I stand up, the cuffs digging in to my wrists. I hate that Sloan is going to see me with these on. It’s a little emasculating and I hate for her to see me in any other light than she always has. At least they let me wear a suit today and I don’t have to walk in with that ridiculous standard-issue orange jumpsuit on. Orange is not my color and I know for a fact that this suit is Sloan’s favorite.
“Let’s do this,” I say to Paul. “Piece of fucking cake.”
Paul nods quickly and stands. I can tell he doesn’t like my confidence. He hasn’t liked it since the moment we met. I’m also not sure that he likes me, but I couldn’t give two fucks what he thinks of me. As long as he clears me of these charges, he’ll be my favorite person in the world.
Well…second favorite. So far, Sloan is still in the top spot.
Sure, she’s done a lot of fucking shit to piss me off, but I know it was all thanks to Luke and the lies he told her. I’m sure she’s spent enough time with him now and enough time apart from me to be coming to her senses.
I follow Paul out of the room, quickly flanked by four guards. Two in front and two behind me. A fifth guard opens the door to the courtroom and as soon as we file through the door, I scan the crowd for her.
I see him first. The cocky fucking bastard, sitting second row, next to his little bitch-friend Dalton. Or Ryan. Whatever the fuck his name is.
Sloan isn’t sitting next to him, though. She’s sitting in the far corner on the back row by herself. I smile at her, but she glances away as soon as her eyes land on mine.
There’s one of two reasons why she isn’t sitting with Luke. She either figured out his bullshit by now and wants nothing to do with him. Or they were advised not to sit together in the courtroom, thanks to their little indiscretion behind my fucking back.
I’ll go with the former.
I take my seat but I keep my eyes locked with Sloan’s. Doing so means I’m turned sideways in my chair, not facing where the judge will sit. But that’s fine. I’m not looking away from her until she makes eye contact with me again.
“All rise for the honorable Judge Issac,” a guard says.
I rise, but I don’t stop staring at Sloan. I can hear doors open and steps being taken, but I’m not going to fucking look at that man until she makes eye contact with me. She’s wearing a new dress. A black one. It looks like she’s going to a fucking funeral. Her hair is pulled back and up in a twist. She looks sophisticated. Fucking sexy as hell. My dick twitches in my pants and I wish I could ask for a bathroom break and take her to a hallway and pull her dress up around her waist and press my fucking face between her legs.
I miss the way she smells. I miss how soft her thighs are against my cheeks. I miss the way her whole body tightens up when I shove my dick inside of her.
“You may be seated.”
I sit.
Fucking hell, it’s hot in here.
I hear the judge start talking at the same time Paul slides me a piece of paper. I glance down at it long enough to read it.
“You need to face forward out of respect for the judge.”
I laugh under my breath and grab the pen.
“Fuck the judge and fuck you, Paul,” I write. I slide the note back to him and return my eyes to Sloan.
She’s looking at me now. Her eyes are locked with mine and her lips are pressed together real tight like she’s nervous. I like that. I love it, actually. She’s feeling something while she looks at me and I can tell she isn’t thinking about Luke at all right now.
“I love you,” I mouth.
Sloan’s eyes drop to my mouth and I smile at her. Then that stupid fuck-that ridiculous fuckface motherfucking stupid fuck-stands up and walks to the back of the courtroom, right to where she’s seated. He makes his way down the aisle until he plants himself right next to her. He wraps his arm around my fucking fiancé and she squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face against his shoulder, like she’s relieved he moved to be next to her. My eyes meet his-the fucking motherfucking fuckface brainwashing fuck-and he leans forward, blocking my view of her. He stares at me, hard, like he’s threatening me to turn around.
I want to kill him. For a few seconds, I try and think of ways I can do that.
Grab the security guards gun and shoot him.
Run to the back of the courtroom and break his fucking neck.
Grab the pen that I just wrote Paul the note with and shove it right in his carotid artery.
But I don’t. I refrain, because I’m pretty sure this case is going to go in my favor and I’ll be out on bail until the next hearing.
His murder can wait.
It needs to be planned out with more precision and preferably without the eyes of a judge on me.