Page 6 of His to Burn

The unnamedtheyhad cooked the whole thing up.

This unseen enemy pulled all the strings, while somehow managing to simultaneously be strong enough to enact their devious plan and weak enough to be foiled by keyboard warriors brave enough to tell the truth.

Total horseshit.

My ex might disagree, but I was no wild-eyed conspiracy theorist.

Far from it.

Conspiracies took patience, planning, and intelligence—all things I knew most people lacked.

But recklessness, or, God forbid, pure stupidity?

The effects of those knew no bounds.

Who needed conspiracy theories when every third person was a fucking moron?

So no, I didn’t give a shit about stupid theories, but there was one thing this man and I could agree on.

The worst of this was definitely not over.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, seeming to underscore the point—and reinforce my decision to get the fuck out of here.

When I stepped off the elevator, I looked left, then right, then headed toward the handful of people lingering outside of one of the courtrooms. I didn’t spot the assistant DA and fought to keep the grimace off my face.

I glanced around, my gaze sticking on the four big screens mounted on the wall. Myguess was they usually displayed case locations.

Today, they were black screens with ERROR flashing in white letters. Then the screens flickered and went fully black.

I looked away and noticed the three polished wooden benches that lined the hallway but didn’t sit. The energy that coursed through me on a low hum wouldn’t allow me to sit. Instead I paced, an even ten steps, then a sharp turn to follow the same path again.

On my fourth rotation, the courtroom door opened—and I missed a step.

Quickly recovered, but felt burning at the back of my neck that had nothing to do with irritation.

Dark honey-brown eyes locked with my green, and, as fucking ridiculous as it was, time seemed to slow. The din of murmured conversation, the footfalls on the marble floors, even the incessant coughing, faded into nothing, this woman—this goddess—fully stealing all of my attention, awakening something inside me, something that was starved and that only she could sate.

She’s beautiful.

A split second was enough for me to see that and as the moment stretched, I cataloged all the reasons why.

Her hair was pulled back, a thick sea of black braids with hints of purple and blue. I wasn’t sure if the color was real, or just a trick of the light. If it were a trick, it was a damn good one, the darkness of her hair and those hints of color intensifying the rich dark brown of her skin.

She was broad-shouldered for a woman, but neither that nor the professional, almost demure, charcoal-gray suit jacket did nothing to detract from her undeniably feminine shape.

Even with the severe cut of her jacket, it was impossible to miss the deep curve of her waist or the flare of her hips, an ass I wanted to sink my teeth into.

I stumbled again, and the woman blinked, the moment gone.

I wasn’t sure if I liked that, but decided to stand still, hoping that whatever the fuck that was had passed.

But I didn’t take my eyes off her as she smiled down at a short woman in her early sixties with a shock of red hair who looked pale.

“Will you make it home, Bridget?” the goddess asked, her voice deep for a woman and smoother than the top-shelf whiskey Vaughn had insisted on at his funeral.

“I’ll be fine,” Bridget responded.

The goddess arched a skeptical brow, drawing a genuine smile from Bridget.