Page 190 of Broken Pieces
He doesn’t lose. Not when his kid’s on the line.
Zane won’t walk from this; he’ll be made an example of. To remind people that the law often favours those with money.
A door creaks open to the left of us.
Two people stride through, footsteps heavy.
One of them, I recognize, is the officer who cuffed Zane. The other one is dressed to impress. Pressed shirt, expensive tie, sleeves rolled just enough to show off a gold watch. Tan skin, slicked-back hair. Arrogant and entitled. A man who’s never heard the word no in his life.
“That’s the asshole’s father. Bryan Anders,” Rainer mutters beside me.
They stop near the front desk, their voices carrying across the quiet space.
“That kid’s going down,” Bryce’s father says to the officer beside him, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Broke my son’s jaw in two places. Can you believe that shit?” he scoffs. “My sources tell me he’s some underground fighter. Real lowlife. The kid’s been in and out of the system for years. What else can you expect?”
I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved.
The fact that he was in the foster system doesn’t make him worthless, and it sure as shit doesn’t make him disposable.
Rainer reaches out, hand gripping my arm.
“That’s bullshit,” I snap. My voice cracks, but I don’t care.
Bryan turns.
His eyes drag over me from head to toe, taking his time, and I swear I feel every inch like a violation.
“This must be the girl,” he says, lips curling around the words as if I’m nothing but a case file. A thing. A problem to dismiss.“The one he’s saying he was protecting. Sweetheart, you don’t want to tie yourself to someone like that. Trash stays trash.”
Before I can open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself and that he doesn’t know shit about Zane or anything we’ve lived through, Rainer steps forward.
“His background has nothing to do with his character.”
Rainer’s staring straight at him, his eyes like stone. The tension bleeds off him in waves, all tight shoulders.
The lawyer laughs. “Character? Don’t start preaching morality to me. My son’s in the hospital with a broken jaw. Your guy’s got a record longer than this precinct’s hallway. Let’s be clear. This asshole is doing time. You should figure out how to say goodbye.”
The cop says nothing, simply shifts awkwardly beside him.
I feel Rainer’s hand on my arm again, holding me in place before I can throw something or scream in his face.
I fucking hate this.
The waiting.
Hate that Zane’s sitting somewhere behind those walls—probably pacing that shitty concrete floor with blood still crusted on his hands, and still, we do not know a damn thing.
No one is telling us shit. No updates. What he’s been charged with.
Just silence.
The kind that makes your skin itch.
That presses against your chest until you can’t tell if you’re about to scream or throw up.
The courtroom hums with noise.
The kind that doesn’t stay in your ears, but sinks into your skin and writhes there.
