Chapter 2 #2
Dawson appeared in the doorway, his face still flushed. "We know Stephen Bentley was Tori's ex. We know he was Viola's father. We know your client had motive—"
"You know nothing," Sarah cut him off, and damn if that commanding tone didn't make my pulse spike again. "All you have is suppositions and theories. No physical evidence. No witnesses. Nothing. I want my client released immediately."
I should not be finding this attractive. I definitely should not be finding this attractive. Sarah was too bossy, too sharp-edged. I liked my women soft and easy, not hard and complicated.
My body, apparently, had other ideas.
"He's being held for arraignment," Dawson said flatly. "Monday morning. Until then, he stays."
Sarah's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she turned to me, and I saw her bravado falter for just a second.
"My client and I need to speak privately," she said, turning back to Dawson. "Now."
Dawson's lip curled. "Of course you do." He leaned in closer, his face inches from Sarah's. I smelled the sourness of his breath from where I sat. "Tell me something, counselor. Are you an Orc whore like your friends? Is that what this is about?"
Sarah went absolutely still. Not the stillness of fear, but the stillness of a blade being drawn.
The cuffs around my wrists groaned under the pressure of my grip. Every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready to spring. The only thing keeping me in that chair was the knowledge that if I moved now, I'd prove every ugly thing Dawson believed about Orcs.
But gods, I wanted to move.
Sarah drew a deep breath. "Get. Out. Of. My. Face."
The command in her voice was absolute, and my entire body responded to it in ways I absolutely did not appreciate. My pulse raced, my focus narrowing to the vanilla-and-steel scent of her, the way she stood her ground against a man twice her size without flinching.
This was a problem. This was a serious problem.
Dawson grinned, and his hand actually moved toward his gun. That's when I moved.
The cuffs snapped like they were made of paper.
I was up and between them before anyone could blink, my body a wall between Sarah and Dawson.
He stumbled back a few steps in shock, his breath gasping.
I watched his hand closing around his gun, pulling it from the holster, and smelled the adrenaline spike in his blood.
"Don't," I warned quietly.
Sure, Orc skin could stop most bullets—standard issue rounds would only bruise, maybe break the skin if they hit at the right angle.
But Dawson didn't carry standard issue. I'd seen the silver-tipped ammunition on his desk when they'd brought me in, the kind specifically designed to punch through Orc hide.
The kind that said he'd been planning for this moment.
And Sarah had no such protection. She was human, fragile, standing right there, and my body was screaming at me to—
No. Absolutely not. Sarah was my lawyer. She was bossy and demanding and way too complicated, and I did not do complicated.
"Kael, no. Stand down."
The timbre in her voice should have irritated me. Should have made me want to do the opposite just to prove I could. Instead, it made my pulse spike again, made me hyper-aware of her hand on my arm, the warmth of her skin through my shirt.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to make sure Dawson understood exactly what would happen if he tried anything. But Sarah's grip was firm, and her scent flooded with fear—not for herself, but for me—and that did something to my chest I absolutely refused to examine.
So I stepped back. Slowly. Deliberately. Keeping my eyes on Dawson the whole time and trying very hard not to notice the way my body was still leaning toward Sarah like she was magnetic north.
"Get out," Sarah said again, her voice steady despite the tremor underneath. "Now. And if there's so much as a bruise on my client when I come back tomorrow, I'm filing a complaint with the state police and the FBI. Do you understand me?"
Dawson's face was purple with rage, but he holstered his weapon and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Sarah turned to me, and I saw her hands shaking.
"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching for her before I could stop myself. My hand found her shoulder, and the contact sent another unwanted jolt through me.
She went rigid under my touch—not from fear.
I could read her scent well enough to know it wasn't fear.
But there was something else there. A spike of awareness.
A sudden consciousness of my proximity that made her heartbeat accelerate, made her breathing go shallow.
She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either.
She just stood there, her jaw tightening as she processed the contact.
I found I liked it far more than I should have.
I pulled back immediately, shoving my hands in my pockets like a tuskling who didn't know what to do with his own body.
Which, apparently, I didn't.
"I'm fine," she said, but her voice wavered. She took a breath, steadied herself. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I echoed, even though I was very much not fine. My pulse was still racing, my body still hyper-aware of how close she was, how good she smelled, how much I wanted to—
Nope. Not going there.
"Sarah, I—"
"Promise me," she interrupted, her chocolate eyes boring into mine, and I couldn't look away even though I wanted to. "Promise me you won't do anything like that again. Dawson is looking for an excuse to hurt you, and I can't—" She stopped, swallowed hard. "I can't defend you if you give him one."
The worry in her voice, the genuine concern—it did something to me I absolutely did not want to feel.
Sarah was supposed to be my lawyer, nothing more.
She was too bossy, too demanding, too likely to call me on my bullshit.
I didn't do relationships with women like that.
I liked easy. I liked simple. I liked women who looked at me like I was a hero, not like I was a problem to be managed.
But my body didn't seem to care about any of that.