Bound to the DA (Knotted for Life #2)
Chapter 1 – Michael
CHAPTER 1
MICHAEL
The surrounding voices drone on, the sounds like incessant buzzing in my ears. Try as I might, I find I cannot concentrate.
Unknown Number
We have found you a mate. Be at the Mackey-Shaw Convention Center at 3 pm sharp. Do not be late.
I mull over the text message from the Governing Body, my muscles tensing as I watch the trial before me.
If the Governing Body was so high and mighty, wouldn’t they have the foresight to know I’m in court right now and pick some other day to do this? Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair, watching the buffoonery before me. Out of all the lawyers defending this jackass, I’m stuck fighting against the most inept one of all.
Usually, with cases like this, it’s open and shut—I do my spiel, the lawyer rebuts, the jury sides with me because I’m, quite literally, the best, and we all go home. Not today, however. Today seems to be a lesson in patience as Charlie prances about in his tweed jacket and clashing tie, his gestures just as theatrical as the fiction he weaves.
With a sigh, I rub my forehead as tension tightens my shoulders. Normally, his shrill voice doesn’t get me riled up, but today, it seems like everything grates on my last nerve. Having pending nuptials in the back of my mind doesn’t help either.
I should be focusing on my response, and yet, all I can think about is my future bride. I should be rejoicing at the thought of finally having an omega of my own, but I can’t help the tendrils of unease as they coil around me, making my gut clench. If I’m being perfectly honest, I think giving me a wife is the absolute worst thing the Governing Body can do.
Elected officials like me, people who serve the community, shouldn’t be held to the same rules as everyone else. We are put in place to uphold the law, to make sure criminals are taken off the street. How can we do our jobs fully if we have to juggle both a professional and personal life?
Or maybe it’s just a me thing. Maybe I don’t want to handle the idea of having a wife on top of all my other responsibilities. Because, let’s be honest, that’s what a partner is, first and foremost—a responsibility, one that I plan to take seriously. Once I say “I do,” that’s it. I’m in this for life.
Gripping my pen in my grasp, I force my mind back on the trial at hand. Already I’m distracted, and I’m not even married yet. It only serves to prove my point. In a desperate attempt to focus my mind, I doodle on the legal pad, allowing the simple motions to bleed off the fractious energy buzzing in my mind.
Just as I get back into the rhythm of court, a sudden motion pulls my focus. Glancing up, my eyes narrow as I take in Rosalind Kennedy. She’s the ex-wife of Jacob Kennedy, the man currently on trial. To my knowledge, she’s been at every hearing, every summons, never leaving his side. Why now would she get up in the middle of the very trial that will determine if he stays in prison or goes free?
How many times have I studied her, wishing I could get her on the stand as a witness? However, since potential mates do not have to testify against their spouses, and I refuse to put her through the humiliation of stripping her bare to look for a mark, I allowed her to say no, causing her to rebuff me at every turn.
Though my gut tells me she knows something that could help bring him down, it doesn’t really matter. I have more than enough to lock him up, and her testimony would be mere icing on the shit cake that comprises the rap sheet on this guy. Still though, having someone so close to him, so intimate, would be an extra sympathy play toward the jury, and I detest not utilizing every tactic available to me.
Unfortunately, the look I’ve seen cross her face whenever I asked her about their life together speaks volumes. There’s a pain there, a sorrow that shines through despite her paltry attempts to hide it. She’s stuck, no doubt bonded to the jackass. Anger lances through me as I look back at the punk, fury swirling until I can’t see straight.
Right now, he’s up for drug trafficking, grand larceny, aggravated assault, armed robbery, and no doubt many more charges that don’t really matter since those big ones are more than enough. With all that against him, I’d be shocked if he didn’t do or say something to make her far too scared to testify. He seems to be the type to do whatever it takes to get his way.
People are just a means to an end for him. That’s where he and I differ greatly. And though I’d love nothing more than to have Rosalind face her fears and help put this scum where he belongs, I refuse to cause harm to someone else, be it mental or physical, to get what I want.
Giving them pleasure and pain to elicit specific responses, however, is something else entirely. Stifling a groan, I shift in my chair, willing my cock to stay put. Just because I’m getting married and might soon have an omega willing to satisfy my more deviant urges doesn’t mean I can let my body run away with me.
There’s the distinct possibility she won’t even like anything beyond vanilla sex. Yet one more issue I have with these arranged marriages. Genetics can only tell you so much. They don’t take personality and proclivities into account.
A sigh drifts from my lips as I glance back over at Rosalind. There’s also the matter of getting stuck with a partner who doesn’t have your best interests at heart, like her. She didn’t deserve this, but genetics don’t see the reality of situations.
I watch as she maneuvers past the people, her onyx hair shimmering in the fluorescent lights. There’s a tightness around her lips that hasn’t been there before. One would think with her ex so close to going away for a very long time, she’d be relieved.
That is, unless he really did claim her. Life would be agonizing for her if that were the case. With a bond, she’d only last so long with the separation. Flipping the page on my pad, I scribble out a few words and slide it over to my assistant.
Conjugal visits?
Heat suppressants?
Glancing behind us, he notes her movement and shrugs. Practicing law must have been so much easier before this damned virus turned us into monstrous Alphas and subservient omegas. It was bad enough when criminals were merely human instead of gifted, or cursed depending on who you ask, with all the strength, speed, and aggression that comes with being an Alpha.
Granted, it helps others like me and those in law enforcement. But still. I can’t help but wonder what it was like without all this extra added boost. People like Jacob would have still committed crimes, but it wouldn’t have been as easy to manipulate others or use brute strength to get their way.
I sit back, a frown furrowing my brow. How is it, in all my visits with her, I never asked if he claimed her? It’s such a simple question, one I’m entitled to know. If she does, in fact, carry his mark, there are concessions that will have to be made.
Glancing back up at the clock, I close my eyes and pray this will all be over soon. But, of course, I don’t get my wish. With a groan, I watch as another hour and a half drift by so slowly I swear I can hear my hair growing. At this point, I don’t have much of a choice.
It doesn’t matter how good I am at my job or how fast other cases go by, bastards like Jacob are entitled to due process no matter how long it takes. I only wish on days where I have other obligations it can be a bit speedier. If only we ended or at least adjourned for the day a good bit ago. Now, I’ll have no choice but to reveal my business to everyone.
Unfortunately, I can’t wait any longer. Rising, I give the judge a sympathetic smile. “Forgive me, Your Honor, but I need to request a recess.” Over to the side, Charlie snorts, his bright eyes dancing with mirth.
No doubt he thinks I’m in a bind and need to regroup my thoughts after his stupendous oration. Oh, I’m in a bind, all right, but certainly not because of him. At this point, I’m surprised the jury is still listening to his drivel.
“On what grounds?”
Passing my phone to the bailiff, I shrug, my lips twisting into a smile. “Seems I have another appointment I must keep.”
The judge’s eyes widen as he reads the message, chuckling as he hands it back to the bailiff. “My my, seems our very own Michael Sullivan is due to get married. I would say congratulations, but any omega saddled with you will have their work cut out for them.”
“Thank you,” I respond, my tone dry and humorless. “I’ll be sure to pass on your condolences.”
“We will reconvene in the morning. That is unless you object. Will you need more time?”
“No, Your Honor. My wife will need to learn at some point that I can’t just take off at the drop of a hat. Tomorrow will be fine.”
“So be it.”
At the bang of his gavel, I rush out, glancing down at my watch. Just thirty minutes to get to the convention center and in place. At this rate, I don’t even have time to change into a better suit.
Grumbling under my breath, I race toward the venue, my mind in a blur. This is happening. This is really happening. For the next six months, I’ll be forced to share my life with someone else—a marriage trial.
I should be grateful to know there’s an endpoint if we don’t work out; however, I was raised with the idea of marriage being forever. At least that’s how my parents portrayed it. Granted, as betas, they had options I never will. They married for love. I’m getting married because the law dictates it.
My stomach churns as I maneuver through traffic, dread dripping through my veins and into my fingers as they clench around the steering wheel. As a DA, I know the law firsthand, and I know how people can get things so wrong. Am I really supposed to entrust my future to some numbers on a screen?
My mind whirls, making the time pass in a blur, yet I somehow manage to make record time. The only saving grace is that the location wasn’t all that far off from the courthouse. Without allowing myself to slow down due to overthinking, I hurry down the myriad of hallways bisecting the place. The relief on the faces of the assistants is evident as I find the room and make my way down front. Two minutes to spare.
Nervous energy thrums through my body as I pace back and forth, making myself okay with what’s about to happen. Since getting the text message, I haven’t been able to fully come to terms with it all. I knew I’d be getting married eventually, but foolishly thought I’d have time to get used to the fact—not while sitting in a courtroom deciding a man’s fate.
Soft strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D drift through the room, setting my heart to pounding. What if we’re not a good match? What if it’s six months of absolute torture? What if-
My thoughts scatter as the woman in question rounds the corner, her lips turned down into a stern frown. She blinks up at me, her emerald eyes widening as she realizes just who I am.
Shock freezes me, holding me hostage. What if my intended wife is the ex of the criminal I’m trying to put away? Not much surprises me anymore but watching this vision as she walks down the aisle throws me for a loop.
Is that anger shining in her gaze or tears? I can’t tell, and with how far away she still is, I can’t scent the air to note her reaction. Heck, I don’t even know my own reaction.
How in the hell can the Governing Body condone this? Do they not realize she was just recently married to another, possibly even bound? Or does this mean they know for a fact he didn’t mark her? Leaning over to the officiant, I turn so she can’t hear what I’m saying.
“This isn’t right. She can’t be my wife.”
The man gives me a wan smile, unease rolling off of him. “I just work here. Okay? I’m just trying to feed my family.”
Of course he doesn’t know anything. It was stupid of me to think he was the one who orchestrated this. Tomorrow, however, I will reach out. But honestly, what’s even the point? After today, we will be married, whether it’s advisable or not.
Turning, I catch Rosalind out of the corner of my eye. It seems like it’s neither sadness nor hatred that surrounds her like a dense fog. Annoyance is a better word for it.
Her bottom lip pokes out a touch in a petulant pout. Everything about her screams irritation, both at me and the fact that she’s forced down the aisle once more. Though I don’t blame her, it doesn’t stop my hand from itching with the need to take her over my lap and spank the aggravation out of her.
We’re both in this together, whether she likes it or not. A loud sigh drifts from her lips as she stands across from me, her arms crossed so tightly I’m afraid it will crush the small bouquet in her hands. She stands there, rigid, defiant, and fuck me, but her look of rebellion gets me rock hard.
It’s been far too long since I’ve had someone in my life I could discipline and mold into who I want them to be. And based on her little pouts and sass, it seems as if little Rosalind could use a firm hand to bring structure and order to her life. Based on what I know about her ex, she needs all the security, comfort, and consistency I can give her.
Even now, that bottom lip juts out just a bit more, tempting my fingers to glide across it before giving it a firm pinch. But we’ve only just met. There'll be plenty of time for that later. My cock twitches as she looks away, rolling her eyes as the officiate speaks.
Oh, but every inch of me wants to dominate her, to show her who’s boss, but more importantly to show her she’s safe and secure with me. Realization dawns as it hits me. What Rosalind needs right now more than anything else, is a Daddy.
Fuck me.