guy in the coma. Everyone in that bar was drunk or as close to being wasted as they could be. And I was easily the biggest guy caught up in the fight. It didn’t take a lot to convince them that I caused the most mayhem even though it wasn’t true. My lawyer advised me to cut a deal…”
The bite of feeling the claws of injustice is as fresh today as it was three years ago and I itch to drive my fist through Fletcher’s face.
It’s a good thing he’s not here. A good thing I have his daughter keeping me from going over the edge.
I pull her closer, sliding my needy hands over her supple body, calming down a little when she throws her thigh over my legs.
“Were you able to?” she asks.
I look down into her breathtaking face and inhale slowly to clear my rage. “The bar’s CCTV that could’ve exonerated me mysteriously vanished. Without that key piece of evidence, the prosecutor wasn’t obliged to stick to the deal for eighteen months, so that went away too.”
She pales a little. “Was my dad responsible? Was he the prosecutor?”
I grit my teeth for a second before I answer.
I don’t know the true relationship between Fletcher and his daughter; don’t know if she’ll blindly take his side when it comes down to it. So I choose my words carefully.
“He didn’t prosecute the matter personally so I’m not sure.” I’m hedging, not coming fully clean. But I need to confront her father first before I tell Goldie the whole truth about the flash drive tucked away in my back pocket.
“That’s why you came looking for him?” she asks, wariness creeping over her face. My heart drops, but there’s no way to avoid this truth.
“I need a few questions answered, yeah.”
“And that’s all? You just want him to answer your questions?”
Another bite of guilt takes a chunk out of me but I breathe through it. I’ll make it up to her later, if there’s making up to do.
“I’m a newly released ex-convict, Goldie. I’m painfully aware that doing anything else will land me back in prison. Amongst other things, that’ll take me away from you. I’m not about to risk that.”
Her face softens and her arms slide around my neck.
We kiss for an age, our tongues sliding wet and hungry, until my dick slides into heat-seeking mode, ready to stage a one-member invasion of her warm pussy. I resist for another minute, let her hips do that twirly-squirmy thing that says she needs me.
I love her hungry for me. I love everything about my honey.
Fuck…I love her.
The breath punches out of me.
It’s too soon. It’s too overwhelming.
I just got out of prison. Maybe this is bottled up feelings from three years of incarceration. But even as I think it, I know it’s not true.
We were meant to be.
I bury my face in her neck and just attempt to breathe in and out. In. Out.
Fuck. I’m in love. With the sweetest, most generous girl on the planet.
The girl whose father also happens to be the asshole I’m gunning for for ruining my life.
Jesus, Brock. Talk about turning a shitshow into a hellscape.
There are so many ways this could go sideways.