Chapter 4: Lovely Beast: Chapter 4

The jail where they’re keeping Nicolas isn’t so bad. It’s new and modern and there’s air conditioning, which isn’t always a given even down here in the South where it’s hotter than hell.

I walk in behind Sara and try not to stare at her ass, but it’s fucking hard. Even in one of those conservative pantsuit things, she looks absolutely stunning: long, dark hair up in a tight bun, shiny and sleek; full figure with hips to die for and a mouth like heaven; and those lovely blue eyes that always seem to sparkle even when she’s glaring, which is most of the time.

Since I met her, I’ve seen Sara smile twice. And both times were when I was fucking her.

“Keep your mouth shut during this,” she whispers sharply as we head into the visitation waiting room. “You’re my legal assistant. Understand?”

“Princess, I doubt anyone’s going to think I’m a legal assistant.”

“

call me that.” She glances back, face hard. Her face is always hard. This girl truly is the epitome of an ice queen, and I don’t know why I’m so drawn to it. Maybe I want to break that chilly exterior. Maybe I like the anger and abuse. Or maybe I just got addicted to her slick pussy and her incredible whimpers and I want more.

Mostly, I think I like the challenge. It’s been a long time since a woman stood up to me and I like the fact that she seems to both want me and despise me at the same time.

And I feel the same way—this girl’s the opposite of what I’ve always gone for. I like warm and inviting and happy. I like when women laugh at my jokes and touch my arm and flirt a little. Sara would rather call me a douchebag than admit she found me charming, which is weirdly alluring. But most of all, she’s from a world I’ll never know.

She’s a lawyer. Maybe she didn’t grow up rich, but she’s privileged. Good schools, good grades, that sort of thing. Hell, she met Carmine at Blackwoods, that fancy fucking college for snooty rich assholes and violent mobster kids, which means she’s either a genius or she’s got connections. I’m betting on both.

Then there’s me. Poor kid from a shit part of the city. Dead parents, no future, nothing to my name except a willingness to bleed.

Sara doesn’t know suffering while I was born into it.

She gets to choose whether she helps a guy like Nicolas, but I don’t have that same freedom. He’s my responsibility—he’s a guy just like me—and I don’t turn my back on my friends.

Either way, when Carmine said I might be working with Sara and asked if what happened at the wedding would complicate things, I told him absolutely not. I practically leapt at the chance to be close to her again.

Because even though we promised that night was all there’d ever be, I still want more, despite these tangled feelings.

That’s my problem though. That’s always been my issue. No matter what, I’m never satisfied.

But for a little while back in that storage room, I felt like I didn’t need anything else in the world.

Only my frigid princess.

Which is why I’m willing to follow her now and play pretend.

We go through the whole process of checking in. I’ve visited guys in jail before, but never as a lawyer. The whole thing is different: instead of looking at us like we belong behind bars with the other scum, the prison staff is actually being nice for once. Probably because we’re in suits and we have briefcases and we’ve got power.

That’s what it means to be on this side of the law. Protection, a little bit of power.

And I hope Sara’s going to bring it all to bear on these fucks because my boy Nicolas really is innocent.

We’re led down a back hallway and into an interview room. The guard leaves us alone and we’re sitting on the same side of a table with rings built into the other end for the inmate’s wrist chains. I lean back and watch as Sara opens her briefcase and starts getting her shit together. I catch glimpses of files and notebooks and photographs.

“Is that all the evidence the state has?” I ask.

“Not all of it,” she says and her lips push together. That’s the look she gets when she’s annoyed, which is the expression she has most of the time. “They’re being cagey. They keep promising the rest of it, but somehow there’s a new excuse every day.”

“That’s always the way.”

“Makes me curious.” She taps a pen against her lips. “Who would want to set Nicolas up?”

I tilt my head side to side. “I don’t think it’s about Nicolas at all. Better question is, who would want to hurt the Scavo Famiglia?”

She studies me for a moment. “Well? Who?”

I spread my hands. “Your guess is as good as mine. We’re a bunch of saints.”

She sighs and I grin at her. I love the way she acts like I’m the most frustrating man in the world, and maybe I play it up a little bit when I’m with her, just to get a rise. And she never fails to deliver.

“This is my first jailhouse visit,” she says quietly, suddenly, still staring at her notes, but I notice her hand is trembling slightly and the nib of her pen makes little skittering marks across the yellow lined pad.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Nicolas is a good kid and I’m here with you.”

Her smile is bitter. “Your presence isn’t as reassuring as you might think.”

“I’m a delight and you’re glad I’m back in your life.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” The door cracks open and the guards come in first. I swallow my reply as Nicolas is led to the table and locked into place as he gets settled on the lone metal chair.

He looks harried and tired. Big, black bags hang under his dark eyes. His black hair is greasy and messed up like he hasn’t showered since he got picked up, and there’s a fresh bruise under his right eye. We don’t speak until the guards leave.

“Nice outfit,” I say and nod at his orange jumpsuit.

He grins at me. “Same to you. God, fucking hell, Angelo, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“How you doing, kid?”

“I’m all right. Surviving.”

I gesture at his face. “Looks like you got into a scrap.”

He glances down at the handcuffs on his wrists. “There are guys in here.”

We go silent and let that sink in. I know what he means and I’m sure Sara does too. She looks queasy and nervous but she’s hiding it pretty well behind her rigid back and her hard expression.

“If you’re in danger, I can speak to the staff,” she says. “My name is Sara Bray and I’ll be your lawyer.”

“You’re the one Carmine promised? You’re good, right? Listen, I know it’s fucking crazy and I bet you don’t believe me, but I’m innocent.”

She glances at me. “I believe you,” she says quietly. “And so does Angelo.”

“We know you didn’t do it. Shit, you can barely tie your shoes, much less kill five cartel guys.”

He looks relieved. It’s almost pathetic. “They were dead when I got there, but the cops, they kept saying they found evidence. I haven’t said a fucking word to them since they brought me in, but they can’t have anything, can they? I was in the room for like a minute at most.”

“It appears they do,” Sara says. “Nicolas, I need to know everything, the whole story, start to finish. Everything you saw, everything you heard, everything you touched, and everything you smelled. Tell me whatever you remember.”

I nod to the kid and he clears his throat before he dives into the story.

It’s more or less what I told her. As he talks, Sara takes notes. She watches him, and he’s staring at the table, and I keep looking at her. The girl’s in over her head, that much is obvious, but she’s smart and capable or else Carmine wouldn’t have brought her into this. He’s a good judge of character, and in this situation, I completely agree with his decision, even if she doesn’t specialize in murder defense.

She’s still smart and at least she’s willing to listen. Most lawyers, they see a guy like Nicolas, they see a little evidence from the cops, they immediately assume we’re full of shit.

For once, we’re not.

“I might’ve touched the table. When I got into the room, I freaked out, you know? There was blood , it was absolutely crazy, and I panicked. But once I got myself together, I ran the hell out of there and called Angelo.”

“I told her about that,” I say.

“Did you notice anything strange? Anything off about the room? Anything in the parking lot?”

“Nothing aside from the bodies,” Nicolas says looking despondent. “I had no clue what was in that room until I went inside.”

“Wait a second,” I say and glance at Sara. “Who let you in?”

Nicolas blinks at me. “The door was open already. Someone left the bolt out so the door didn’t shut all the way. I figured that was on purpose so I could go right in.”

“Really?” Sara asks, looking interested. “That means someone left it like that on purpose. But I don’t see anything about the bolt being open in the police report.”

“Does that mean anything?” Nicolas asks, craning his neck to look at Sara’s notes.

“We don’t know,” she says, “but we’ll look into every angle.”

The meeting winds down from there. She makes Nicolas go over his story another couple times and keeps taking notes until time is up and we have to go. I shake the kid’s hand and squeeze his elbow before they lead him out. “You’ll be all right,” I say quietly. “We’re here.”

He nods and looks beaten and dejected as they take him back to his cell.

We leave together. Sara doesn’t talk on the way back to the parking lot. She clutches her briefcase against her chest, and I’m not in the mood to try drawing her out. I keep thinking about Nicolas and that black eye, and the fucking cops dragging him into here. It all stinks to me, it all reeks like lies and shit.

This is our life. It’s always like this for guys like me and Nicolas. We’re born with nothing and we’re given nothing, and even if we fight to get some slice of goodness in this world, it’s always ripped away from our broken fingers by someone that doesn’t want us to have it. That’s how the world’s always been and how it’ll always be, and I can’t pretend like I think Nicolas has a shot in hell at beating these charges.

And it messes me up. It breaks my heart. It makes me so mad I could go back into that jail and kill every single one of those guards and drag Nicolas out myself.

Instead, I’ll see this to the end, no matter what.

“I think you’re right,” Sara says back in the car as I start the engine. I turn to her, surprised to hear those words come out of her mouth. “Don’t give me that look. I think he really was set up.”

“Based on what?”

“The open door. Nobody would leave the door open like that, not even by mistake. Someone wanted Nicolas to stumble in there.”

I lean back in my seat and run my hands over the wheel. “Cartel guys would know better than that. The kid’s new to all this shit, otherwise, he would’ve been paranoid about that open door from the start.”

“Why’d you send a kid like him, anyway?”

“He speaks Spanish and we thought it was a simple job.” He shakes his head. “We didn’t know.”

“Right.” She takes a long breath and lets it out. “Assuming it was one person, how the hell do you kill five people without anyone hearing a thing?”

I glance at her. “You think someone’s lying.”

“I think a lot of people are lying. We just have to figure out who and why.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “I only hope the real killers aren’t paying any attention to all this and are long gone by now.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say and turn toward her. She glances at me, face still serious, but I can see the glimmer of fear in her eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I need a gun and a good night’s sleep.”

“It’s Texas, I thought everyone carried out here.”

“Not everyone.” She sighs and rubs her face. “It’ll be fine, let’s just get back so I can do some work, okay?”

I put the car into gear and start driving.

The world might be shit, but I’m not going to let it hurt this girl. I’ve done bad things, let people down, gotten fucked up in my day, but I won’t let that get in the way of keeping Sara safe.