All In_ Paying to Play(48)

Under the photo is a comment by Christina Loftis, "Even yummier in person and tastes divine."

Wow.

So maybe his ego isn't as inflated as I first thought, or at least not without merit. Hell, if this is what he looks like naked then I'm surprised a stampede of women aren't currently running through our building to get to him.

"Find something you like?" the arrogant jerk asks.

I shuffle on through to the next few pages. "I'm just…reviewing them, you know…to see if ah, there's anything helpful," I stutter.

"If you need me to undress for you to confirm that those are, in fact, pictures of me, well, I'm happy to oblige," he says. I can practically hear his smirk.

"That won't be necessary," I assure him even though my body completely disagrees.

"I don't have to take advantage of anyone to get some ass. If I posted, 'I'm horny' and listed this address on Twitter to my more than two million followers, plenty of women would show up, ready to fuck me any way and as many times as I want. Faster service than a Domino's Pizza delivery. So why would I do something as stupid as rape a woman?"

Holy guacamole. After seeing that picture, I knew he wasn't bluffing. He's probably the one responsible for the sudden influx of female fans to MMA over the last few years. That doesn't mean he didn't overpower this woman against her will this time, or choke her during.

"That brings up something important we need to discuss. While this case is pending, you shouldn't be seen with any women in public, and you certainly shouldn't…engage in intercourse with anyone," I tell him.

He scoffs. "You can't be serious." When I don't respond he eventually asks, "How long are we talking?"

Looking up, I quickly run the timeline in my head. “Depending on when we get all the discovery from the district attorney, how soon he goes to the grand jury, and when the judge decides to put the case on the trial calendar, a few months at least."

"Months!" he exclaims, his dark eyebrows reaching for the ceiling.

"Yes, months. Do you really want copycats coming forward with more accusations? Preparing for a trial takes time. We'll get ready as soon as we can, but we have to get your direct testimony and cross-examination ready and practiced. You'll need to decide on a few character witnesses. I may need to hire a medical expert to review the victim's records and injuries, and have you mentally evaluated. I'll want to interview the officers involved. There's a ton to do."

"How do you expect me to go for months without getting laid? My dick has high expectations and demands. He's a hardheaded, overeager bastard that gets angry when he's denied servicing for longer than a day."

I try not to smile at his way too detailed description.

"I'm sure you and your…dick will survive the famine. Also, do I really have to tell you not to use any drugs or get drunk in public?"

"For Christ's sake, woman, I'm a professional athlete! I don't ever touch any of that shit," he replies.

"Well, good for you," I say, surprised by his statement. "But don't start now because of the stress of all that's going on."

"If I can't fuck and I can't fight, then I guess I'll be doing a shitload of training."

"That should be fine," I agree. "As long as you're available when I call and need information from you, or for you to come in to do some trial prep work. This case has to be the most important thing in your life for the next few months."

"I get that. If we lose, I'm out of the cage for good."

"Not only that, but these are very serious offenses. If you get convicted you could get an active sentence of up to three hundred months …"

"Three hundred months! What the fuck!?!" he yells, practically coming out of his seat.

"That's just for the rape charge. Add another maximum of twenty months if you're convicted on the assault by strangulation charge."

"Goddamn! What the hell is three hundred and twenty months?" he asks, his forehead so furrowed trying to do the math that he looks like he's in pain.

"A little less than twenty-seven years."

Malone’s face goes slack, his tan skin turns pale white, and then he really is out of his chair, scrambling for the small black trash can beside my desk.

In that moment I feel an unexpected twinge of sympathy for him. He's known for being a tough, badass fighter, and at the moment he's on his knees losing all the contents of his stomach. He almost looks…vulnerable.