Page 97 of Unlucky You

“Don’t know, don’t care. I was told to come get you,” he muttered robotically and glared until I was on my feet and moving toward him. As soon as I stepped out of the cell, he pointed down the hall.

“This way, let’s go.”

He didn’t bother cuffing me which meant I wasn’t going far. I followed him until we reached the end of the hall, bent the corner, and stopped outside of an interrogation room where he opened the door and motioned for me to go inside. This shit didn’t make sense. The only place I should have been going at this point was before the judge to discuss bail which I wouldn’t be granted.

The only thing I could think of was Aleah’s father was here to make sure bail didn’t happen. If that were the case, I damn sure wasn’t leaving because there was no way in hell I could think logically when it came to him.

“Who’s inside?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Inside, now,” he grunted, widening his stance and dropping his chin.

I decided it was best not to push my luck so I entered the room and frowned at the guy sitting on the corner of the table with a file in his hand. His gaze swept over me but his expression didn’t give away much.

“Grand Sinclair.” He lifted from the table, rounded the side, pulled out a chair, and settled into it. “Can’t say I’m glad to see you again. Especially not here.”

“And who are you?”

“You don’t remember?” I scanned his face and shook my head.

“Sit, let’s talk.”

“Tell me who the fuck you are first.”

He smirked and tossed the file on the table. “Not much has changed I see.”

I stared at him for a minute longer and it clicked.Colton Ryan. “You prosecuted my case.”

“Yes.”

I glanced around the room as if it would somehow clue me in to what he was doing here.

“What do you want?”

“Sit down, Sinclair.”

Reluctantly, I crossed the room, dragged the chair opposite him from under the table, and sat.

He lifted his hand and tapped the folder. “That’s your file.”

I didn’t bother looking down or speaking. Just wanted to see what the hell he wanted.

“I was reviewing my bail docket for today and imagine my surprise when one of the cases had a name I recognized. I remembered your case. I rememberedyou.”

“And?”

“What happened between you and Alec Johnson?”

His arm rested on the table and he drummed his fingers, slowly tapping the surface.

“Shouldn’t that be in the file?”

“Yes, and it is, but I want to hear your side of things.”

“Why does it matter?”

He leaned forward, looking me directly in my eyes. “Do you want to have your parole revoked? If that happens, you go back to prison.”

“No.”

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