Vain (The Seven Deadly #1)

Vain (The Seven Deadly #1) Page 7

Unexpectedly, I wanted as far away from Spencer and my life as quickly as possible, but how could I remove myself from the toxicity when I was the main component in the vile concoction that was our lives?

On our way back to the W, I took the opportunity to ring Pembrook.

“Pemmy, it’s Sophie.”

“Sophie, you’ll need to be at the courthouse at seven in the morning tomorrow. Do not arrive late. Court is at eight and dress appropriately. I don’t think it’s necessary to remind you to keep a lid on your illegal activities this evening. Do try and be sober.”

And with that, he hung up.

My hands began to shake from their normally composed cool and I brought them to my mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

“I have court in the morning.”

“How is that possible? It was only Friday you were arrested.”

I stared out the window at the cars around us. “My father did this.”

“Why would he bother?”

I thought back to the image of a floating jacket in our fountain. “Because I ruined something for him and this is my punishment.”

“Bastard.” He glanced at me. “You don’t have to go home, you know. I can drop you off tomorrow.”

“That’s really sweet, but I have nothing appropriate for court tomorrow.”

He gave me a sardonic expression and extended his hand toward the row of shops lining the street we were traveling.

“Buy something.”

“Fine, turn left here. I’ll just charge the long posy dress I saw in Temperley’s window last week.”

“I didn’t interpret anything you’ve just said besides turn left here, thank God.”

I could only playfully roll my eyes at him.

He dropped me off and found parking in the rear while I waited for him at the door. I needed his presence to keep me calm. If I were being honest with myself, I would have admitted that I was terrified at what was going to happen the next morning. If your father pulls political strings to get your criminal court date moved to the front of an already astronomically busy queue, I can’t imagine what he could stand to gain from that. Except revenge. Which meant he had no intention of making my life easier. I could feel Luques beginning to surface when Spencer opened the door to Temperley’s for me. I took deep breaths to calm my nerves. I was sincerely nervous for probably the very first time of my life.

“Which one?” he asked, this savior in do-me clothing.

“The soft pink one hanging in the window.”

He left me to browse while he took care of my purchase for me. I knew this little act just confirmed everything he’d accused in our dinner conversation, but I still strove to hold on to the slightest thread of hope that I would never turn out so pathetically acquiescing as my mother or as cold-hearted as my father. But isn’t that who you already are, Soph? You certainly cast your friends aside easily to screw their boyfriends, don’t you? I shook my head. Build the wall, I ordered myself and just as easily, my facial expression eased and my thoughts turned an entirely different direction.

“Size, miss?” I heard behind me, turning my head.

“A four, please,” I told the clerk and she quickly scurried off.

“It that all you’ll need?” Spencer asked from beside me after they’d adjusted the garment for a quick tailor. “I spied a shoe store nearby. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank you, Spence. That’s fine. Shall we walk?”

“Of course.” He turned his head toward the back room. “We’ll just be next door as you do the alterations,” he called out.

The clerk emerged and nodded discretely. “Give me half an hour,” she said.

Spencer led me to the shoe store next door and we perused the windows as we passed by. “What are you going to give me for buying these for you?”

“A swift kick in the junk?”

He laughed wholeheartedly. “I had to try.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I teased.

Inside, I immediately spied a pair of buttery-soft leather peek-a-boo’s in the corner. “Those,” I told him succinctly.

“Damn, you don’t waste any time.”

“I know what I want when I want it.”

“One can hope...” he trailed off.

“Really, Spence?”

“I’m sorry, but I keep getting flashbacks of yesterday night. You were goddamn hot in nothing but your lingerie.”

I sighed loudly.

“No, no, I know. I’m just frustrated is all.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” I told him sincerely.

“Not as sorry as I am, but it’ll do.” He winked in jest. “Anything else, then? Purse, scarf, a frenzied escape across the southern border?”

“Please, Spencer, if I wanted to flee, I’d fly. I’m not a wanted felon, for chrissakes.”

“Ah, but you’d be so hot on the posters. Bounty hunters across the states would mortgage their homes to be the one to bring you in.”

“You’re seriously starting to chafe me. I’m nervous as it is.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing my temple. I could feel his chuckle against my skin. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“It’s going to be humiliating enough. I don’t believe your presence would be soothing.”

“Damn, Soph.”

“I apologize, old habits die hard.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’re done, you’ll call me?”

I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“The first.”

Seven in the morning is made for people who deserve nothing but death. If I were a judge, I’d schedule all my court dates after eleven in the morning and end them at three in the afternoon. I mean, my God, they went to school practically their entire adolescent and adult lives, probably rising before it was even light, only to graduate and begin working as a toiling law firm crony or in a political office position they’d had to commit no less than fifteen years of their heart-clogging lives toward only to reach for aspirations of waking at the crack of dawn to deal with the lowliest of the low? No, thank you.

But we all really know why they did it. Prestige and power. That’s why they did it. And who could blame them?

“You look incredible, Soph. Convict-less.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

Spencer pulled up front and I got out, nervous as hell.

He rolled down his window as I began the ascent into the courthouse. “Don’t forget to call me!” he shouted.

I turned and nodded once before meeting Pembrook at the top of the steps.

“On time. Thank you.”

“Something about my father getting the courts to agree to this has made me less than comfortable. I thought being on time would be, oh, I don’t know, wise?”

“Ah, so today I get facetious Sophie. How delightful.”

“I’m sorry, Pemmy,” I sighed out.

“It’s fine. Follow me,” he bit.

Pembrook led me through the security checkpoints and into a cavernous marble lobby to a set of elevators. I counted the floors as we passed each one. One...Surely the lesson is in the threat...Two...He wouldn’t risk the publicity...Three...He’s doing this because he loves me...Four...He does love me...Five...I know he does...Six...He has to...Seven...Doesn’t he?

The ringing bell announcing our floor startled my anxiety-ridden body, stiff from tensing my muscles as if in anticipation of a beating. And that was what that morning would promise me. I knew it. Pemmy’s short answers and minimal sarcasm told me that better than words ever could.

“Through here,” I barely heard Pembrook mutter. He opened the door for me and I entered the sunken room.

The smallest sounds resonated throughout. The creak of the door, the taps of our shoes on the cold marble floor, the intake of every labored breath.

“Sit here,” he said, pointing to a bench reminiscent of a church pew just outside of the fenced-in chamber in the public gallery.

I sat and the wood protested underneath me, warning me, begging me to act, to run. Pembrook easily threw open the swinging half doors that separated the courtroom and approached the prosecutor’s table. I took in my surroundings and noted I wasn’t the only defendant in the courtroom, which was confusing. A singular man sat in the corner opposite my side of the room. This was typical for most minor criminal court cases, but for some reason I thought my father wouldn’t want the potential spectacle or would be willing to risk my being seen and would have arranged for a private hearing.

“You,” a burly guard with bright red hair said pointing to the lone man. “You’ve been reassigned. You should be in Courtroom C now.” Of course.

“Oh, so sorry,” the man offered. He stood and gave me a half smile.

I wanted to vomit at the butterflies that gave me. Worry. You could see it in his eyes. Thick strain seemed to bulge the walls in all its sensationalism. It crawled over my body and settled heavily on my heart.

Pembrook called me to his table and sat me in a leather swivel chair. The animal skin ground against my own, cold and stiff to touch. The cumbersome weight of unease in the room settled over me with a finality that choked.

“All rise,” the bailiff said, surprising me from my thoughts. I looked up just in time to see Reinhold walk into the room. Doomed. “This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Francis Reinhold presiding.”

Judge Reinhold refused to look my direction. “What’s on the docket today, Sam?” he asked the bailiff.

He meant “chopping block.” Reinhold knew.

“Your Honor, case one this morning is Price vs. the city of Los Angeles.”

Reinhold finally met my face with zero expression, but his eyes were calculating, measuring, assessing.

“Are you ready?” Reinhold asked my attorney and the prosecutor.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Pembrook said.

The prosecutor nodded her head with a single, “Yes.”

The door to the courtroom groaned open in that moment and in stepped three people I would have paid not to have step through. My father and mother moved to sit on the bench I had sat just minutes earlier, giving off the impression they had somewhere else they really needed to be but the real jest, it seemed, was Officer Casey in all his youthful, handsome glory and his countenance spoke volumes of hate, lust, anger, and want.

He earned a brief glance from me and that earned myself a cruel smile in return. I kept my gaze on him, leaned imperceptibly his direction, lightly touched the tip of my tongue to the top of my teeth, smiled effortlessly and winked. This startled him and his own smile faltered, stuttered and fell off his face. I turned back to Reinhold, no one in the room the wiser but for Casey and his thundering heart.

“I understand an agreement has been made?” Reinhold asked the attorneys.

An agreement?

“Yes, Your Honor,” the lawyers said in unison.

“Miss Price, please stand,” he ordered.

I obeyed, my booming heart clamoring to stay steady, and stood from my chair.

“I promised you the next time I saw you in my courtroom you would not leave as easily and yet here you are. Now, I’ve agreed to this plea bargain only because I feel it can teach you the value of your life far better than any amount of incarceration, rehab or community service.”