Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(74)

He was distracted from his thoughts by the courtroom door opening behind him, but he kept his eyes facing front. He expected a battered Artie to walk down the aisle and pause beside him with a shit-eating grin—Leslie had warned him yesterday that Artie would most likely make an appearance, if able, because the rawness of his injuries would strengthen the battery case—but the gate to Colt’s left opened, and a balding man in a pinstriped suit walked forward, sitting in one of two chairs at the table to Colt and Leslie’s left.

“Where’s Artie?” Colt asked his lawyer, keeping his cuffed hands in his lap.

“I . . . I’m not sure,” whispered Leslie Belden, looking as confused as Colt felt.

Just as she leaned away from him, a door to the left of the judge’s bench opened, and a black-robed woman in her late fifties walked into the courtroom.

The bailiff who followed her stood just in front of her bench and said, “All rise. This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Samantha Ellis Stanton presiding.”

Judge Stanton took her seat, giving Colt a hard look before shifting her eyes to the prosecutor.

“Mr. DeWalt,” she said, “I understand there’s been a hiccup in this case?”

The prosecutor in the pinstripe suit stood up. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Proceed,” she said, opening a manila folder on her desk and jotting down a note.

“Your Honor, Arthur Kingston has dropped all charges against the defendant, Colton Lane.”

The courtroom erupted into a hushed cacophony of shocked gasps and whispers, and Colt’s breath caught, his eyes widening with tentative hope over this unexpected hail Mary.

“A Mr. Joseph Sterns, the Stable Manager at The Legend of Camelot, has come forward with some compelling video evidence showing that Mr. Gwynn was systematically harassed by Mr. Kingston during his employment with The Legend of Camelot. It further shows the assault of Miss Gwynn on Monday afternoon and Mr. Lane’s subsequent actions to defend her,” said Mr. DeWalt. “In light of these developments, Mr. Kingston has decided not to press charges against Mr. Lane.”

Leslie Belden stood up quickly. “Approach, your Honor?”

The judge nodded and Colt watched as the two lawyers stepped up to the judge’s bench and had a short meeting, whispering back and forth to one another. Finally Leslie Belden turned around and returned to Colt with a huge smile on her face.

“Apparently Joe Sterns placed video cameras around the stables of the property and managed to catch several instances of harassment on film,” she said as she sat back down beside him. “I haven’t seen the footage yet, but the prosecutor said it’s very damning and the state is presently determining whether or not the footage is admissible for a harassment case against Mr. Kingston.”

“Thank God,” muttered Colton, breathing a sigh of relief. Artie deserved whatever he had coming.

His heart, however, still felt like lead. This unexpected reprieve didn’t change his feelings about breaking things off with Verity. It ached to think of losing her, but when he thought of her face behind him—swollen from crying, frightened, sad and tired—he knew he couldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t make her live this life. More importantly, he couldn’t let her live this life. If he truly loved her, he needed to let her go before it was too late—before history repeated itself and they met the same fate as his parents. Before Colt’s inability to control his rage dragged her down to a fate that ruined, or—God forbid, as in the case of his mother—ended, her life.

“Mr. DeWalt, I saw pictures of Mr. Kingston’s injuries, and I have reviewed Mr. Lane’s record. I will be disappointed if Mr. Lane isn’t held accountable for his actions in some manner befitting the circumstances.”

“The state isn’t asking for a dismissal, Your Honor.”

Colt sat up straighter. Wait. What?

“But Artie dropped the charges,” Colt whispered to Leslie Belden, who held up her hand, her eyes telling him to be silent.

The judge looked up at the prosecutor with interest and nodded. “Very good. Continue.”

“Mr. Kingston refuses to level charges, ma’am, but we don’t condone vigilante justice in Georgia, and I don’t believe that Mr. Lane’s actions should be overlooked.” He cleared his throat meaningfully, darting a glance at Colt before looking up at the judge again. “Especially because Mr. Lane has a dependent. A Miss Melody Spindler.”

The judge looked hesitant for a moment. “Miss Spindler is . . .”

“Mr. Lane’s cousin, Your Honor. She has Down syndrome and lives in a group home called, uh—” He looked down at the table, shuffling some paper. “Uh, yes. Bonnie’s Place. Northeast of the city. Mr. Lane is her guardian.”

Colt took a deep breath and held it as his stomach flipped over. He’d been so close to walking away from all of this, and now . . . No. No. Please, no.

“I know of Bonnie’s Place.” She looked at Colt, her eyebrows furrowed, her face more conflicted than it had been a few minutes ago.

“The state is concerned about Mr. Lane’s temper,” the prosecutor continued. “As the sole guardian of a developmentally disabled family member, we feel that some intervention may be prudent at this time, in light of Mr. Lane’s actions toward Mr. Kingston.”