Page 80 of The Hitch
Fuck. Barry. Barry, the conniving assholeIkilled. The rat bastard thatIburied in the Pines. It feels like so long ago, the day she and I met, and I never thought about Barry again. She completely consumed my mind, my soul, my heart. They can't pin Barry on her—that was me, I'll take the goddamn fall.
"She didn't do it," I announce. "I killed Barry."
"I didn't hear that." Vetter frowns. "And neither did anyone else in this room, capisce? We'll work on another angle for that. Just because she was in New Jersey doesn't mean she killed every stiff that shows up in the state. Though it's looking more and more like the DA wants to paint it like that."
"Well, that's what we have you for, isn't it?" I lean back in my chair and scowl at him. His retainer fee is astronomical, and his hourly rate is even higher. I don't give a shit. I'll spend every cent in my bank account—I'll clear out the Consortium, as well, as long as I get her back. Out of the state's clutches. Out of the federal government's clutches.
What good is all this money if I can't fucking use it to get what I want?
"Thatiswhat you have me for." Vetter smirks. "My winning record speaks for itself, of course. And I don't intend to tarnish my reputation here. Otherwise, I wouldn't have taken her case."
"I don't give a shit about your record," I grunt, hefting my feet to rest on his desk. He glares at the soles of my shoes but doesn't tell me to move. I win. "I don't give a shit about your reputation.The only fucking thing I care about is Melody returning to my side. Is that clear?"
"Crystal." A softdingsounds from his computer. "Fuck."
"What?"
Vetter grimaces, bracing himself before returning his attention to me. "The trial date is set."
"Already?" My heart races in my chest. "When?"
"Onefuckingmonth—Sandra!" Vetter shouts. "They set a date for a month! Draft a continuance—they can't do this!"
Dread settles in my bones as I listen to this expensive fucking lawyer and his expensive fucking staff flutter about. One month. One fucking month. On one hand, I'm surprised it's not sooner. Ella desperately wants the accolades for putting away my wife. On the other hand, I thought we had judges for this sort of thing? I'll need to make a call to The Belial—he has his hands everywhere.
"Mr. Lyons." Vetter scurries back into his opulent office. "You're free to leave—my staff and I will work this out. You have nothing to worry about."
I don't believe him, but I gather myself to leave, anyway. Roman silently stalks behind me, watching my every move. He stays quiet as we descend to the ground floor in a shockingly smooth elevator. He stays quiet when he unlocks the car door, holding it open for me. He stays quiet through the drive back to my home.
As soon as we enter the house, he turns to me with concern. "Sir… I don't know how well this is going to go."
"Neither do I, friend," I reply with a sigh. "But we have to fight. We have to win. I don't care what it takes."
"I know." He pours a finger of whiskey for both of us. "I sent a text to The Belial's assistant. They're working to get the case reassigned to a judge we… are acquainted with."
"Thank fuck for that."
Like every night before Melody, Roman and I fall into a silence. Back in those days, it was comfortable. It was serene. It was just two men who worked hard decompressing after a long day. Now? I'm anything but serene. The sirens and flashing lights haunt me every time I close my eyes. I was so close—unbearably close—to rescuing her.
And yet, I failed. She was torn from me. She's in the hospital under constant guard—hell, she might be back at the jail, I don't know—for a crime shemostlydidn't commit. Charlie, yes. Barry Lennox? Absolutely fucking not. I don't need Vetter to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she's innocent. I just need him to introducereasonabledoubt. Isn't that what court cases are about? Reasonable doubt?
"Sir," Roman whispers. He's staring at his phone with horror. "It… didn't work."
"What didn't work?"
"Her case. We don't get our judge." He swallows. "And the motion to delay was denied."
Fuck.
One month from today, I'll be sitting in the courtroom, staring daggers at every single one of the bastards working to put my wife away. I don't care if I go to jail. I'll find every juror's home, family, job—it doesn't matter. If they vote guilty, I'll fucking kill them myself. I'll make it hurt. I'll make them bleed. I'll write my love note to Melody with their entrails. She'll love it.
Interrupting my violent daydreams, Roman clears his throat. "Sir, we need to talk about Valencia's replacement."
"Whoever you select will be perfect, I'm sure," I mumble back, swirling my third whiskey of the day. The alcoholic burn doesn't help anymore. Nothing in this house feelsrightwith her gone.
He sighs. "Alright. Well, then I'd like to extend an offer to Nora Ellison. Harvard Business School graduate—she's got an impressive resume, and I know she won't be squeamish about any of GoCon's extracurricular activities."
"Okay. Sounds good. Tell me where to sign." I reach for a pen, but he shakes his head.
