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I refused to glance at the window but finally lowered my focus and held the damn cop’s gaze with a steady one of my own. No remorse would line my face because given the chance, I would beat the shit out of that prick all over again.
My ass ended up in a holding cell.
No Dad.
No lawyer.
Being seventeen kept me from detainment with the other adults in the county jail, and I got my own little cinder-block box. At least I wasn’t locked up with a bunch of dick-hungry pervs wanting a piece of me. Then I would have to kill a man.
Come morning, my arraignment would clue me in on the official charge and how much Ingrid would need to lend Dad to bail me out—if either intended to do so. His lack of an appearance kept my stomach in tight knots all through the night.
Didn’t sleep worth a shit, but at least a lawyer arrived in the morning, hired by my dad, thank fuck. I’d half expected him to let me rot so he’d have unhindered access to the princess. Maybe I’d read him wrong.
My insides relaxing the slightest bit, I allowed my shoulders to sag as the lawyer sat down across from me.
“I would recommend a plea bargain, Mr. Destil.”
I stared a few seconds, processing. “What?”
The lawyer folded his hands and leaned onto the table, not even bothering to open the briefcase he’d brought along for our meeting. “A plea bargain. They’re going to charge you as an adult, and the cards are stacked against you, young man. Plead guilty, and you’ll get ten max. Maybe be out in five if you behave yourself.”
“The. Fuck.” I stared at him, but he held my gaze. “Over a goddamn bloody nose?”
“A broken nose, fractured cheekbone, swelling of the brain—he hasn’t woken up yet, Gideon.”
Christ, I must have hit him hard as fuck. I let out a steady, shaky exhale even though I didn’t feel an ounce of regret. I’d warned the little shit—twice. My knuckles throbbed in memory of wrecking his face, and I had to bite back a fucking grin.
I’d do it all over again.
“They have the entire fight on video.”
“Grainy as fuck, I’m sure,” I tossed out, grasping at straws.
“Still—the group of young men outside at the time will all name you as the man on that video.”
“He was touching my sister without her consent,” I stated through clenched teeth. My shoulders once more hitched to my ears as that rage rushed back through me, tensing every muscle in my body.
“Devon’s friends will state otherwise.”
“They were a good fifty yards away,” I hollered, sitting back and fisting my hands again.
“She wasn’t fighting him in the video.”
“Maybe because he had her pinned against the goddamn tree! Ever think of that?”
“Mr. Destil.” The lawyer thinned his lips.
I leaned forward. “She didn’t want it,” I lied. “Ask her.”
I could trust my princess—I promised myself I could. Hadn’t she been devastated as they’d hauled my ass away? Hadn’t she come running after us, tears streaming down her cheeks? Her face as wrecked as her posture while hugging herself?
She would lie for me. I knew she would if only—
“I need to talk to her,” I said through gritted teeth.
“That won’t be possible.” The lawyer lifted his briefcase and finally seemed to do something other than talk. He slid a paper across the table toward me.
“What’s this?”
