Page 18 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Kellen

“The State calls Danny Rivera to the stand.”

Sutter is wearing a burgundy suit today, the color of dried blood.

She smells of burned coffee and I don’t think she’s looked at me once since the trial started.

I’m not really of any interest to her. I’m not really a person.

I could be replaced with a stuffed bear or a six year old or a photo of me in a gold embossed stand.

I don’t think she’d care as long as she got the win and sent me to prison.

The scent would annoy but instead I have Milo’s much closer, almost drowning it out. His sweet vanilla hits me in waves every time he shifts in his seat beside me. And he shifts a lot. My beautiful omega is antsy as hell.

Danny Rivera shuffles to the witness stand. I remember him from The Pit, although I didn’t know him well. He’s lost weight since the raid. His cheap suit hangs loose on his frame, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows repeatedly.

The bailiff holds out the Bible. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.” Danny’s voice cracks on the second word.

He’s lying already.

Sutter approaches the witness stand with measured steps. “Mr. Rivera, can you state your occupation for the court?”

“I was a bartender. At The Pit.”

“And how long did you work there?”

“About eighteen months.” His eyes dart to me, then away so fast I almost miss it. “Started in March two years ago.”

“Can you describe your duties?”

Danny lists the obvious—mixing drinks, handling cash, cleaning. His voice gains a little strength as he recites what sounds like a rehearsed script. Then Sutter moves in for the kill.

“Who was your boss, Mr. Rivera?”

His gaze flicks to me again. This time it lingers a beat too long. “Kellen Hayes.”

Beside me, Milo’s pen scratches across his legal pad. The sound is oddly soothing, evidence that he’s paying attention, working. Planning. The kiss from yesterday burns between us like a live wire, but he’s completely professional now. Even Melkham couldn’t fault him.

“Can you identify Mr. Hayes in the courtroom?”

Danny points at me with a trembling finger. “That’s him. At the defense table.”

“Let the record show the witness has identified the defendant.” Sutter’s smile is all teeth. “Mr. Rivera, can you describe Mr. Hayes’s role at The Pit?”

This is where the script really kicks in. Danny straightens in his chair, words coming faster now.

“He ran everything. The fights, the girls, all of it. Nothing happened without his say-so. He’d count the money in the office every night, give orders to security. If someone caused trouble, they’d answer to him.”

Bullshit. Complete bullshit. I fought and maybe I broke up the occasional scuffle in the bar above the basement. The closest I came to the money was collecting my own pay.

“Can you give specific examples?” Sutter prompts.

“Sure. I remember one night, maybe six months before the raid, this girl—one of the dancers—she wanted to quit. Said she had enough money saved to go back to school. Mr. Hayes told her nobody quits The Pit. Said she knew too much.”

My jaw clenches. That never happened. I barely spoke to the dancers, made it a point to give them space.

But I know exactly which girl he’s talking about—Maria Santos.

She did try to leave. Cobb had two of his boys follow her home, remind her of her obligations.

She came back the next night with bruises under her makeup and never mentioned school again.

“What happened to her?” Sutter asks, all fake concern.

“She stayed. They all stayed when Mr. Hayes told them to.”

Milo’s pen stops moving. I feel him tense beside me, preparing. When Judge Melkham nods to him for cross-examination, he rises, a small smile playing on his face. Even with the rings under his eyes and the weight he has lost, he is still the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen.

“Good morning, Mr. Rivera.” Milo’s voice is steady, professional. Nothing like the breathy sounds he made when I kissed him yesterday. “You said you worked at The Pit for eighteen months?”

“Yes.”

“And in that time, how often did you have direct conversations with Mr. Hayes?”

Danny blinks. “I... several times.”

“Several. Can you be more specific? Five times? Ten? Twenty?”

“Maybe... maybe ten times.”

“Ten conversations in eighteen months.” Milo makes a note. “That’s roughly one every two months. What did you discuss during these rare interactions?”

“Different things. The business, mostly.”

“The business.” Milo’s tone sharpens just a fraction. “Mr. Rivera, isn’t it true that most of your interactions with Mr. Hayes consisted of him ordering drinks at the bar?”

Danny shifts in his seat. “Not just that.”

“Really? Can you describe a single specific conversation about ‘the business’ that you personally had with Mr. Hayes? Date, time, what was said?”

Silence stretches. Danny’s mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

“I... there were so many...”

“But you can’t remember a single specific one?”

“Objection,” Sutter calls out. “Counsel is badgering the witness.”

“I’m simply asking for specifics, Your Honor,” Milo says calmly. “The witness made serious allegations. Surely he can provide one concrete example.”

“Overruled. The witness will answer.”

Danny looks desperately at Sutter, but she can’t help him now. “It’s hard to remember exact conversations.”

“I see.” Milo flips through his notes. “Let’s talk about Maria Santos. Tell me, when exactly did you see Mr. Hayes threaten Ms. Santos?”

“I don’t remember the exact date.”

“Where did this conversation take place?”

“In the main bar area.”

“With how many witnesses?”

“I don’t know. It was busy.”

“So in a busy bar, full of people, Mr. Hayes openly threatened an employee, and you’re the only one who remembers it?”

Danny’s hands twist in his lap. “I saw what I saw.”

“Did you?” Milo moves closer. “Mr. Rivera, have you been promised anything in exchange for your testimony today?”

“No.”

“No reduced charges? No immunity deal? No financial compensation?”

“Objection!” Sutter’s on her feet. “Counsel is implying—”

“I’m not implying anything,” Milo cuts her off. “I’m asking direct questions about potential bias.”

Judge Melkham waves a hand. “Overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Rivera.”

“I haven’t been promised anything.” But his voice wavers, and everyone hears it.

Milo lets the lie hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Mr. Rivera, do you know a man named Cobb Sewell?”

My breath catches. No. I told him not to mention Cobb. I damn well told him. But there’s nothing I can do. I can’t shout ‘objection’ at my own defense attorney.

Danny freezes. “I... no.”

“No? You’ve never heard that name?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’ve heard the name Cobb Sewell?” Milo’s voice is silk over steel. “Let me refresh your memory. Isn’t it true that Cobb Sewell was the actual owner of The Pit?”

“Objection!” Sutter practically shouts. “Leading question.”

“Goes to the witness’s credibility and potential bias, Your Honor.”

Melkham considers. “I’ll allow it, but tread carefully, Mr. Warren.”

Milo nods. “Mr. Rivera, I’ll ask again. Do you know Cobb Sewell?”

Danny looks like he might vomit. His eyes dart around the courtroom, landing on someone in the gallery. I follow his gaze and my blood runs cold.

Joey Vaughn, one of Cobb’s lieutenants, sits in the third row. He’s not watching Danny. He’s watching Milo, and he’s taking notes.

“I might have heard the name,” Marcus finally whispers.

“Might have heard it where?”

“Around. The Pit, maybe.”

“And what was Mr. Sewell’s connection to The Pit?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Milo lets his skepticism show. “Mr. Rivera, isn’t it true that everyone who worked at The Pit knew Cobb Sewell was the real boss?”

Danny is shaking now. “I just served drinks.”

“No further questions.” Milo sits down, leaving Danny trembling on the stand.

The morning recess can’t come fast enough. The moment Melkham’s gavel falls, I grab Milo’s wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to get his attention.

“We need to talk.” I keep my voice low, but he must hear the urgency because his eyes snap to mine.

“Not here.” He glances around the emptying courtroom, then stands. “Follow me.”

We end up in a small conference room down the hall. The moment the door closes, I round on him.

“You can’t mention Cobb again.”

Milo sets his briefcase down with deliberate calm, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “My job is to defend you.”

“And you can, but leave Cobb out of this.”

“Leave him out?” His voice rises slightly. “He’s the one who should be sitting at that defense table, not you.”

“That’s not how this works.” I’m trying to stay calm, but his scent is spiking with anger and it’s making my alpha instincts go haywire. “You mention his name, you paint a target on your forehead.”

“I already have a target on my forehead.” He yanks off his glasses to clean them, a nervous gesture I’m starting to recognize. “Or did you forget about the grocery store?”

“That was a warning. This is different.”

“How?” He shoves his glasses back on and glares at me.

“Because warnings can be ignored. What you just did in there? That’s a declaration of war.”

“Good.” The word cracks between us like a whip. “Maybe it’s time someone declared war on Cobb Sewell.”

I want to shake him. I want to grab those slim shoulders and make him understand. Instead, I pace to the window, trying to get control of myself. His anger is making his scent sharper, electric. It’s doing things to me that have no place in this conversation.

“You don’t understand what he’s capable of,” I say to the glass.

“Then explain it to me.” His voice is closer now. I can feel the heat of him at my back.

I turn, and he’s right there. Too close. Close enough that I can see the fury brightening his blue eyes, the flush across his cheekbones.