Page 57 of The Games We Play (Balance of Power #3)

NAOMI

I ’ve always thought of myself as a patient individual. One who allows nature to take its course. Who trusts divine intervention when it comes to karma.

Well, I was wrong.

The wait in this courtroom is excruciatingly long, testing every ounce of patience I have. Which clearly is none. And, I’ve completely justified my boyfriend—I guess that’s what I’m calling him now—to take matters into his own hands, condoning it. In fact, I encouraged it.

But that acceptance is easy when I witness first-hand what the justice system is like.

It’s the assistant district attorney and defendant being directly related to each other. Seeing that attorney shake hands with every member of law enforcement that passes by, knowing all their names and everyone in their family.

The same attorney who plays golf with the sheriff on Saturdays and drinks with the judge on Fridays.

The justice system that allows a rapist who attempted murder an undeserved appeal, attempting to go under the radar and let him free without telling the families he’s affected .

So, at this moment, I don’t believe in the justice of divine intervention. But, I do believe in protecting myself, and other innocent women, and that’s exactly what Seamus is doing for me.

The minutes tick by and I find myself glancing down at my watch, checking my phone while my knee bounces uncontrollably.

“Stop fidgeting,” Rocco whispers without moving his mouth.

He’s right, but I’m losing my mind.

“How are you not worried right now?” I whisper back.

“I am,” he says calmly, although his body is a lot more tense than when we walked in and the tip of his finger is tapping on his thigh.

I look down at my watch again, forgetting what time we even walked in. I can’t even tell you how long they’ve been gone, because I don’t even know when they really started. I just know we went our separate ways, at some point an hour ago, maybe two.

Suddenly, the sound of heels on the ground and a synchronized whoosh fills the air as the entire room stands up.

“All rise. Judge Morrow presiding,” the bailiff’s deep voice announces throughout the room.

Everyone stays standing until the judge sits and says, “You may be seated,” as he puts his glasses over the bridge of his nose.

He skims the room and pauses abruptly when he sees me. There is a squint in his eye as he peers over to Nathan’s attorney, back to me, then down at the file on his desk.

He’s still and quiet for what feels like a lifetime. Lifting his eyes above the top of his glasses, looking at the courtroom, me, then back down. Repeating that numerous times.

“We’re here today, in the presence of the parole board on behalf of the State of Texas, to discuss the provisional release of Nathan Simmons. Before we bring in the prisoner, does anyone have anything they would like to say?” He looks up and around the room.

Pressing into my feet, I stand. The wooden bench creaks behind me and everyone’s neck swivels toward me in matched movement.

“I would like a moment to address the parole board, your honor,” I announce, my voice strong, confident.

Rocco, still looking forward, gives away a proud, lopsided smirk, but it drops quickly when the judge replies.

“And you are?” His condescending voice echoes through the room.

I stand to my full height, lifting my chin even higher.

“I am Naomi Masumi, rape victim of Nathan Simmons.” The words I’ve never been able to admit, say, or claim verbally, come out as a proud statement. Because I’m a survivor and I will no longer live in fear of hiding my voice or being ashamed of that title.

Whispered voices rise in the courtroom as the parole board members glance at each other.

Nathan’s mother sits forward, tapping the attorney on the shoulder. She whispers something to him as she glares at me.

“All quiet down!” the judge booms through the courtroom.

Taking his glasses off and giving me a once over, he places the spectacles back on his face and nods at the bailiff.

“You’ll have your time later to speak, young lady,” he says, dismissing me. “Now, sit.”

My eyes bounce around the room, as my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I glance over at Rocco whose brows are furrowed, and he looks…pissed.

The bailiff makes his way toward the back entrance of the courtroom when suddenly, and very urgently, another officer comes through it in a panic. His breathing is labored and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead .

He pulls the bailiff through the doorway and it closes behind them, leaving the courtroom in only whispered silence.

There’s commotion amongst the attorney and Nathan's family. The judge, just as confused as everyone else, pounds his gavel. “Order in my courtroom! This may not be a trial, but it’s my courtroom all the same, quiet down.”

The voices fade immediately and almost everyone straightens in their seats. Nathan’s attorney stands and approaches the bench with preferential treatment. The judge leans forward, talking to him in hushed voices, and I can see the judge’s eyes as they side-shift my direction.

The judge's lips move in response, replying back to the attorney, but there’s no way to hear anything they are saying.

Rocco’s body stiffens next to me, although his expression remains the same. When I look over, he’s clenching his fingers around his pant leg. “He’s agreeing with the attorney to postpone the parole hearing.”

Just as Rocco goes to stand—to do God knows what—the bailiff returns into the courtroom and stands behind the judge as he whispers something in his ear.

My entire body is trembling and I’m unsure where to look or what to do. I glance down at my phone, still nothing from Seamus, then over to Rocco.

I can see the concern in his eyes, as they bounce between the bailiff, the attorney, and the judge. Then another proud, lopsided, very hidden smirk, appears and disappears just as quickly.

“What?” Nathan’s attorney shouts out, his voice cracking as it practically squeals through the courtroom.

His head whiplashes our way before he makes his way back to his table where the rest of his staff is.

The judge rises from his chair as he tosses his glasses on the table, making his way to the doorway where there are multiple officers congregating, just as frantic as the first .

As I attempt to stand, Rocco stops me. “Stay seated, we’ll be leaving shortly.”

The judge returns to his chair, but doesn’t sit.

Instead, he places his hands on his hips and gazes down at it, before skimming the courtroom.

His eyes deadpan to mine and the groove between his eyebrows is judgmental and glaring.

Like he’s trying to figure out a piece to a puzzle but he’s not even sure where to start.

My stature remains strong, even though I have no idea what to expect. I don’t know all the details of what their plan was. Seamus said it was better that way.

All I know is they were planning to break into the county jail. What sort of stupid ass plan is that? So who the hell knows.

Is Nathan alive? Did he let him escape so they could do something outside of the courthouse? What did Seamus do? Is Seamus okay? Were they even able to get into the courthouse? I can ask a million questions and probably get zero answers, but nothing could prepare me for what the judge says next.

“Nathan Simmons appears to have committed suicide in his cell,” the judge grits out like it’s painful to say.

“He had some sort of shank, cutting his wrists, but when that failed, it looks like he drowned himself in the toilet or maybe the other way around. We don’t know.

There will be a full investigation.” His eyes barrel into mine, like a threat, but I’m too shocked to register anything except the fact that Nathan is dead.

He’s dead.

He’s actually dead.

Relief blankets me, but it only lingers for a moment because I’m stunned to silence. I open my mouth to say something, but close it when nothing comes out.

“Who the fuck drowns themself?” Nathan’s attorney shouts, as he runs his hands through his hair before snapping his neck my way.

There’s no way they suspect I could have anything to do with this, even though their eyes accuse me just the same. Not only have I been sitting in the courtroom, in plain sight the entire time, the dumbfounded look on my face says it all.

How Seamus pulled this off and made it look like suicide is beyond me, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.

Since the moment I walked in this courtroom, it’s like everyone else is the victim, and not me.

His entire family and their narcissistic personalities, manipulating everyone around them to make everyone else feel sorry for them.

And God forbid, this hearing take time out of the judge and attorneys’ busy golf schedule.

Nope. I don’t feel bad one bit.

I feel vindicated as I watch his family act like they’ve been personally attacked. They aren’t grieving. In fact, they don’t even look upset at the news of Nathan’s suicide . Instead, they're pissed, talking amongst each other, pointing blame at whoever they can.

Rocco reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a yellow lollipop, rips off the see-through wrapper, and tosses it into his mouth.

“Come on, yoga girl. It’s time to go.” He stands and holds out his hand, gesturing ladies first , with a very satisfied smile behind the white lollipop stick.

What the hell is with the lollipop?

Making our way out of the row and into the middle aisle, I turn and head toward to the exit. His mother pushes her way in front of me and screams in my face.

“You did this! You put him there!”

“He did it to himself!” I bite back immediately. “He raped me. Beat me. He almost killed me!” I yell through the courtroom. She flinches as she steps back in dismay. I can’t say I blame her, the tenure and strength behind my voice surprises even me.

“He made his decision and—” I look back at the judge and his attorney, criminals just the same, then look back at his mother, meeting her eye-to-eye, “he clearly felt remorse for his sins. He couldn’t even live with himself, and thank God for that, because the world is a better place for it.

” My tone is more calm and matter-a-fact now.

I lift my chin and step around her, not giving them a glance back as I walk through the large oak doors with so much more strength, power, and justification than the first time.

And as the doors shut behind me, it’s like that part of my life is over. I’m finally free to move on, and this darkness isn’t clouding over me. The doors bind together as my closure and I accept it freely.

I close my eyes as I suck in a deep breath and exhale.

I’m unable to hold back my smile when my eyes open and Seamus stands directly in my line of sight.

His back leans up against the side of the wall, one foot kicked back against the wall, his head tilted to one side, studying me with a lopsided smile of his own.

When I last saw him, and frankly almost every single time I see him, he’s wearing a black shirt, black pants, black boots, and even his damn belt is black.

Not now. Now, he’s changed into something mouthwatering and completely irresistible, looking lighter than ever with a glint behind his eyes.

Light stonewashed jeans work their way up his legs, a white button up shirt fits snugly around his torso with the top buttons undone, giving me a teasing view of his broad chest. The gray wool jacket lays over the top, the collar splayed, with his hair just clean enough to pull off his look, but messy enough to make him look like he just stepped off a runway.

He looks fucking edible.

Pressing into his foot, he kicks himself off the wall and starts to walk toward me. I pull my bottom lip into my teeth when I see that damn white stick peeking out the side of his mouth.

“Okay,” I glance up at Rocco, who’s sucking on the same stick, “what’s with the lollipop? ”

He just shrugs, a bit of a sad look crosses over him. “Not all missions end successfully, but when they do, this is how we celebrate.”

When I turn, Seamus is walking with more purpose, and now the only black on him is his eyes that gaze into me so deeply, I feel it to my bones.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his.

Pulling the lollipop out of his mouth, he presses his lips to mine and our tongues collide. The sugary sweetness blends over my taste buds, and I can’t help but moan at both the taste and sensation.

I pull back, unable to hide my smile. “Did you miss me?” he asks, his eyebrows raised, unsure what answer to anticipate.

Before I can say anything, Rocco answers, even though he knows damn well Seamus wasn’t talking to him. “Hell yes, what the fuck took you so long?”

Miller and Whitlock—I frown, realizing I don’t know their first names, and I think that’s weird—walk up to our small huddle, standing on opposite sides of Rocco.

“We were almost toast,” Whitlock replies, as he bites into his green lollipop.

“Right as we were leaving, another guard came up—he just started working at the jail, so I had no idea who he was—and busted us. He had his gun out yelling, put your hands where I can see them .” He lowered the tenor of his voice to sound even manlier.

“Then he takes one look at Seamus, puts his gun back in his holster, and they do some sort of fist bump secret handshake. Next thing we know, the dude is leading us out the backway and we were like ninjas in the night, never to be seen again.”

A first-time, timid smile crosses Seamus’ lips and he peers over at his guys and a sense of pride washes over me. I can see how much these guys mean to him and the loyalty they have. But it seems like everyone who’s crossed paths with him feels that way.

“Alright, enough of all this.” His arm falls from my waist, but finds my hand. He laces his fingers in between mine and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “You ready to go home, sunshine?”

I nod and smile back as Whitlock takes a couple steps backward with a skip in his stride. “We’re going on the private jet, right?”

I laugh at the guys bantering back and forth as we walk out the courtroom doors and into the Texas sun.

When my parents moved me away from here after everything happened, it was to start a new life that I didn’t want. It ripped me away from my friends and everyone I loved, everything that was familiar to me.

This time, I’m leaving Texas proud and happy, feeling more loved than I ever have, and it feels like going home.