"Fine."
"Any questions?" I ask, even though I'm not qualified to answer any with my very limited criminal defense experience.
"No. I just…you've got to make this shit go away. I can't fight until the case is over, and I need to fight."
"We'll do our best," I tell him, standing up and walking to the door to show him out.
"Good," he says as he follows me to the door.
Even at my gigantic, unfeminine height of five-eight, not including my three inch heels, standing beside Jackson Malone makes me feel petite. He's hovering so close, looking downright dangerous with muscles twice the size of most normal men. Although, his midnight eyes aren't quite as menacing when he makes his parting comment. "You might actually be worth the fortune I'm paying you."
Chapter Two
Jackson "Jax" Malone
What a fucking week. It's not that I never expected my ass to get thrown in jail. After my trouble-making and brawling youth, I'm sure everyone who knows me is surprised that it took me to the ripe old age of twenty-seven before I was put behind bars. It's a shame, however, that my first arrest is for complete bullshit.
I head for the lobby of the big, fancy law office to wait for my dad to finish up in his meeting. Sitting down, I pull out my phone to type a list of all the shit the uptight, elitist bitch lawyer asked me to bring her. Her disgust and instant judgment had pissed me off, but I have to admit, she does seem to be really damn smart. And she's hot as fuck.
With her long, lean legs and light blonde hair pulled back in a neat little bun, she looks like a Playboy pinup or a Victoria's Secret model dressed up to do a naughty attorney photo-shoot. In my fantasy of her as a centerfold, she'd be unbuttoning the professional suit jacket to reveal thin pieces of black lace that barely cover her perfect tits.
Okay, so maybe I'm a little horny after going four days without getting laid. That had to be a record for me. While I was locked up it was hard to think about fucking when I feared for my life every goddamn second.
I'd thought the local jail was bad until they threw me in general population in Atlantic City. Both smelled like dirty, sweaty men, shit, and piss, but in AC the floors of the crowded cell actually contained dirt, piss, and shit. There were only two bunks for four dudes, so the unlucky two of us won the lottery to receive roll out mats. I leaned against the wall last night rather than risk floating away in the river of filth. Also, I didn't want to close my eyes and get attacked or shanked. The crackhead trapped in the cell with us couldn't stop scratching himself or fidgeting. He said all kinds of delusional shit, like the cops hid cameras in his apartment, and he knew for a fact that one of us had snitched on him. After that he alternated staring at me and our other two cellmates with his unblinking crazy-eyes and a goofy-ass smile that had me convinced that he'd kill us in our sleep just for shits and giggles.
Thank God I was only in AC for one night. I never want to see the inside of that type of cage again in any district. I'll probably have nightmares from the trauma of the last four days.
I'm a badass motherfucker, spending the last seventeen years training to fight. It's not that I'm worried about taking on any of the punks in there, or even three or four of them at a time. But the feeling of suffocating because it was so goddamn hot, with the air rank and stale in such a small box? That's some scary shit.
I swear there was a lack of oxygen, and more carbon dioxide than can possibly be healthy in that bitch. I'll probably have to sleep with all my doors and windows open with the air conditioning on full blast for the next few weeks.
So despite how much this whole situation sucks, I'll do whatever it takes to avoid going back to that hell hole. I’ll even follow the orders of the blonde, bitchy lawyer.
Finally, after what seems like forever, my dad and the father of the prude ice princess come out of one of the offices.
I hate seeing my dad so upset, and I'm still not sure if he and Jude believe I'm innocent or not. They both know my battle with rage better than most. The anger I've been struggling with since I was ten years old, beating and bloodying anyone and everyone who said a wrong word to me. That's the reason I got into legitimate fighting in the first place. The classes were a bribe to motivate me to stop getting suspended from school. So it's probably not a stretch for them to think I'd do this type of thing.
As a newly single father raising us on one income, my dad scraped up money we didn't have in order to give me some type of outlet to constantly grapple with my demons. And Jude, well, he's taken the most punishment over the years. The fucked up part is he always kept coming back for more, no matter how many times I knocked him down or out.