Page 51 of Twisted (Never After)

I shake my head. “I’m not worried about me. I can handle myself. I just… I can’t take the risk that someone else might get hurtbecauseof me.”

She nods, sympathy filling her gaze. “So what’s the plan?”

Sighing, I walk over to my vanity and grab a silk scrunchie, pulling my curls off my neck. “Play along for now while I figure out a way to gain the upper hand. I don’t really have another choice.” I spin toward her. “I need a lawyer, or…I don’t know,someonewho’s willing to go up against Julian so I can get out of this sham marriage and keep Sultans.”

Riya sucks on her lips and nods, walking over to me at the vanity and staring at both of our reflections in the mirror. “I don’t know if a lawyer would be able to get you out of this. Not many would go up against Julian Faraci. We need to come up with a different option.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “But I have to trysomething.”

She hesitates, running her fingers through her hair before her eyes lock on mine. “Have you thought about the police? If he’s out here causing car accidents and threatening you and Aidan, they really need to know, Yas.”

I shake my head without a second thought. My father has police chiefs and district attorneys over for dinners and soirees all the time, and I know they’re all on a first-name basis with Julian, happy to line their pockets in return for looking the other way whenever they need to do something less than savory.

“No, no cops,” I say firmly. “Alexander’s body hasn’t even been found yet, and my father would never forgive me if I had the police sniffing around. Besides, I’m pretty sure most of them are in Julian’s pocket anyway.”

She huffs out a breath. “Then we’ll find you a lawyer who doesn’t give a shit.”

A grin works its way across her face, even though her eyes are as dark and as serious as I’ve ever seen them. She holds out her hand, pinkie extended. I wrap mine around hers and her smile widens.

“Ride or die, bitch,” she says. “We won’t go down without a fight.”

Chapter18

Julian

This office is small and cramped for someone who’s been a judge the past twenty years, with its blank white walls that have yellowed over time, offset by the dark wood furniture that Anthony McFarlane, the person I’m here to see, has spent a pretty penny trying to make more prestigious than it is.

Working as a municipal judge has its limits on grandeur, I suppose.

Right now, the size of the small room works in my favor, allowing me to see every single twitch of his face as he bumbles out worthless excuse after excuse for why he can’t give me what I’m asking for.

“You don’t understand,” he implores, his small, framed glasses slipping over the large hump in the middle of his nose. “There’s a mandatory twenty-four waiting period from the time of filing a marriage license to when we can perform the ceremony. Besides, I can’t just draw one up and force her to sign. It doesn’t work like that.”

Nodding, I reach into the pocket of my suit, pulling out the small compact staff and pressing the button just beneath the top, the sound of it snapping to full size reverberating off the cramped walls. I flip the staff over the back of my hand, the smooth black metal feeling strong and sure as it lands in my palm. “I need for us to work together here,Your Honor.”

Beads of perspiration line the edges of his hair, his eyes flicking from the staff and back to my face. “Julian,” he implores. “There’s only so much I can do.”

I take a step forward, the edge of his desk digging into my thighs through my black dress pants. “Remember when you came to me five years ago?”

His forehead creases as his entire stature droops in his chair. “Julian…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” I tsk, reaching out until the end of my staff presses into his solar plexus. “Indulge me, old friend.”

Anthony’s mouth pinches shut.

“What was it again that had you rushing to me for help?” I tilt my head to the side.

He doesn’t reply.

“It was your wife,” I answer for him. “She was about to find those heinous videos of you bent over your desk like a stuck pig, getting pegged by your intern. How old was she again, nineteen?”

I cluck my tongue. “Naughty boy.”

His cheeks grow ruddy. “You promised to never— ”

“And I haven’t,” I interrupt. “I used my connections, myname, to help a friend in need. Wasn’t it that year I also gave you that stunning emerald necklace for your anniversary?” My smile drops, eyes narrowing as I dig the staff farther into his skin. “Or am I confusing that with the time you asked for those two- carat stud earrings for your mistress?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.