Page 17 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 9-12
There was no good reason to take the request. Let her talk through her lawyer, if she had one. She’d probably be out of jail by the end of the day, anyway.
But he wanted to know. Like the need to pull a scab off a wound before it was healed, he had questions he knew had no answers.
The boy inside him needed to check. The teenager she’d abandoned to be charged with murder wanted to know why.
He let his personal assistant know about the change and asked him to make arrangements with a driver and security.
Émeric called him ten minutes later. “Do you need to go alone?”
Damian paused. “Go where?”
“The jail. Our teams were coordinating. I overheard. Richard would go with you, but I know he’s south of the city right now, meeting with contractors.”
Damian swallowed. “I can handle it. It’s just Dalia.”
“You don’t have to face her alone.”
“I’ve handled world dignitaries. She’s nothing.”
Émeric said nothing, letting the silence judge for him.
Damian growled. “She’s a bitch. You don’t want to meet her.”
“Do you or do you not remember you’re Residency?”
Damian sighed. “I’m grown, Émeric. I should be able to handle this.”
“You’ve handled everything that’s ever been asked of you.” Approval and pride filtered through Émeric’s voice.
“You’re doing that thing, being a daddy.”
Émeric laughed. “Not this time. You’re ours, Damian. You’re not my boy, not in the sense we normally use the word, but you’re…” Émeric paused, reaching for a word.
“No, you are.” Damian’s cheeks flushed.
“Doms know when to lean on others and when they have to go alone. Who’s going to see Dalia? Mr. Sathers, attorney at law, or Damian Kramer, the kid?”
“Both.” Damian closed his eyes, pain cresting in his chest. “I’d be honored if you could come. She’s going to twist everything.”
“I got you.”
“Thank you.” Damian’s cheeks burned.
Dalia was being held in the same jail from which Damian had made his one Hail Mary phone call to Richard almost two decades before. At some point, the walls had been repainted. The rugs from the nineties had been replaced with dull black mats. The floors beneath them were the same exact tile, worn and chipped enough to be the very same set. Gratitude for Émeric’s support crawled up in his throat.
I’m Damian Sathers. Sathers. You changed your name. You’re not that young man anymore. Except parts of him were. Parts of him that had been terrified. Parts of him that had thought he was looking at spending years, if not his entire life, in prison. They were still there beneath all the other layers.
Years under Richard’s mentorship had taught him who had been to blame for that night, but no amount of healing entirely erased the memory of the fear.
“I haven’t been here since that day.”
Émeric laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk to her.”
“I know, but parts of me need to.”
Émeric nodded.
There were more reasons to talk to Dalia than getting old questions asked. There were practical points to cover. He needed to know how she was going to present in front of a judge and what kind of case Armada was up against in resisting returning to her mother’s house.
