Chapter 11
SKYLAR
There was a surreal moment of silence after Madison’s outburst.
As if no one wanted to trust their own ears. Excitement buzzed in the air, people waiting to see what the crazy killer would do next.
After all, who the hell would yell out such a thing in open court?
The judge froze, mouth still parted around whatever he’d been about to say.
The jury foreperson glanced from Madison, then back to the judge, unsure of what to do.
The idiot commonwealth’s attorney rose, then sat down, then rose again, then sat, all in the space of two seconds.
Then the silence broke.
Reporters shot out of their seats; disobeying the court’s rules, they whipped out their cell phones as they raced out of the courtroom, hoping to be the first to get the sensational turn of events onto the Internet.
Hastings Hasty Outburst!
Chaos at the Courthouse!
Madison Hastings Defiant to the End!
Verdict Rejected! By the Defendant!
They were shouting their clickbait headlines into their phones over the din.
The judge’s face turned bright purple as he stood and actually threw his gavel at Madison.
She ducked just in time.
It flew past her and struck someone in the face, bloodying their nose.
That was when the real chaos began.
Chairs were overturned as people panicked and fought their way out of the confined space.
My gaze cut across the gallery to where Pierce was leaning against the back wall.
Not a flicker. Not a flinch. The fucking architect of this entire shit show.
Then there was Madison.
She was just standing there—mouth open, palms flat on the defense table—like she’d pulled a grenade pin and only now realized it was live.
I followed her gaze back to Pierce. They were staring at one another as if they were the only two people in the room.
Had they planned this together?
How much did Pierce know?
Fuck.
Shouldering my way out of the courtroom, I reached into my Birkin bag for my phone.
A man in the lobby ran up and grabbed my upper arm. “What happened? What did I miss?”
I flung my hand up to his shoulder and rammed my knee into his groin. The man fell to the ground in a fetal position. Careful not to scuff the leather on my Louboutins, I kicked him aside and kept walking. I dug through my purse for the wrinkled yellow Post-it note.
The number wasn’t saved in my phone—strict orders, no contacts, no call log. It was dangerous defying him this way, especially with his irrational temper, but honestly, who memorized phone numbers anymore?
He answered on the first ring. No greeting. Just that flat, expectant silence before the demand.
“Is it done?” he asked.
I had to cover one ear in order to hear him over all the excited conversation. The murder trial was scandalous enough for our sleepy little town without the addition of a delayed verdict.
“Not exactly,” I responded.
“What do you mean?”
I turned toward the wall because I couldn’t hear him. “What?”
His voice was harsh as he repeated, “What do you mean?”
My grip tightened on the phone. Of course, what did they say about shooting the messenger?
“She jumped up and shouted ‘wait’ just as the verdict was about to be read.”
There was a long pause.
I checked my phone screen to make sure we were still connected. “Are you there?”
“What did the judge do?”
“Besides throwing his gavel at the dumb bitch? Nothing. The whole courtroom erupted into chaos. The guards dragged Madison off. They never read the verdict.”
“Was Pierce there?”
I bit my lip. “Yes, and here’s the thing...he didn’t look surprised.”
“Do you think he suspects something?”
“Yeah! I’m kind of freaked out. First, he believes it was an accident. Then he doctored the video. Now he orchestrates things to have her released? It doesn’t make sense. What if he was playing us this whole time?”
There was no answer.
“Hello? Hello?”
The line went dead.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was always like that. The question was, what was I supposed to do now?