Axel: The lawyer charges MORE. *crying laughing emoji*
Jace: Are you reading these off a website?
Axel: I cannot answer that on the advice of counsel.
13
FAITH
“I can’t believe he set bail.” The words tumbled out as I pressed my face against the cool passenger window of Ryker’s BMW.
Blue sky stretched endlessly above us. Real sky. Not the concrete ceiling I’d been staring at, wondering if I’d ever see anything else again.
“If some loyalty coalition exists in the inner circles of the legal world, that judge clearly didn’t get the memo,” Ryker said, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.
“Thank you for bringing a change of clothes.” I plucked at the gray sweatpants, still marveling at the soft cotton against my skin. The white T-shirt. The simple black puffer jacket he’d draped over my shoulders in the lobby. Nothing fancy. Nothing that crinkled or announced my sins to strangers.
“Glad they fit.” A pause. “I had to guess on the sizes.”
He’d guessed well. I didn’t know what to do with that.
“How does this thing work?” I tugged the sweatpants up to study the ankle monitor. Small enough to hide under pants, so at least there was that. But unsettling as hell. Like a shock collar for humans. “Do I have to stay in my house?”
“No. The judge didn’t order home confinement. Just GPS monitoring.”
“So, they’re tracking me.”
“Your location. Twenty-four/seven.”
I swallowed. “Why track my location if I’m not confined to my home?”
He hesitated, then met my eyes. “Because the court wants to know where you are at all times. If you leave Cook County, they’ll know. If you disappear, they’ll know. If you try to take it off, they’ll know. You’re free,” Ryker added. “Just … conditionally.”
Conditionally. The word sat heavy in my chest. A leash I couldn’t always see beneath my pants but would always feel.
I let the sweatpants fall back over the monitor and turned to study his profile instead. Sharp jawline, focused eyes that missed nothing. The kind of face that probably got him out of speeding tickets and into VIP sections. Gone was the casual black T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the night of my arrest. Now, his crisp white dress shirt had its sleeves rolled to his elbows. With the jacket and tie abandoned somewhere in the back seat, the shirt fit him like it had been tailored to his exact measurements, following the lines of his shoulders and torso with precision. His forearms, olive-toned and surprisingly lean, rested with an ease that suggested he wore suits as comfortably as most people wore sweatpants.
It was kind of jarring, seeing him like this. Professional. Polished. Reminding me that the man behind all those intimate moments was actually a seasoned, remarkably effective lawyer.
“You were incredible in there. That argument could’ve gotten a serial killer acquitted.”
His lips twitched. “Let’s hope I don’t have to test that theory.”
The familiar ache of gratitude and guilt twisted in my chest. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay Blake.” My brother had wanted to drive me home himself, but an emergency at the hospital had pulled him away. Mass casualty event. Lives hanging in the balance while mine hung by the thread of a ten-million-dollar bond.
As a bartender, I’d have to work approximately a million yearsto earn that back. A million years of slinging drinks and dodging handsy customers.
And bosses. Don’t forget the bosses.
Which reminded me—I needed to call my boss and explain my emergency absence. I’d never called in sick before, so missing last night’s shift shouldn’t be a huge problem. And as luck would have it, I was off for the next few days anyway.
But what about after that? Would I still have a job once my boss discovered I’d been arrested for murder? The thought made me feel sick. I couldn’t afford to lose this position. The aged-out foster kids I helped depended on the money I earned. Without it, they’d have nowhere to turn.
“You don’t have to repay the ten million,” Ryker said. “He gets every penny back as long as you show up for trial and don’t book a flight to somewhere without an extradition treaty.”
“Noted. Crossflee to Belizeoff my bucket list.”
His mouth curved into something that might have been a real smile this time. God, when he actually smiled, it was devastating.
