Chapter 3
Aflicker of unease has me pulling my hand out of his and gesturing to the seat across from my desk as I sit in my chair.
He leans back, studying me with that darkness in his warm, golden eyes.
He’s not nervous, not in the slightest. I’ve met so many criminals over the years, and within the first five seconds, I can tell if they committed the crime they were accused of.
But Mr Faris doesn’t let me have anything.
His face is comparable to a stone. Sharp, cold, hard.
“I’ve had a look at your case, Mr Faris,” I say, trying to keep the control in my voice. “I’ll be honest, it’s not the usual case I would take on, but I need to hear your defence. If I am to work with you, there cannot be any lies. No. Secrets.”
“I understand,” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine. “No secrets.”
I open the file on my desk, staring down at a familiar surname.
Being one of the best attorneys in the city, the most notorious gangsters come to me for their protection and a way around the justice system.
What I didn’t expect when I first saw this surname on paper was that I would be defending someone accused of their murder.
Tony Albani. The police found him murdered in his fancy penthouse.
Multiple stab wounds, a disfigured face, and a witness report stating they saw Mr Faris leaving the scene with blood on his hands.
The evidence was in his favour, though. The place was clean, without a single drop of DNA, and the case seemed open and shut.
But when this witness came forward, it made everyone question if the case wasn’t what it seemed.
“So, tell me what happened that night,” I say, my voice taking on a harder tone as I focus on the details before me. “The night Mr Albani was killed.”
He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if he’s considering his words before he speaks them. “I went to Tony’s place to discuss a business deal. He was meant to honour the promise he made to me, but he refused. We argued, and I said I was leaving, but he stopped me. He threatened me.”
Too neat.
The voice inside my head analyses his face, his sculpted cheekbones, the dark hair, the stubble, and every little glimmer reflecting off his studded earrings. I’ve seen many killers and law breakers, and although he looks the part—tattoos and all—there is no way he’s giving anything away.
“What happened after he threatened you?” I ask, pressing further.
“I left,” he says flatly.
I don’t know if I believe him. Not just yet. There have been too many violent gang-related occurrences of late.
“It says here a witness saw you leaving the penthouse with blood on your hands.”
He doesn’t flinch or blink at my words, just continues to speak as if he’s telling a passing stranger a story. “I was there, but I didn’t do it. Someone is trying to frame me.”
That’s the usual excuse criminals use. Framing. Defamation. The constant repetition of ‘I didn’t do it, I promise’.
I keep my eyes on him, trying to catch a twitch or a tell, something to show me he isn’t innocent, but his stoic expression remains the same.
Unreadable, holding his cards tightly to his chest. It’s one thing to be a good liar—I have seen my fair share of those, too—but his skill is on another level. Some might even call it psychotic.
The voice inside me is screaming, clawing at the surface, begging me not to believe him, and although that voice hasn’t led me astray before, I’m not going to listen this time. Because this time, this case could be the one thing to give me what I’ve been working toward.
He leans forward, the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up showcasing an array of skulls inked into his forearms, stealing my focus for a second. When he speaks next, I feel something within me waver, his voice softening ever so slightly.
“I’m counting on you, Isla.” The intensity of his eyes on mine sends a shiver through me. One I shouldn’t ignore. “I know you won’t let an innocent rot in a cell without giving me a fair shot.”
Damn it. There it is again.
I should close the file, hand it to him, and refuse his request to represent him. That would be the smart thing to do. But the way he said my name, like he knows more about me than he’s let on, makes me curious.
It’s not fear.
It’s something I can’t place.
Shake it off, Isla. This is business. Nothing more.
I ignore the charge between us.
“I’ll take the case.” I nod and clench my hands into fists to stop them from fidgeting. “But like I said earlier, Mr Faris, no lies.”
He doesn’t seem worried at all. Instead, he smiles. A knowing smile that has me crossing my legs in my seat. “Please, call me Malik.”
“Time of death was ten thirty-five in the evening.” Jamie, my assistant, sifts through the paperwork as I balance my pen between my fingers.
It’s been a couple of days since the news broke out about Mr Albani, and this morning, Mr Faris has been formally charged with his murder.
They’ve taken him into custody, and our entire afternoon was spent investigating the charges against him, requesting all formal paperwork to be sent to me so I could review the investigation report.
Once I was able to determine the time of passing, I could then look for an alibi, placing Mr Faris clear of the crime.
It was obvious that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, and I didn’t want it to be.
I thrived off the challenge to weave my way around the law, and this case was the perfect one.
“And we have the eyewitness stating Mr Faris left the scene at ten-fifteen.”
“I mean, chances are, the defence will say it took Mr Albani several minutes to die.”
Jamie looks up from the paperwork, his baby blue eyes wondering what I’m thinking.
“Blunt force trauma to the head is our best angle. We need to stick to it. With a hit like this, the chances of him surviving past a few minutes are very slim,” I say, confident in my approach to this.
I just need to get him out on bail. That’s the first hurdle we need to pass.
I know Malik isn’t innocent, but so far, what he has told me makes sense.
My other clients knew I don’t tolerate lies because if something were to surface without my knowledge, it would hurt their case.
I don’t need to know the extent of their business or why they do what they do.
I just need to know everything relating to their case and whether they are guilty.
Anything could be used against them in court, and I needed to be ready for it.
In Malik’s case, I hope he’s being truthful with me because I need to win this. Without his cooperation, I don’t think this will work.
I need to see him.
Before I do anything else, I want to make sure he’s not hiding anything from me.
Gathering the files, I head to my car with Jamie on my tail. It’s a relatively short drive to the police station, and once we arrive, I hand him the keys to my car.
“Park it, please, and meet me inside.”
He nods once, and I make my way up the steps and into the station.
“Isla, I was wondering when we were going to see you here.” Lloyd hangs his thumb from his belt as he runs his eyes over me.
I guess you could say we had a thing when I was younger.
Definitely when my prefrontal cortex wasn’t fully developed yet.
I don’t know what I was thinking. To be fair, he is attractive with his recent buzz cut and the porn moustache, and his large, muscular frame would have any woman say he was easy on the eyes, but we outgrew each other.
He didn’t want much from life, but I did.
I ignore the flirting in his tone and get right to it. “I need to speak with my client.”
“Your client?” He drops his arm to his side as his mind works behind his hazel eyes. “Malik fucking Faris is your client?”
“Yes. I need to see him. Now.”
Without argument, he takes me to the back of the station and into a small room.
My hands shake slightly as I place my bag on the floor and take a seat on the metal chair, doing my best not to fidget.
I think back to the last case I won for the city’s most notorious gangster.
They call him the King, and all I can say about him is that I don’t want to be in his way when he’s mad.
You’ve got this, Isla.
As soon as I see him walk through the doors, I know I don’t, in fact, have this.
There’s a strange sensation in my throat, the beat of my heart almost like it’s pulsing further up than it should.
I swallow, hoping to settle it, but it remains in a constant, annoying rhythm.
I watch as he takes a seat across from me, the guard leaving us as the click of the door follows his exit.
He doesn’t speak, just stares at me with a twinkle in his eyes and mirth in his expression.
“Mr Faris—”
“Malik,” he corrects me, making my legs press together at the deep confidence in his tone.
“Malik.” I fidget, scraping my nails on the pads of my fingers in my lap just to have something to do beneath the weight of his intense stare.
I force myself to remember why I’m here, but all I can think about is the handcuffs around his wrists, the striking features highlighted beneath the light above us, and his unapologetic stare.
No one has ever affected me like this. But the way he looks at me, it’s like I’ve seen him before.
This is wrong, Isla.
Don’t give in to it.
Clearing my throat, I mentally shake myself out of it. “The only thing tying you to this is the witness that saw you leave that night. I’ve discovered that Mr Albani’s time of death was ten thirty-five.”
He scoots his chair back, giving me a view of his tall frame, barely contained in his seat.
“Great, then we have nothing to worry about.” He leans back in his chair, moving his hips slightly forward, and my eyes drop to his crotch. My cheeks heat at the thought of what it might look like.
Is it as big as his confidence?
Or as thick as his voice?
“Isla?”
Shit.
Tearing my eyes away, they clash with his. “As long as you’re being truthful, we have nothing to worry about.”
The dark coals in his eyes gleam with mischief, and I sense that he knows exactly where I was looking.
“When is the hearing?”
“Tomorrow. And until then, if you think of anything else to help your case, let me know.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, sending a small shiver up my spine.
He shouldn’t affect me like he does, and I shouldn’t be so dismissive of it.
But here I am, being lured into his charm.
My fiancé hasn’t touched me since we got engaged, and I don’t want his hands on me, not after they’ve been on someone else’s skin. Not after he’s kissed someone else.
A moment passes, then I reach for my bag before his voice stops me.
“How do you know of the Albanis?” His tone is accusatory, and I don’t like it one bit.
I pause and lean back into the seat, crossing my arms. “I cannot discuss my clients.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender, the handcuffs clinking as he moves, the noise mirroring the metaphoric chains I’ve placed around myself.
“Just trying to make sense of your reasoning behind taking this case.” He lowers his hands, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair.
He brings himself closer, leaning over the table, and his long arms extend, gripping the edge near me.
He’s close enough to touch, close enough to see the marks on his hands, those dark tattoos etched into his rough fingers.
I wonder what they’d feel like pressed against my skin…
Curled around my throat…
“My reasoning shouldn’t be of concern to you, Mr Faris. You are paying me to do a job, and that is what I am here to do.”
His tongue comes out to trace a line over his bottom lip, distracting me.
“I am paying you. A boatload of cash, Isla. But the money isn’t my concern. If you have loyalties to those criminals, best let me know now.” There’s a warning in his tone, but I am not in the least afraid.
“Like I said, I cannot discuss further. Rest assured, I show every single one of my clients my undivided attention.”
He seems to enjoy my words as the corners of his mouth twitch, his gaze burning into mine.
“Like I said, Miss Knight, get me the fuck out of here.”