Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I recognized her.
Of course I did.
When you sat in a courtroom day in and day out for weeks, you got to know everyone inside of it. Especially when this was the only fuckable woman in the room, aside from Vega.
Juror number twelve.
One who, during voir dire, had answered every question from both the prosecution and defense with her words dripping with disdain. Like she didn’t have time for their bullshit.
Our team had been shocked when the prosecution didn’t move to dismiss her, since she clearly didn’t want to be there, and would want to rush through deliberations. If we hadn’t been out of strikes, we’d have dismissed her for it too.
She was a stupidly pretty thing. Not in a ‘didn’t know she was pretty’ way, because I didn’t think a single gorgeous woman didn’t know exactly how beautiful she was. But more in a ‘it doesn’t matter how pretty I am’ sort of way.
Her long black hair was always pulled back in one of those claw clips, leaving her long, parted bangs to tease her eyebrows and temples, drawing even more attention to her disarmingly light blue eyes.
There were rules about what you wore to jury duty, so I had no idea if the slacks and sweaters were her personal style, or just what she thought she had to wear. All I could say was they were too shapeless, and it made me want to know what was underneath.
Today, she had on tight jeans and what looked like a t-shirt under an oversized wine-colored cardigan.
Her hair was still up.
Her eye makeup was smudged.
And it looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.
“Juror Number Twelve,” I greeted her, one brow quirked up in curiosity, some part of me wondering if maybe she had just been eye-fucking me through the trial, and wanted to take me for a ride.
I clearly wasn’t good at reading people.
Because as soon as she was in front of us, yanking her arm away from my man who tried to pull her away again, she blurted out, “I need your help.”
Again, it wasn’t my strength at picking up on tone and shit, but I was pretty sure there was a desperate edge to her words. The only reason I think I even picked up on that was because I’d heard it in the voices of men who didn’t pay me, and had me darkening their door, ready to break some bones and beat some compliance into them.
“And why the hell do you think I would want to help you?” I asked, tone bored, even if I was anything but right then. Intrigued was a better word.
“Because I am the only reason you are a free man right now,” she said with a defiant lift to her chin.
It was her?
Just her?
I knew my team was planning on looking into how many jurors had been for or against me. But I’d been too busy to check back in with them since the trial.
I guess I figured it would be evenly split. Or at least that I had a few people on my side.
Not just one woman.
One who my team had been sure would be eager to convict just to get herself out of that jury box and back to her life.
I jerked my head at my man, who immediately turned and left.
“Gav,” I said, giving him a look because he looked ready to order some popcorn and sit back for the show.
“Fine. Fine,” he grumbled, getting up, taking his drink with him, and walking away.
I waved toward his abandoned chair, and she looked at it, then me, unsure.
“We could go somewhere more private,” I said.
“No!” she said. Quickly. Too quickly. “This is fine,” she said, taking Gav’s seat.
She crossed her legs, but the bottom one was tapping restlessly.
“You were the only holdout?” I asked.
“Yes,” she told me, gaze holding mine, and I didn’t see a single lie on her face.
“You don’t think I did it?” I asked.
“I know you did it,” she said, head tipping to the side slightly. “But I agree with why you did it.”
My lips curved up a bit at that. Since there was no way she could have known why I’d done it.
“You do remember that when you were sworn in that you had to base your verdict on the evidence, not your personal opinion, correct?”
To that, her eyes rolled.
“Please, every lawyer and judge knows it’s impossible for jurors to be unbiased. Hell, most judges are biased. Nothing about justice in this country is blind. And some justice needs to be meted out by people who aren’t scared of the consequences,” she said, shrugging. “But that’s all beside the point.”
“Right. Yes. You’re here because you need my help. And you think I owe you.”
“You do owe me,” she said, daring me to disagree. I knew a threat when I was hearing one.