First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Two

Natalie

T hat bastard murdered my mother.

It’s almost nine months to the day that I got a text message from my mom telling me that she and her husband, my “stepfather”, were fighting. She sent me one final text dreadfully stating that she thought he might kill her.

I was in New York and at the time I thought it was another dramatic stream of texts that I’d normally receive when she relapsed. All I thought was that it was happening again, her short-lived sobriety was over and my stent of being away from home was coming to an end.

Except, when the messages stopped rolling in and I couldn’t get her to respond at all, I knew something was wrong. Within a week I dropped everything tying me to New York City and I was driving home to Lawson. To my brother. The only reason that I refused to cut my mother off was because of him.

By the time I got home, it was too late. My mother had been found in their apartment, overdosed. The neighbor saw her lifeless body as she was letting my brother in the door with her spare key after school. Thankfully she shielded him from the sight.

I immediately took emergency custody of Dec, it wasn’t even an option not to. He is my brother and he’s mine now. I’ll take care of him until the day I die, unlike our mother. I loved her, or the version of her not on drugs, but I’ll never forgive her for putting us both through that lifestyle. He turned seven two weeks after her funeral service.

She had me when she was sixteen. She got pregnant with Dec seventeen years later. She was so strung out that she didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was six months along. It’s a miracle Dec was born without complications, though he was a month and a half premature.

I had long given up on my mother being maternal toward me, but I was determined to make her the best mom for Dec. I helped her move into a new apartment and made sure she stayed clean. Most of all, I kept Declan Randolph away from her. He was ten years younger than her, closer to my age than hers, and a real piece of shit.

They were married before Dec was born even though he was in and out of my mom’s life, she insisted he was the father. She named him Declan Jr against my advice. To me, he’s just Dec because he’s nothing like his father.

Dec is good and kind. He’s a smart boy with a gentle soul. He has friends at school and makes good grades. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything. When he started first grade, things were good. At least, I thought. That’s why I took the opportunity to spread my wings and go to New York.

Unfortunately, my mom took the opportunity to let Declan back into their life. She started using drugs, again. The fighting started, again.

Then she was gone.

Just like that, within a few months, Dec’s whole world evaporated. A repeating record of my childhood except this time my mom’s gone.

I want Declan Randolph to die in prison. I want him to die for his crimes and for what he did to my mom. I don’t want him to ever come near Dec again. I’ll fight to my very last breath to keep my brother safe.

The posse of drug heads and criminal thugs that support the man I despise are also on my hate list. They’re just as bad. They’ve been complicit in his crimes for years. All of them can go to hell.

The prosecutor leans over the bar in front of me and motions me closer. “Don’t be alarmed by the Defense’s tactics. They’ll try to dismiss everything. They would attempt to suppress the tie I’m wearing if they could.” He rolls his eyes, and I nod, observing the dark gray suit he has on.

He’s wealthy, whether from his job or elsewhere. He’s been kind to me so far during this past few months of proceedings and I do my best not to wrinkle my nose at his brand of aftershave. It smells too strong, too spicy.

As stated, the defense lawyer stands and starts speaking directly to the judge. Another man, a look-alike version of Morgan Freeman if I had to compare him to someone. His voice is low and slow, but his eyes are direct and harsh.

The testosterone in this room is suffocating but I’m not easily phased. I’m not in the business of letting men intimidate me. Not anymore.

“We’re motioning to suppress the phone communication between the deceased victim and her daughter. It’s hearsay.” My head snaps to the defense lawyer. My text messages directly from my mother might be thrown out.

“It’s a direct quote from our victim your honor. It shows a history of conflict and motive,” Prosecutor Fulton drones with annoyance. He seems bored by these proceedings and it rubs me the wrong way. My mother is dead but this is only another day for all of these big wigs.

They go back and forth for a few minutes but it’s all too quick to understand, their language of the law flies over my head.

“The texts will be dismissed. Let’s get on with it. Set a date for pre-trial next month.” The judge knocks his gavel on the podium and that’s it—no more arguments.

Everyone begins packing up their paperwork as if they couldn’t care less. Because they don’t care. None of this matters to these people. They’ll get paid regardless. It makes me want to scream.

I sit utterly still until the room clears. I ignore Declan as he’s led out of the room, not giving him the satisfaction of putting my eyes on him for another second.

I know I need to leave. Dec will be home from school soon, but I can’t find the will to move. I tap my four-inch knock-off Louboutins on the bottom of the bar in front of me. In another life, I’d have real ones. I wouldn’t have had to raise myself and I’d be happily fed from a silver spoon.

Standing to leave proves difficult when it feels like an anvil is weighing down my shoulders but I do it anyway and shrug on my coat. As I grab my plain black bag, another rip-off from an off-price street vendor in Brooklyn, I realize I’m not alone like I thought.

The very large cop is still sitting in the back row of the pew-like benches. He’s hard to miss in his dark green uniform and bulky bulletproof vest. His various tools of the trade tacked onto his chest and belt make him look stiff and even bigger than he already is.

His eyes flash briefly toward me as I pass, barely acknowledging my presence. His haircut is clean and sharp. He probably goes to the barber every two weeks and I haven’t been able to afford a haircut in over a year.

I trim my dead ends in the mirror every other month and Dec’s shaggy blonde hair is way overgrown. Funds have been tight since I moved back home. I had to find a job that would work around Dec’s schedule but it doesn’t give me many hours.

I can’t afford a sitter. Our apartment only has one bedroom but Dec has clothes to wear, a coat, shoes that fit, and books for school. That’s all that I care about. He’ll be eight in a few months and I’ve been putting cash away slowly to afford to get him a bike.

I push through the heavy doors to enter the lobby and my steps falter, but only slightly. Declan’s goons are standing there, waiting. I steer past them but have no luck ignoring them.

“Hey, Ice Queen. How’s our boy doing?” One of them asks. I think they call him Zeek but I don’t care enough to confirm. I need to get home before Dec.

“He’s none of your concern.” I smile smugly, only so they know they can’t intimidate me. Ice Queen has been their nickname for me since I started keeping my mother away from Declan. Unfortunately for them, it gives me a sense of pride rather than a complex.

“Ah, but he is. Declan wants to know what his only son is up to. It’s our job to find out.” Zeek steps toward me, but I don’t budge.

“I don’t give a damn. Declan is no concern of mine.”

“Really? Seems odd you keep showing up then. Maybe you have a crush on him.” The other four standing with him snicker at his comment. I roll my eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’m here to make sure he stays right where he belongs. Or even better, maybe he’ll get shanked in jail.” I shrug. It hasn’t been the first time I’ve had that wish.

“You’re a little bitch, you know that?” Zeek steps further into my space, his face inches above mine.

My hands stay planted on my hips, but a big part of me wants to push him out of my bubble. I can’t stand to have him this close, but I would never put my hands on him because I know he would press charges. I couldn’t do that to Dec. I’m all he’s got.

The doors to the side of us open with grandeur, the strength behind the push making both doors swing fully into the lobby. Both our heads snap to the imposing man striding out of the courtroom that we just vacated.

Now that he’s standing, his height is ridiculous and he looks more like a GI-Joe than a street cop. His hair isn’t the only sharp thing about him. He’s all hard lines and edges. His eyes especially, zeroing in on Zeek.

Instead of saying anything about our obvious conflict, he sits on a chair against the wall and folds his arms across his bulky chest. Those cold eyes stare at Zeek with disinterest, hardly blinking, but the tilt to his head screams “Try me”.

“What the fuck do you want, Paul Blart?” Zeek sneers in his direction. The cop doesn’t react, but his non-reaction is enough. Zeek steps back out of my face and toward him.

Again, the cop doesn’t even blink.

“Come to save the little girl from the big bad wolf?” His immaturity makes his gaggle of geese laugh.

The cop’s gaze pings to me but back to Zeek so quickly that I almost missed it. “She seems fine but you need to leave. No loitering in the lobby.” His casual tone doesn’t match the seriousness of his eyes.

“What the fuck ever,” Zeek leans in, “Sheriff Malec.” He finishes after reading his uniform.

Is this the Sheriff of Rollins County?

He doesn’t flinch at Zeek’s language and the lack of conflict spurs the group to turn and leave. Spewing more nonsense from their mouths as they go.

“I had it handled,” I snap. Something deep inside of me can’t stand a helping hand when I didn’t ask for it. Or, maybe I was hoping to elicit a reaction from him when Zeek couldn’t.

There isn’t one.

He doesn’t even shift in his seat. I take pride in making men uncomfortable and I hate to fail.

“I know.”

The lack of interest in his voice grates at me. Cops don’t scare me and I can’t stand a hero complex.

Now, I’m in the mood to fight with someone and he is too boring to challenge me. I turn and stalk out of the courthouse as quickly as my heels will take me.

I hate cops. I hate drug dealers. I hate men.

They’re all pigs. All of them.