Derision (The Broken Bonds 7)

Truth is, the tension among the partners came to a head during this latest Bates debacle. We rarely work on the same cases together, but for Doctor Malcolm Bates, 1.5 million in yearly billing requires our full, devoted attention.

And keeping the doctor out of prison has become our primary goal, resulting richly in billable hours. That’s not the issue.

There’s a conflict of interest.

What the partners want, versus what I say goes.

I’m under no delusion that my partner is here now for any other reason, and I get that confirmation when Julia knocks curtly before entering, Wells and Mason following behind her. When all the partners have a vested interest in a case or person, the game always takes an interesting turn.

“Mister Larkin,” she says, nodding her head once. “If there’s nothing else, may I leave for the day, sir?”

Best she does before this gets ugly. “Yes, Julia. Thank you.”

She closes the door behind her, and Wells and Mason linger near the front of my desk. “No celebration?” Mason asks.

I nod toward the wet bar. “Help yourself.”

I watch each of my partners in turn, waiting to see who makes the next move.

Gannet and I have found great amusement in moving around Mason and Wells like pawns on our board. It’s his move now, and I’m curious to see where he strikes.

“You know, since Bates does enjoy a more varied palette of play, why don’t we just invite him into The Firm?” Gannet says, his sharp gaze right on target: me. “As a means to try to curb his insatiable appetite, I mean. Could keep the good doctor out of court for a while.”

Check.

As his lawyer—as Bates is my personal client—I’m required to believe in his innocence. Just the hint of his possible guilt creates an ethical dilemma for me.

Whether I trust in my client’s innocence or not is irrelevant, however. I was hired to defend him, and I do. But the mere suggestion of bringing an alleged rapist into The Firm arouses a suspicion which makes me question my closing argument.

Although I was able to convince a jury to acquit, providing them with reasonable doubt of his guilt, I admit that I, myself, am not convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt of his innocence.

And I would never allow a rapist into The Firm.

Well played, Gannet.

There’s only one available move I can make against his threat. “If you’re feeling so charitable, Gannet, you could offer Bates one of your own toys,” I say. “How about Lila? She likes it rough.”

His nostrils flare—but it’s not checkmate yet.

Mason steps between us, blocking his impending counter. First pawn in place.

“Curbing his appetite?” Mason questions, glancing around the room. “Why would we want to do that? That would cut into billable hours.” His boisterous laugh sears what’s left of my patience.

I can’t decide whether Mason is a true sadist, or if he’s just that fucking greedy. Either way, my temper blazes, and I’m out of my seat and storming toward him before I can rein in my anger.

“You find rape victims amusing?” I stare down at him.

Mason cocks his chin, not backing down. “Not amusing,” he says, “just inconsequential. About as inconsequential as you found them to be during the trial.” He smiles. “Great closing argument, by the way. Turning the victims into whores. You made me a believer.”

I match his smile, then land a punch to his face.

“Mother fuck—” Mason holds his nose, red seeping between the slats of his fingers. “Since when do you care about any cunt? You won’t even take a sub.” His squinted eyes drill through me as I take deep breaths, my hand still locked in a fist.

I want to hit him again. Only I’m not sure if it’s because he’s an asshole or because he’s right. Being good at my job means, sometimes, I have to defame a victim. It’s the part I loathe, but it doesn’t make me a misogynist—just a damn good lawyer. And my reasons for never taking a sub are my own.

I direct my gaze at Wells. “And your stance?”

“Seeing that going against you results in violence, and the fact that I rather like my blood inside my body, I suppose I vote in your favor, your lordship.” His dark eyes are unsettling, a smile there that doesn’t quite match his severe features. “Besides,” he says, seating himself on the couch. “I have a date with a very enticing vixen at The Lair tonight. It wouldn’t be wise to show up with unsightly bruises.”