Page 6 of Savage in the Streets
But, I don’t have the luxury of a choice.
“Thank you, Your Honor. Bailey will be staying with me, at my place. Because of my obligations, I will not be able to bring her to work each day.”
“I’ll sign the paperwork, then you two can be on your way,” Judge Fischer replies.
Bailey casts me a seething gaze. “But my shop—”
“You can either stay behind bars, or you can come home with me. I have a job too, and I can’t just sit around, waiting for you while you’re huffing bleach.”
“Mr. Ward, have you forgotten where you are,” Judge Fischer scolds, and all at once, my cheeks flush red, a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
“I could lose my shop,” Bailey pleads to me, ignoring Judge Fischer.
“Then I guess you should have made better life decisions.”
“Did you not hear my not guilty, potato, puh-tot-toe plea?” Bailey cuts in.
Alvarez bursts into a fit of laughter, and even the judge has to look away, pretending to have a tear in his eye.
God, this girl is nothing but trouble.
At least she’s hot…
The thought startles me like a splash of cold water, setting my hairs on edge.
She’s not at all like the women I’m usually attracted to, which most would consider pageant pretty.
This woman is the very definition of…Savage. She’s the sharp edge of a razor, ready to cut you at the slightest wrong move.
And yet, as I look at her, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have those long legs wrapped around my waist.
“Would you just shut that damn mouth of yours?” I whisper into her ear.
Judge Fischer clears his throat. “I take it you accept the terms.”
As if I have a choice. If I don’t accept the deal, I’ll have to deal with Caleb Savage. If I do, I’ll have to deal with Bailey Savage.
Fuck me…
“Well?” he says, his eyes stern and unforgiving.
Damn him to hell for this.
“Fine. Release her to me.”
Chapter 3
Bailey
Holy heck,what the hell did I do in my past life to give me such bad luck? Was I a puppy murderer?
After getting fitted with an ankle monitor, my new lawyer, Mr. Ashton Douche-Face Ward, escorts me out to his Maserati, opening his passenger side door to let me in.
His icy gaze is not lost on me. If he’d think about lightening up a little, ditching the suit, and pulling the stick out of his ass, he might actually be cute.
Okay, that’s not fair. He’s most definitely attractive, but I don’t do moody and broody. His taste probably runs more pristine princess than biker misfit, anyway.
He did just spring you from the slammer. The least you could do is try to play nice.
