Page 63 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

MERCY

PRESENT

H adyn’s eyes are flinty, his jaw tight. “Please inform Mr. Wakeford that if he intends to stay on as one of our clients, we expect full disclosure in the future.”

He’s overreacting. There’s no proof that Bryce left out any information, but Judge Nicholson was temperamental today, and the prosecution was fierce.

We got the restraining order violation thrown out based on accidental contact.

But there had been some dispute about how accidental it was, and Hadyn was caught off guard by some of the arguments and frustrated that the trial had bled into a long second day.

I think that has more to do with most cases being a walk in the park due to how deep the Noire connections reach, but there’s no sense in expressing that.

“I’ll handle it,” I assure him as he scurries off to his next appointment, and I make my way back to the defense table, addressing Bryce.

“You were lucky that Hadyn thought fast on his feet to get this thrown out. In the future, it would help if you gave us every detail that could be of use. It seems some may have been lacking, like the possibility you were aware that Ms. Lambert frequented that bar.”

I could lay into him more, but what would the point be? The case is over, and I doubt he’ll stick with us. We’re a temporary fix for members who need someone in a pinch. Not the attorneys you keep on full time.

“Sorry about that.” He looks crestfallen, despite the win.

This whole ordeal probably weighed on him.

He glances at his watch before peering over at me, his brown eyes weary.

“Do you mind sticking around for a few minutes, regarding another case? It’s complicated and something I was working on with Trafton, but I need to know we’re good here. Still under attorney-client privilege.”

I internally sigh because I’m ready to be done.

As much as I fought Ryker about doing this, I’d prefer to get back to La Lune Noire, have dinner with Remy, and finish work from the penthouse in my pajamas.

But we’re here, and the mention of Trafton has my interest piqued.

Maybe I’ll get some answers about what he wanted to discuss with Ryker.

So, even though I’m exhausted, I offer what I can.

“Honestly, I probably won’t represent you in court again.

This was more of a favor for Emma and you because you were in a bind.

But I’m sure Hadyn will if you need someone, and I’m happy to answer some questions now.

Judge Nicholson is done for the day, so I don’t think they’ll kick us out.

I can give you a few minutes. And of course attorney-client privilege applies. ”

Judge Nicholson and the prosecution are gone, but the bailiff isn’t rushing us off, so we should be okay to stay here.

“Thanks.” Bryce sits back, his shoulders relaxing and his smile both pensive and sheepish. “You are just as considerate as Emma said you were. I don’t know if she mentioned it, but I knew Dalton. Hated the guy.”

It’s not surprising that Emma would have filled him in on what she suspected had happened, but I’m not keen on having a conversation about it, so I keep my response short. “Yeah, well, that seems to be a popular consensus.”

“Right.” He clears his throat, appropriately reading the room and my lack of eye contact.

“Anyway, there was this case years ago. I was a foster kid, trying to be adopted as a teen. It’s practically unheard of.

Once you get passed over during those early years, you’re usually destined for the system.

But I hit the jackpot. This couple ran a construction business and couldn’t have kids.

They took me in, and … it was life-changing.

Unfortunately, that all came to a screeching halt when my foster mom’s brother was murdered. ”

I didn’t expect that and don’t have a great response, so I settle for a simple, “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it was.” He glances around the room, the pain of that trauma evident in every line on his face.

“She was devastated, and everything started to revolve around the case, which didn’t go the way she wanted.

It led to a sort of war because, apparently, they were allegedly part of a crime family.

Ultimately, our house got bombed. My foster father was at home with the flu and didn’t make it out.

My foster mom went crazy after that and sent me back to the shelter. ”

“I’m so sorry, Bryce.”

He waves me off, pushing through. “It took me a lot of digging to really figure out what had happened. There was so much cover-up. But this is what I discovered: The guy who killed my foster uncle got away with it. He was tried by a dirty judge and deemed insane. All because of the false testimony of a psychiatrist. The guy only got eighteen months in a psych ward and a ticket to a new life. Meanwhile, countless lives were ruined. So, my foster dad had the psychiatrist’s wife killed.

And the psychiatrist or someone associated with him from The Order bombed my house in retaliation, killing my foster dad because he was sick at home. ”

The courtroom starts to spin, and the walls pulse as blood flow swishes against my eardrums at an alarming volume. I can barely choke down my saliva. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m getting to it. But actually, let’s jump to something else for a minute.

” Bryce appears to have awakened. His spine is straighter, and his cheeks have a richer color.

“I met Dalton in high school—at one of the ten schools I attended while switching from home to home. He was an asshole, but someone I figured could be useful at some point. So, I kept tabs on him and eventually swung by a party he was at in undergrad one night.”

He pauses there for effect, likely noting my skin paling. And a million thoughts whip through my mind. He’s about the same age as Dalton was—a few years younger than me—so the school association tracks. But he was talking about my parents a minute ago. So, I’m lost as to how it all correlates.

Of course there are other thoughts—the ones about how I make it out of here. My cell phone is tucked in my bag and off. But the bailiff is still here. We’re not alone.

“We had some fun with a girl at that party,” he continues, chuckling to himself. “She ended up getting alcohol poisoning and died while I was inside her. I made him help me cover it up and discard her in the bayou. But then I knew he had shit on me. My life was in his hands. I fucking hated that.”

I’m going to be sick. I need to get to Ryker. He’s probably right outside. Maybe I should scream.

Oblivious to my internal spiral, Bryce rolls with his story.

“I kept an eye on him, certain he’d fuck up.

Not so much as friends, but acquaintances who ran into each other.

I even gave him a number to a burner phone and told him he could call me if he ever needed the favor returned.

He stayed out of trouble for a while. But then he got involved with Hailey Holden.

They were volatile. That bitch was as crazy as him.

I’m sure when you researched her, you found the same thing. ”

That’s a dig of the worst kind because I had determined that Hailey was a little nuts, which overwhelmed me with guilt once the truth came out.

“I stayed vigilant. When things were particularly rocky between them, I put a bug in his ear about her cheating on him. And he lost it.” He snickers to himself.

“So jealous. He beat the shit out of her and showed up at the bar—the same bar from this restraining order case, which is poetic. Anyway, Dalton losing it on Hailey was the perfect opportunity for me to even the score. So, I snuck out, broke her neck, and returned. He went home later and thought he’d done it.

Flipped out, had his father cover it up—poorly, I might add.

They drove out of state to hide the body. ”

He huffs, genuinely exasperated. “Could have fed her to an alligator. Regardless, I told him I knew. You’d think that would be enough. But I didn’t like being fucking even. I wanted to win.”

My gaze coasts to the bailiff, who is immersed in something on his phone.

Maybe I should get his attention. Or maybe all Bryce wants is to spill this, get the recognition he believes he deserves without the consequences because we’re under attorney-client privilege.

That would track with what Ty and Wells said about grandstanders.

I steady my breathing and jostle my bag, hoping to be able to nonchalantly grab my phone.

“No need for that.” Bryce shakes his head.

“Just listen. You might see where this is headed. A couple of years passed, and I was irritated that the Noires wouldn’t give me the time of day.

And then, like a fucking gift, I found out that you—the daughter of the one and only Dr. Phillips, who had falsely testified in my foster uncle’s murder case, killed my foster father with that bomb to our home, and destroyed my chance at having a family—were Ryker’s best friend. Kismet.”

He lazily drums his fingers on the table with his trip down memory lane. “That’s something Dalton and I had in common—a hatred for the Noires. We didn’t fit their mold. They think they’re the ones calling all the shots in this town, and they’re picky about their sins, as I’m sure you know.”

My mind races with that information, but I can’t seem to adequately process it. I feel like I’m back on that bloody floor, taking blow after blow. I refuse to go back there.

When I first got erased, I was terrified. Ty had me memorize a list of survival strategies and self-defense techniques to use should I find myself in a compromising situation.

“Exude confidence, don’t panic, and take any opportunity that presents itself to escape and avoid being a target.”

“Excuse me,” I call to the bailiff, and I loathe the fear that laces my voice.