Page 108 of Merciless Desires

“You can meet with a public defender at the courthouse tomorrow morning.”

Morning…

I’m spending the night locked up. Not much different from the last two years of my life.

The jail is filled with prostitutes and rowdy drunk girls. I’m somewhere in-between. The food isn’t terrible. In the cafeteria the next morning, I’m given a box of cornflakes and a container of milk with a banana. Because I’m pregnant, they added a pre-made protein shake to my meal. I smirk, noticing it’s the same brand people on TikTok used to make all kinds of high protein desserts.

TikTok, Facebook, Instagram. All apps I haven’t been on in over two years. I let my social media accounts go dark after I ran away from Astoria.

I meet with the public defender after breakfast, who gives me a list of outstanding warrants for both me and Cormac, based on our descriptions.

“Yeeeeep. There’re a ton of police reports shoved in here,” he says.

That explains the thick file. God, I’m screwed.

“This isn’t looking too good, Miss Michaels,” he adds. “You and Mr. O’Rourke went on a bit of a crime spree.”

We were banned from all the casinos, forcing Cormac to pull cons on the street with me. When I got too big, he said I was hurting business and left me in the room, usually tied to the bed, so he could sell drugs. Drugs the cops found in the car. But no one seems to care that he kept me a prisoner.

“The car was in your name, Ana,” the public defender says to me, going through the massive file someone put together in less than twenty-four hours.

“Car…” I mumble, thinking of the shitbox Cormac bought when Ubers and taxis got too expensive. Since my name was fake, he registered it to me.

“Yes, the car you were driving, Miss Michaels.”

“I was escaping.” I take a breath. “You have to believe me. Cormac O’Rourke was holding me prisoner. He put the car in my name without my consent. He hid the keys from me. He put the drugs in there. Ask those kingpin informants the police have. He’s a dealer.”

My lawyer checks another file. “Hmmm. Your tox report came back clean.” He stares at me with a young, serious face. “But that’s just a twenty-four-hour snapshot.”

Had we met any other time, this guy would salivate over me. The old me. Now he looks at me with disgust. I’m just another day’s legal mess for him. I’m tempted to yell, “I’m rich! I have a huge trust fund!”

I exhale instead. “The nurse at the infirmary said my baby is fine. That’s not evidence of anything?”

He blinks, thinking about that. “Good catch! I’ll add that to my motion.”

“Motion?”

“To dismiss all charges.”

“You believe me?” I cry out. “You’re going to get me out of here?”

“We always do an MTD first. Motions to dismiss are standard.” He shrugs, going through the files until he gets a call. Without looking at me, he murmurs, “Your arraignment is at four p.m.”

“For which case?”

“All of them.”

I struggle to breathe.

Shit… this just got so real, so fast. Perhaps I should mention my father. But a slick DA will conclude that since I was born into the Bratva, I must be guilty. Or they’ll try to use me to flip on Papa.

Ha… Not happening. His henchmen will be on the next plane. I shudder, wondering if my father will kill me, or send me to one of those prison camps.

I stare down at my gray jumpsuit, three sizes too big to fit over my belly. The neckline slides off, exposing my pale shoulders, and the hemlines drag on the dirty floor. “Do I get to change?”

Into what, I don’t know. The clothes I wore to escape were dirty with vomit and bloodstained from the accident.

“Not for an arraignment.” He clears this throat. “No jury to impress.”

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