Look at me when you say it, cara mia. Then I’ll believe you.
I need to see if she still remembers.
Instead, she glances at the security camera again. “So, why am I here, Lu—” She stops herself just in time. “I mean, Mr. Vincent,” she clarifies, aiming her gaze just shy of my face. “And please do tell me how you think I owe you.”
Her movements are stiff and distant, but she forgets how well I know her. How I’ve memorized every inch of her skin. How every smile, every touch, every breath is branded into my flesh.
I fucking know her.
That’s why instead of answering, I sit back and watch her.
Watch her lick her lips.
Watch her hook her thumbs in between her index and middle fingers.
Watch her open the file and shuffle the same stack of papers six times.
All with her eyes lowered.
Never hide your eyes from me, cara mia. I’ll know you’re lying. And there’s so much sin to lie about.
I see right through that crisp black pantsuit she wears like a coat of armor. She’s playing a role. She’s drawing a mask across those delicate features every morning in order to fight her own demons. I did my research. I know what her colleagues call her. Her climb to the top of a male-dominated mountain isn’t because her ego needs glory; it’s because her soul craves power.
The same power I took from her at sixteen.
Power I’m here to take again.
“Interesting career choice,” I say, nodding to her professional-looking blazer.
Her gaze flicks up to me so sharply I feel the cuts of her anger.
My heartbeat stumbles.
Fuck.
She still has the same magnetic pull that broke me all those years ago. It’s in there somewhere, hiding behind the bricks of her pain.
Her green eyes flash as she glances down at my shackles. “I could say the same about you, Mr. Vincent.”
“Why don’t you drop the pretense and call me by my real name?” A smile fights the words on my lips.
She’s changed more than her appearance. My fragile rose has grown thorns. While my cursed soul longs for the soft innocence she once possessed, I have to admit, this version ignites a new obsession. One that stirs a perverse longing I’ve kept locked away for over a decade.
“Besides, I’m not the one defending accused killers for a living, Madi.” My lip twitches at the low gasp she fails to hide as I speak her name. Ten years has been too long. Leaning forward as far as my restraints will allow, I glance down at her folder and arch an eyebrow. “Given your past, one would think you’d prefer the other side of the courtroom. Obviously, I’m referring to our fair and just prosecution. The morally superior one that sends bad men like me to the chair.”
Her fingers curl around the brown file as if somehow she’s protecting it from me. “Why bother?” she says quietly. “Both sides are corrupt. Besides, nothing’s fair and just in life. You taught me that.”
I want to steal that dissolution right out of her mouth. I want her to fight me like a hellcat on that sidewalk again. That way I can justify grabbing her by her throat to remind her of who really owns her.
Body. Soul. Mind.
Soon, I tell myself, my dick swelling at the thought. Soon, she’ll remember. And then, I’ll never let her forget.
As if relenting to my silent promise, her shoulders slump, and the corners of her mouth drift downward. Sighing, she rubs the heel of her palms into her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.” Flipping my case file open again, she studies it intently. “You were called to the stand as a hostile witness for the prosecution during the trial of The State of Florida versus Cain Moseley.”
I shrug. “I prefer irate.”
“It says here that the deceased was a man named...” Her voice trails off as she stares at the paper. “Cyrus Moseley.”
I wait for it. Salivate for it. Wince as my cock turns to fucking steel in anticipation. She knows the name. Fears it. Feels it churning like a barrel of acid in her stomach.
Madi looks up, her gaze glassy and wide. “The defendant’s father.”
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to touch her. To slide my hand inside those sensible dress pants and feel how wet she is.
After all, fear fuels the strongest desire.
“Patricide isn’t uncommon, cara mia. Fathers have a way of, shall we say, pushing their sons to a breaking point.”
She swallows hard, returning to the file. “Cyrus’s body was found on Cain Moseley’s property, but he still maintains his innocence. When asked for a list of names for character references, he gave yours.”
I smirk. “Lucky him.”
“And you confessed under oath.”
I raise my palm. “So help me God.”
“Did you do it?”
“Does it matter? Your job isn’t to judge me, Madi. It’s to free me.”
She folds forward as if my words punched her in the stomach. To be fair, they probably did. She knows she has no choice. I came for the woman, but I have no problem manipulating the public defender. “I can’t, Luca. This...” She gestures between us. “We are a conflict of interest. This could get me disbarred.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Jesus!” A pained expression settles across her face.
“You really want to bring him into it?”
She sucks in a shuddering breath. “Why request me? There are so many other public defenders in this state.”
And there were so many other girls on that street that day, but I didn’t want any of them either.
“I wanted you.”
I still want you.
“Like I already told you,” I say patiently. “You owe me. Now it’s time to give the devil his due.”
She rears back, those meadow-green eyes shining with unshed tears. “And like I told you, I don’t owe you anything.”
“The wages of sin is death, Madigan, but on this occasion, I’ll settle for honesty.”
There’s a flicker in her expression. A spark of something long forgotten.
“You’re a monster,” she whispers, sliding her chair back a foot, the sharp screech of metal against concrete sounding like a wounded animal. “I can't believe I ever...”
“I’m not the one pretending to be someone I’m not, Miss Bailey.”
I’m making her unravel before my eyes. My cara mia’s breathing escalates, her chest rising and falling in an uneven and rapid rhythm. Her creamy complexion turns to chalk as she wipes a bead of sweat off her forehead.
“You didn’t forget us, did you, Madi?” I say casually. “No matter how deep you tried to bury it. Me, Cain, the Divine Disciples of God—”
“I had to!” She sucks in a ragged breath. “It’s them, isn’t it? The nine other bodies? Did you m-murder them, or did Cain?” she says, stumbling over that perfect word.
“Do you really want to know?”
“What did you do to them?”
“Our ten Drummers Drumming?” I laugh, amused at my own joke. “They got exactly what they deserved. And they’ll continue to rot like the pieces of shit they are in the dirt, even after I walk out of here a free man.” My demeanor flips as I jab my finger onto the cheap table. “And I will be walking out of here a free man. As will Cain. No plea deal. No reduced sentence. Full exoneration, or nothing.”