Page 70 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“So, is it safe to say going on those missions affected you negatively?”

“Yeah.”

“And because of those missions, you didn’t know how to deal after leaving the military?”

“Objection,” the prosecutor shouts from his seat. “Leading the witness.”

We all wait for the judge’s decision. “Sustained,” he says and I have to bite back my laugh when I see Jack glare death daggers at the man.

“Please tell the court what happened once you left the military,” the defense asks Jack.

But rather than go on about how messed up he is, he looks right at Sarge sitting behind the prosecution’s table. “You couldn’t leave her alone,” he says. Leave who?

His attorney shoots up from his seat. “Jack—that’s enough. Your honor, I ask for a short recess in order to speak with my client.”

“Request denied. I’d like to hear what the defendant has to say. Mr. Dunham,” the judge addresses him, “to whom are you referring?”

Jack then turns his hate-fuled glare on the judge. “FuckingEmma,” he says. Who the hell is Emma? Sarge turns his head, eyes squinting at his Raider brothers as if trying to recall an Emma. Jack’s menacing glare spears Sarge again. “FuckingEmma,” he shouts. “That DART bitch.”

“You will refrain from using that language in my courtroom,” the judge orders.

“By DART, do you mean the Disaster Assistance Response Team sent into Iraq to help with humanitarian aid?” his attorney asks next.

A light switch gets flicked on for each ex-Raider, including Sarge. I can tell by the eyebrow raises and shocked expressions.

Jack doesn’t respond to his attorney. He keeps talking to Sarge. “You knew I wanted her. Tried and tried to get in there. Had that wife and kid, and it still wasn’t enough. You had to have Emma, too.”

Sarge drops his head, looking absolutely gutted.

“Beautiful, sweet thing. She dressed like a Sunday School teacher on her day off. Everything about Emma screamed ‘good girl.’ Then you had to sully her. You didn’t even remember her today. She was nothing but another notch in your bedpost. A one-night stand you tossed aside when you were done with her.

“It crushed me, you sleeping with her. Then that ISIS bitch—”

“Your honor, please,” the attorney begs. “I need to address this with my client.”

“What do I care?” Jack snaps. “You’re a bullshit lawyer, this is a piss-poor case, and I’ll be filing an appeal.”

The judge raises his hand to the defense but turns his steely eyes on Jack again. “Mr. Dunham, use that language in my courtroom again and I’ll hold you in contempt. Now, I’m calling for a ten-minute recess. Talk to your attorneys. Take their advice.”

“They’re not my attorneys.” Jack narrows his eyes on the two men and one woman there to represent him. “You’re all fired.”

Did he just fire his whole defense team? Is this his way of proving insanity? Are they in on it? At this point, I don’t know whether to laugh or get really fucking angry.

“To be clear, you’ve fired your whole team?” the judge asks Jack.

“Yeah, I’ve fired the whole team.”

“Then I’ll call a longer recess. I’ll give you time to find new counsel.”

“No need,” Jack says. “I’ll be representing myself.”

“You wish to represent yourself?” the judge asks, clearly as stunned as the rest of us. What’s his game? I need to figure it out.

“No one knows this case better than me. So why not?” The man shrugs his shoulders as if deciding to take a walk on a chilly afternoon, not give his own defense in a murder trial.

“Are you sure?” the judge asks again.

“I’m sure,” Jack replies.

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