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“Where were you on the night of March twelfth?”
Since I knew they had the two of us kissing on video, I didn’t even consider lying. “Devon Bradshaw’s.” My face warmed, but I refused to glance at either him or Gideon.
“Had you been drinking?”
Did the red cup I’d been holding while dancing get caught on camera? I glanced at Devon. He nodded, encouraging me to tell the truth—as the sheriff’s son, he couldn’t get busted for all of us drinking at his place, could he?
“Yes?” I answered, my tone suggesting more a question than truth.
“Were you aware of your surroundings?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember taking a walk outside with Devon?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell us what happened from that point onward?”
Nodding, I laced my fingers together tighter on my lap to keep from wiping my palms down my thighs. Face hot, I focused on my white knuckles and had to spill the story about getting my first kiss. My back against the tree, Devon being gentle.
“You gave your consent.”
Not a question, but I nodded—telling the truth.
Devon’s attorney admitted evidence at that point, the very video I’d known about but hadn’t expected to see.
I sat, staring at the screen, my hands aching from squeezing them atop my lap.
A surprisingly decent video in black and white but with no sound appeared on the TV. A couple who was obviously me and Devon stood along the tree line, kissing, and a body barreled down the side yard seconds later.
I relived the absence of fireworks, the disappointment of a first kiss, and how the moment Gideon ripped Devon off me, my heart leaped in my chest. He attacked Devon like a man possessed, and I blinked, baffled as to why warmth spread through me, tingling between my thighs.
Devon fell to the ground, and I held my breath as I watched Gideon approach me, shove me against the tree by my neck. I gulped, my core clenching over his possessiveness, the memory of his rage, the pain from his grip on my arm that had turned me on.
Sick—I’m so damn sick to be aroused by this.
Gideon’s sweatshirt had been splattered by blood from the violence he’d unleashed—all because of protecting me or out of jealousy?
Our gazes clashed across the courtroom, the invisible string of energy between us snapping as our eyes held. Reliving the moment together. My pulse thrummed in my neck, and my nipples hardened to tight points. I swallowed back a whimper as the TV went black in my periphery.
“What, Miss Reed, would you say Mr. Destil’s actions looked like?”
Gideon’s face remained calm while I felt anything but. “He was trying to protect me,” I whispered, our focus still on one another, our hearts and minds seemingly in tune even though physical space lay between us.
“It was no secret you waited for and wanted a sweet sixteen kiss with my client,” the attorney stated, his tone hinting at sarcasm and making me feel like a toddler as I tore my focus off Gideon.
“Doesn’t every young woman dream of a sweet sixteen?” I went for with a forced smile, hoping to gain the female juror’s understanding, a connection they might consider when faced with deciding Gideon’s fate.
“So, in what way was the accused protecting you if you consented to Devon Bradshaw’s attentions?”
“Well…my stepbrother thought I didn’t want the kiss.”
“Did the video look like you didn’t want it—and had you given him any reason to believe otherwise?”
“Well, I’ve always dreamed of my sweet sixteen—”
“Yes, Miss Reed, you’ve already informed the court about your fairytales, but this isn’t about you,” the prosecutor stated, his voice hard. “This is about a young man attempting to beat another to death.”
