Chapter Twenty-One Pete Miller
Chapter Twenty-One
Pete Miller
Pete Miller sat across from his court-appointed attorney. A middle-aged guy. Gut draping over a cheap, rumpled suit. Thinning hair. Didn’t smell like exotic perfume. His handwriting wasn’t neat and precise.
He’d hit the lottery when Raine Hale had taken his case.
She didn’t have the talent to save him jail time—not even God could after what he’d done.
But Raine was one of the best. She’d argue that his ex’s bones had healed.
The bruises had faded. No scars on the outside.
A jury would have listened to the polished, perfect Raine.
She’d have found a way to shave time from his sentence.
Pete never dreamed about the ex. He’d already forgotten what she looked like.
But Raine . . .
He dreamed about her nightly. He imagined stroking her soft skin. Kissing her lips. Hearing her moan.
Touching her had become an obsession.
And he had.
Too much. Too fast. Too violent.
In those seconds when her pulse throbbed wildly against his hands, he’d felt alive. Her bright eyes fixated on him. They were one.
And then it was over.
He missed Raine Hale.
“Am I getting bail?” he asked.
The loser attorney, who looked too stupid to walk and chew gum at the same time, glanced at his notes. “There’s a path.”
“I’ll do anything.”