Page 93 of Held-

“How fast can Joe get here?” I check my watch again. Cece's been in holding for almost three hours.

“He was in court when I called, but he said he’d be there as fast as he could. And Brayden?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't do anything stupid before he gets there.” Her tone makes it clear she knows exactly what I'm thinking. “I mean it. You getting arrested won't help Cece.”

“I'm not making any promises,” I mutter, watching as another deputy walks past, deliberately avoiding eye contact. “These assholes know exactly what they're doing.”

“That's why we need to be smarter than them. Joe will handle it.”

I end the call and turn back to find the Reverend staring at me, his expression unreadable.

“Who is Joe?” he asks.

“Joseph Mendez. Best criminal defense attorney in three counties.” I tuck my phone away. “Your church lawyer handles paperwork and tax exemptions. Mendez handles real fights.”

“We can't afford?—”

“I'm paying,” I cut him off.

“I don't need your charity,” the Reverend recoils. Pride clearly getting the better of him. Pride he’s going to have to shove down because it’s not going to help his daughter’s situation.

“It's not charity,” I snap, my patience hanging by a thread. “It's for Cece, not you.”

We stare at each other across the dingy waiting room, two men who couldn't be more different yet somehow find ourselves on the same side of this mess. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows across his face that make him look haggard and worn.

“My daughter is all I have left. Her mother would never have allowed this to happen.”

Something in his tone catches me off guard—genuine grief, maybe even regret. For a second, I see past the judgmental preacher to the father beneath. A father who, despite his many flaws, loves his daughter in his own fucked-up way.

“Then let's get her out of here. Your lawyer isn't showing. Mine will be here soon. Swallow your pride and let me help.”

Before he can answer, the station door swings open with a bang. A man in an expensive suit strides in, his silver hair slicked back, his smile as fake as the Rolex on his wrist. Fucking Richard Kincaid.

My fists twitch at my sides. Every instinct in me wants to drive Kincaid into the nearest wall.

But I stay still. Not yet.

This is not the alley behind a bar. This is the sheriff’s station with witnesses, and a man who performs best when he has anaudience. He wants me to lose control. He wants a scene he can twist.

I force my voice calm. Cold. “You talk about the law as if it belongs to you. Your son assaulted her, and now you are trying to bury it.”

Kincaid’s expression shifts for a heartbeat. A small crack in the smug mask he hides behind. It seals up again almost instantly.

“Harsh accusations,” he murmurs, chin lifted. “Reputations in this town are fragile. She has already damaged hers.”

The words hit me harder than any punch. She is in a cell behind those doors, alone, and he is still trying to paint her as the problem.

My teeth grind. “Her reputation means nothing to me. The truth does. Your son pinned her in that bathroom. Grabbed her. Humiliated her. She is not the one who should be sitting in a cell right now.”

The room goes still. Deputies who pretended to ignore us are openly watching now.

Kincaid’s jaw tightens. “You have made powerful enemies. I hope you understand that.”

My vision heats. “I do. I understand exactly what kind of man you are. And you should remember something, Richard. I have toppled men far more powerful than you. You and your boy will answer for what happened.”

He adjusts his cufflinks, stiff and deliberate, as if this is a board meeting instead of a threat spoken in front of half the sheriff’s staff.