Raging Heart On (Lucas Brothers #2)(91)

“Not at all officer. Please have a seat,” the woman interjects. “Now as I was saying, Mr. Barger was called out of town with an emergency. I am the one in the office most familiar with your case, and he sent me, in his place. I’m Tessa Oliver, now if we could get started.”

“It would appear that the prisoner does not want your counsel, Ms. Oliver,” the guard says.

Gee ya think? Dumbass.

“No, he just didn’t realize…”

“Damn straight I don’t,” I interrupt before she can finish.

She looks back at me with shock, and there’s a fiery glint in her eyes that tells me I’ve just pissed her off. That might have been interesting had the alarm not sounded right then. She looks in the direction of the noise.

“What is…?” She asks. The guard, who already knows what the alarm means, breaks every rule in his training and runs out of the small room, leaving me alone with the woman.

“What’s going on?” She questions again, and this time she looks pale and scared. She should. I take a deep breath.

I didn’t want this. I have no f*cking use for the game that’s about to be played. It’s too late; the die has been cast. If I leave her on her own, she will be dead or wishing for death by nightfall. I stand up. I’d be lying if I said my dick wasn’t twitching at the way I tower over her small, delicate frame, or at the way her eyes widen in real fear as she tries to step back from me. My hands are in shackles so I do the only thing I can. I take them both and lift them over her head and pull her back into me, letting the heavy chains rest on her chest and against her neck.

“You have just become a prisoner in a prison break.”

Her cry of fear competes with my growl of anger.

Fuck.





3


Tess


I can’t stop the scream that comes out of my mouth when Max wraps his arms around my neck. All those signs the universe sent out, telling me it was going to be a bad day, telling me not to leave the house? I really should have listened. I see it now, but did I before? Of course not. I was living in a dream world. Where I have been living, since I first heard Max Kincaid’s story. Instead of listening, I went forward, guns blazing, when what I should have done was tell my damned boss to cover his own stuff. Did it matter to him that a paralegal was not an attorney, and his clients were getting short-changed? Not in the least. Did it matter to him that the judges I would stand before would rake me over the coals, get pissy and ruin my day further by pointing out that I didn’t have the credentials necessary to stand before them and defend these people? Hell no!

I should have quit. I didn’t. Heck, I should have never taken the job five years ago, when I walked into the place. I did. I couldn’t afford not to. I was days away from living on the street and Curtis Barger, L.L.C. knew that. He knew it and leapt on it like the shark he was.

He used it to his advantage, and when he didn’t want to do something, it was Tessa Oliver to the rescue. When an appeal he was supposed to have been working on for freaking months was due the next day, and he had nothing done? Good old Tessa didn’t need sleep; she’d do it. When he was due at a maximum security prison for a parole hearing of a convicted murderer? Fucking Tessa Oliver would hike her ass there to defend him and get her dumb ass killed in a f*cking prison riot! Fuck, f*ck, and f*ckity f*ck!

Why did I think Max was special? I knew nothing about him! And for the love of all that is holy, why didn’t I quit? Living on the streets would have been better than dealing with this shit. So, I would have been forced to live with Winfred, the homeless alcoholic who begged the local businesses on Main Street for money. Reeking from not bathing since Ronald Regan was president and urine—yes, he smelled of urine. Lots of urine. Still, even that was preferable to this. What good is dying smelling good, if you still f*cking die?

“Now you’re going to do as I tell you, Tess, or you’ll die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I squeak. Turns out when you’re being held captive by a convicted killer, you can’t speak due to the fear coursing through your system. Who knew?

“You don’t talk to anyone, especially the other inmates. You don’t even look at them. You keep your head down, your eyes on your feet and you only speak when I tell you to. Do you understand?”

Oh hell, he’s taking me into the prison break? I want to scream at him. I want to yell, stomp and throw a temper tantrum that would impress any two-year-old child. I do none of those things. Although, I must admit I’m starting to see why Winfred smells like urine. I really need to pee. Since I didn’t even get time for my pumpkin spice latte this morning, I can only assume it’s a byproduct of fear.

I don’t answer, and I guess he takes my silence as agreement because he pulls me to the door that the worthless guard ran out of. He stands there for a moment looking around. For what, I have no idea. The place is loud with sirens, people yelling, and gunfire. Suddenly that urge to pee becomes stronger. I should probably start praying now. It’s not like I’m a bad person, but I don’t go to church. I’m not even sure I know how to pray. Hail Mary full of grace? Bless me father for I’ve sinned? Shit, do you need to be Catholic? I’ve watched too many Godfather movies!

We go about ten feet into the valley of death, when I scream. It’s not a little scream, but a big one and barely heard over the noise surrounding us. I look down at the lifeless guard at my feet. He might have left me alone, but I didn’t want him to die. Mr. Kincaid, aka the prisoner, aka Mad Max, aka the harbinger of my death, puts his large hand over my mouth. It goes kind of silent around us. Who knew I was screaming that loud?