Aiden Miller was terrible at playing the victim.
He wore a brace on his leg and used a crutch to get around. There were also scars on his jaw from the reconstruction surgery, and his dirty blonde hair was shaved into a buzz cut.
When he was called to the stand, he pulled on a façade so pathetic I was ready to risk life in prison just to break his leg again right in front of everyone present in the courtroom. Instead, I looked to the back of the room where Lily, Kira, and Seb sat in the furthest row, each wearing their own masks of hate directed at Aiden.
He was there as a witness to my “violent death threats” and to show what I had done to him, painting him as an innocent in all of this until my lawyer, DA Anna Davis — hired by Antonio’s widow, Julia — started asking him questions too.
“You mentioned in your statement that my client was capable of doing those things to you because of his alleged involvement in illegal fighting. Is that true?” Ms. Davis began.
“Yes.”
“How do you know about these alleged fights, Mr. Miller?”
Aiden hesitated. “I heard about them.”
“So, you weren’t there, gambling illegally, to witness my client participating in any fights?”
“N-no—”
“Meaning you can’t be certain that he was involved in those fights beneath The Den?”
“I heard about it from a friend.” Aiden’s face was bright red.
“But you never witnessed or participated in the illegal gambling on these fights yourself?”
“No—I told you, I heard—”
“Is it true that you were charged with the domestic assault of your partner and the use of a firearm on her friend on August 16th of last year?” She flipped casually through her notes to double-check. “Which is what you are on probation for?”
Aiden went to respond but was cut off by the other lawyer. “Objection; relevance?”
The judge, sitting back in his seat, nodded once. “I’ll allow it.”
“Yes.” Aiden’s throat bobbed nervously. He was squirming like a fucking bug. “But he did this to me. I think that’s proof enough that he’s an illegal fighter.”
“Mr. Miller,” she placed a hand on her hip. “Getting your ass handed to you by someone good at fighting doesn’t make them an illegal fighter.”
Hushed giggles and laughter flitted around the courtroom while Seb barked a laugh.
I looked down, pressing my lips together as I fought hard not to smile.
“Order,” the judge drawled. “Ms. Davis, please refrain from using derogatory language in my courtroom.”
Anna smiled. “Yes, your honor. My apologies… Mr. Miller, is it possible you are only here because you seek revenge for what my client did to you?”
“No. He is an illegal fighter.”
“How can you prove that when you said yourself you never went to one of these fights where illegal gambling took place? Just a reminder, you’re under oath.”
“I saw him—I mean, I heard about—”
“That’s all, your honor,” Ms. Davis said simply before taking a seat, leaving Aiden dumbfounded.
I massaged my thumb into my right palm, where a thick, long knife scar remained. Sometimes the nerves in my hand played up and created a tingling numbness in my fingers. Massaging and flexing my hand temporarily relieved it, but the sensation was forever.
My eyes tracked to the small tattoo of two birds on my left wrist. They were a positive reminder not to give up hope because maybe Ms. Davis’s closing statement would be enough.
She had reminded the jury of all the mitigating factors surrounding the charges I was facing. My past with an alcoholic and abusive father; my father’s suicide that provided no closure to a hellish upbringing (I didn’t mention that his death did, in fact, give me plenty of closure); caring for my mother; my willingness to help with the police investigation and the threats that brought on my own life; the loss of my home and Mom.
