Page 6 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER FIVE

If I had a do-over and paused to look past the smug grin on his gorgeous face, would I have cursed first and hit second?

I’m not sure. Either way, I’m confident the result would be the same.

Struggling against the officer, I screech, “You’re putting these on the wrong person!

That bastard helped the son of a bitch who hit my niece get off scot-free! ”

That gives the officer a moment’s pause but doesn’t deter him. Crap. Then I spy a familiar face across the breezeway and shout, “Jon! Get this goon to take these cuffs off me!”

My cousin’s eyes narrow before he leaves the group of people he was conversing with to bolt my way.

Not even breaking a sweat in his bespoke suit, his “What the fuck, Kalie?” is heard by every person in the small circle around me, many of whom have cell phones up since the sinfully rich and equally gorgeous Jonathan Lockwood is in their presence.

I roll my eyes. This ridiculously handsome playboy is the same child my cousin Laura and I would force to eat our mud pies.

One would think they’d be more impressed that a dainty brunette in four-inch heels managed to knock out a man built like a linebacker with one solid punch.

Not.

I make a mental note to thank Mama and Daddy for my pugilist skills. They made certain all their “girls” could protect themselves in any situation. Whether it was running or self-defense, one of the Marshall clan’s more annoying tendencies includes a never-ending competitiveness.

Those feelings festered and flourished in me—the first-born daughter to a man who openly admits he was born into a family that encouraged his being a sanctimonious prick.

Not that I can blame my parents for my current predicament.

I shake my wrists, feeling the cold steel against them—not a good look with the designer suit Aunt Em made me that I’m wearing for court.

A groan from the floor causes my insides to quiver. Glaring at me, Jon—the traitorous jerk—leans down and offers the prick a hand. I’m not sure my mouth can fall open any farther when the son of a bitch clasps my cousin’s forearm and says, “Thanks for the assist.”

“Excuse me? What the hell is happening right now?” I snarl at both men.

That’s when furious chocolate brown eyes bore into mine before my victim snaps, “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Hearing his smooth voice sends bitter shards of fury to pump through my veins even as it makes my thighs clench together in sweet agony.

Damn him. Damn, Declan Conian. I never imagined what it was like to curse in a violent rage until I read a news article about my cousin’s trial one day and saw him with the people who harmed her.

Now, a face that used to cause tingles down my spine became a face I memorized in the hopes of achieving sweet, sweet vengeance if I ever happened upon the opportunity.

Yet, here he stands in a six-thousand-dollar suit, dabbing his split lip like he’s the one who has been wronged.

But I know better. Underneath the polished exterior made possible by blood money, by lying with the filth of the criminal underworld, is a man who deserves to face a judge for crimes against humanity.

Regretfully, I won’t be able to file the paperwork to prevent Amaryllis Events from being sued, which was my intention before I entered the courthouse.

No, instead, I let my temper get the best of me in front of two court officers.

I have a one-way ticket to the pokey, and I somehow suspect this man isn’t going to stop me from rotting in a cell.

After all, he’s intent on making my family relive our most recent nightmares.

And I, for one, haven’t forgotten a single second of it, even if my cousin’s appalled face indicates he might be wavering toward the enemy. I yell at Jon, “Since when did you start assisting the shyster who threatened our family?”

He tries to placate me, “Now, Kalie…”

My eyes narrow at him. “Don’t, Jon. Don’t you dare justify your actions right now.”

“Declan wasn’t directly involved with what happened,” he tries to reason. Meanwhile, I’m debating never speaking to my own blood cousin ever again for treason against his own.

Laura was harmed by the clients this man represents and he wants to stand here splitting hairs about ethics?

About a man who will defend their innocence, yet he claims Declan isn’t playing a part in harming his sister?

Like I care about the difference between whether someone physically or mentally injures one of our family?

In our family, we know better than most that pain causes scars. It lingers in the soul’s crevices. It agitates the subconscious. And just because you can move past it doesn’t mean it’s never going to rise back up and demand retribution.

Recalling the memories of how it felt to return after our home was violated, my breath releases in short, choppy bursts. My muscles tighten with the force of my fury. I refuse to be victimized anymore. Still, this bastard’s unreadable expression holds mine.

It’s quite different from the look he gave me over and over on one of the most important days of my life, when he charmed me from half a tent away. Fury builds up inside me as I recall the way I wanted to stay behind for him, causing me to shout, “You asshole!”

“Jesus, Kalie!” Jon admonishes, but I’m so beyond caring what my traitorous cousin thinks.

Knowing another member of my extended family will bail my ass out, I ignore my cousin.

My heel slips slightly as I struggle against the officer’s increasingly tightening grip as I let my venom spew.

“You have a lot of nerve to show your face in this town, Conian.”

He quirks his brow at my cousin and asks, “Who is this…individual, Lockwood?”

Jon growls, “My cousin.”

“Ahh. That…explains so much.” He dabs at his lip one final time before announcing, “You look good leashed up, sweetheart.”

“Why you, son-of-a…”

“Mr. Conian, I suggest you walk away if you don’t want a judge to believe Ms. Marshall had provocation to attack you,” the officer suggests.

My head whips around. “Why am I not surprised he has a few of Darien’s finest tucked in his pocket right next to the dick you’re likely sucking?”

Jon scrubs his hand down his face. “Kalie, stop digging your hole any deeper.”

“Jon, I hope when I tell the family, they’ll be proud of you for turning to the dark side.” I jiggle my hands at the officers, and in a saccharine sweet tone, I say, “If you’re going to do more than tease me with these, do it already. I don’t like to be held down for too long.”

At that, Conian chuckles roughly. “I’d love to see who has the balls to do that to you.”

My smile is diabolical. “Any man other than you.”

“Kalie,” Jon warns. “Let me just call your father.”

“Aww, ain’t that sweet—a daddy’s girl. Explains so much,” Conian mocks me.

“Why you…”

“Maybe I should meet your father to offer him some pointers about how to raise his little girl.”

A hush envelops the crowd. My smile is lethal. “You really want to meet my father?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Something in his tone sends a shiver down my spine.

I refuse to admit it’s fear. Before I can lash out again, the officers are dragging me away, beginning their recitation.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

I snarl, “I am one.”

Conian lets out a frustrated sigh, “Then you should have known better.”

“Go to hell and take my traitorous cousin with you!” I spit back with venom.

He casts a withering glance over me one last time before turning his back, engaging in a cold, calculated discussion with my cousin—his face a mask of indifference.

I snap my head toward the officers as they finish reading me my Miranda rights.

“Yes, I understand my rights. But before I utter another word, I demand my right to a phone call.”

The devil remains unfazed as I am dragged toward lockup. Not a single flicker of concern crosses his face. But he should be worried.

This battle is far from over. Not as long as I have a breath to fight with.