Page 194 of Yearn
"What?” Scott held his stomach like he was about to vomit again. “Y-you’re not. . .listening. . .his cock. . .was in my w-wife. My wife!! The. . .whore—"
"Have you taken any controlled substances tonight?"
"What? N-no. I haven't. . .taken anything." Scott's denial came too fast, too desperate. His bottom lip quivered. “Arrest my—"
"Sir." Chang gestured at the bag. "What is that?"
Scott's eyes went to the cocaine, and his face went gray-green. "That's not mine. It’s. . .his. I. . .no. I don’t do drugs—"
And then he vomited.
Right there on the desk, his body convulsing as everything came up—the beer, the cocaine, the McDonald’s, the lies.
Ick!
I looked away from the desk.
The officers stepped back.
"Jesus Christ," Chang muttered.
When Scott finished, he groaned in pain. “His cock was in h-her.”
Morrison pointed his gun at Scott. "Mr. Harris, stand up. Slowly."
“What? W-why?” Scott tried to stand up, stumbling and then dry-heaving. "You don't. . . understand. He f-fucked my wife. His cock—"
"Sir, you need to stop talking," Morrison said.
But Scott couldn't stop. The words kept pouring out between gasps and sobs. "She was down there f-fucking him. My wife. . .she’s a-always been. . .a whore—"
Some movement sounded from the other side of the house.
I heard the front door slam closed.
What the hell? Who is that?
Five men entered.
Not just men.
Dominic’s lawyers.
Shock surged through me.
I could tell by the designer suits that probably cost more than my car, the expensive briefcases, the way they moved with absolute authority into my home like they owned it that they would not be playing around.
The lead lawyer—silver-haired, sharp-eyed—pulled out a business card. "Spencer Peterson, lead counsel. We represent Ms. Harris and Mr. Castellano."
Officer Morrison's eyebrows went up. "That's quite a response time. Why are you here?"
"We were already enroute when we received notification of the situation." Spencer's smile was professional. "My clients are the victims of an intoxicated home invasion by an ex-spouse with documented substance abuse issues. I trust that will be reflected accurately in all reports."
The other four lawyers fanned out—one taking photos with a professional camera, another reviewing the scene, two more flanking Spencer like a wall of legal protection.
Oh shit.
The officers looked distinctly uncomfortable now.
