Текст книги "Defending Pacer"

Автор книги: T. J. Hamilton

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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

 

 

 

 

 

 

ISBN: 9781310523113

Title: Defending Pacer

Author: TJ Hamilton

Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

© 2015 by TJ Hamilton

Australian Copyright 2015

New Zealand Copyright 2015

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.

– Friedrich Nietzsche

PROLOGUE

Known gang member from the Legano family, Paciano (Pacer) Fratelli, has been charged with the murder of Simon P Collins, son of wealthy mining magnate, Ian Collins.

A police tactical response unit stormed the property of Fratelli in an elaborate raid on his Vaucluse house during the early hours of the morning. Tactical police were unaware that Fratelli had already handed himself into Metro police station at the time of the raid.

The dismembered body of Collins was found on a blazing boat on Sydney Harbour last year. It is believed that Fratelli was the owner of the vessel.

Michael Hangcock from Hangcock and Sons law firm has confirmed that he is no longer representing Fratelli. A representative from Newcombe, Debbs and Associates has confirmed that they will make a statement later today.

A source from the Legano family has said they are confident that this matter will be resolved soon.

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

I check my watch for the sixth time since sitting in here. I’m waiting as patiently as possible, for someone with a murder charge hanging over his head.

4:48 p.m.

This hot shot from my new law firm is almost twenty minutes late for our meeting.

Some fucking hot shot.

I look around the beige walls of the boring waiting-room, and almost feel tempted to pick up a National Geographic magazine from the pile, but a hot little blonde opens the double doors.

Things are looking up.

So, hot shot barrister has a hot secretary, does he? I bet he fucks her on his desk … and why wouldn’t he? She’s sex on legs.

“Mr Fratelli, please come in.” Her pouty little cock-sucking lips speak to me, and I can’t stop staring at them.

I’m lost in the thoughts of them wrapped around my dick for a moment. I shake out of the daydream and follow her through to hot shot’s office. A wide glass desk holds a computer and some pens.

I bet you bend her over your desk, rip her tight skirt up those long thighs and smack that sweet ass as you bury yourself deep inside her … don’t you hot shot.

Her ass shifts from side to side as her brown skirt catches against her cheeks when she walks. A boring brown outfit with golden blonde hair … You’re just like a honeybee, and I’ve got plenty of pollen for you to suck, my little harvester.

Brown skirt, humph. You don’t fool me honeybee. You may dress boring but I bet you’re a fucking firecracker in the sack.

I have the urge to just pull at her soft blonde bun to let her hair fall down her shoulders; I want to see the kinky girl behind that boring hair and boring brown skirt. I know she’s in there … they always are.

She stops and stands in front of Hot Shot’s open office door. “Right this way, Mr Fratelli. Please, take a seat.”

She waves her hand out like one of those models in a game show.

I take my coat off, but leave my gloves on. I always leave my gloves on.

“I have to apologize first of all for being late,” she says, as she follows me into the office, closing the door behind her.

I turn to hand my coat to hot shot’s secretary but she’s followed me into the room.

Wait? What?

“I’ve only just received your case file from the DPP. There’s a lot to go over today.” She shimmies around to the other side of the desk and sits in the hot shot’s seat.

This blonde little honeybee is my new hot shot barrister? I take a seat in front of her, just as my knees threaten to give out, all the while thinking about giving her a hot shot of my own.

“I have to say, Mr Fratelli, these crime scene photos are very graphic, and extremely incriminating. They took me a little by surprise this morning.”

She adjusts her skirt when she sits and I wonder what colour panties she’s wearing.

Did those photos make you uncomfortable honeybee?

I have more. I smile at my handiwork in the pictures.

She opens her mouth to speak, but I interrupt her. “It’s Pacer.”

“Pardon?” she says bluntly.

“Call me Pacer, or Pace. Mr Fratelli is my father, and he died years ago.”

She shifts again and her leather chair makes a squeak under her tight ass. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Pacer.” Her words are about as sincere as her deadpan stare. “Now, you understand that these charges are very serious.” She flicks through the thick file in front of her. I watch her pick up her reading glasses from the desk, and she rests them delicately on her petite nose. “I see that Mr Legano has posted your million-dollar bail. The crown prosecution and Victims of Crime association have both filed an immediate appeal against your release, so we will have to act fast to convince the magistrate that you’re not a threat to the community.”

I smile again. I can’t hide it. I’m not a threat to the community, but I may be a threat to you, honeybee.

“I probably should introduce myself. I’m Chelsea Tanner, associate barrister here at Newcombe, Debbs and Associates. I’ll be handling your case, obviously.” She doesn’t crack a smile as she takes out a voice recorder and places it in front of me. “So what can you tell me about the incident, Pacer?” She looks up at me and her blue eyes make the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

I almost laugh out loud because she’s so fucking beautiful. Keep your cool, Pace.

Leaning back in my chair as calmly as possible, I smirk. I love messing with this girl already. “So you know what I do for work, right?”

She bites on the end of her pen as I speak, and now I’m imagining my cock in her mouth again. She takes the pen from her mouth thank fuck, because I can feel my cock starting to thump against my jeans as it fills up. I should’ve worn pants like I usually do.

“I understand that you’re associated with …” She runs her finger along the page. “Legano Holdings?” She sounds so official every time she mentions the word ‘associate’. Which has been four times. I counted. It sounded hot every time.

I laugh. “Yeah, I work for my Uncle. You understand what that means, Chelsea?” I like the sound of her name rolling off my tongue; it’s not the only thing of her that I want rolling off my tongue.

She’s so straight—she’s starting to blush. I bet she’s never met anyone like me before, and I know she wants me to bend her over her desk. “I do some of the dirty work when things need cleaning up. Sometimes there are casualties. The city can be a dirty place, you know.”

Her eyes flash up to me when I laugh. “Are you disclosing to me that you did kill Sean Collins, Mr Fratelli?”

“It’s Pacer.”

She blushes again and clears her throat. “Pacer, I think we’ll leave that confession off-record.” She takes hold of the recorder and deletes the last conversation with the press of a button. “We should start again. Maybe it’s best if you miss some parts out, okay? As in, less is more right now.”

“Are you asking me not to tell you the truth? You are my barrister, aren’t you?”

Looking down at her file, she starts writing notes, not looking up again until she finally speaks. “Is there anyone else that you were with the night of Sean Collins’ murder? Someone who can testify that you were with them?”

I chuckle as I pull one of my gloves off to search my coat pocket for a cigar. “I could have been with any number of people. How many do you need?”

She stops writing and starts biting on the end of her pen again. I can see through the glass top desk that her legs are squeezed, tightly together. She shifts again and the leather underneath her ass squeaks. It’s hot, and makes me want to just touch her tight ass.

I wish you would stop doing that, honeybee.

I twist in my chair subtly as the beat of my heart thumps in my ears. Finding the cigar, I pull it out and grab the cigar cutter. Rolling the cutter along the edge, I trim the end of the cigar, ready to smoke it as soon as I’m out of this meeting. Sucking on the end of the cigar to seal it again, I throw the cutter back in my pocket. As I look up, I catch her eyes on me before she quickly pulls them away.

Were you just watching me?

She makes a funny sound with her throat before she speaks, “So the vessel that Sean Collins was found on belonged to you, is that correct?”

She needs to loosen up a bit.

“Do you go out on boats, Chelsea? You look like a girl who likes boats,” I try to sound as casual as possible, but even I can hear the heat in my voice.

Her eyes flick to me, but her head doesn’t move. I tilt a bit, to see her expression better. She breathes a little heavier.

Did that excite you, honeybee?

Clearing her throat again, she adjusts in her chair. “Let’s go over the last time you saw Sean alive. You told police that you were having dinner in Bondi. Tell me about that night.”

She holds her pen in hand, waiting to scribe my words, not budging from her professional performance. That’s all it is —a performance. I can see through it. The light pink blush across her cheeks tells me that she doesn’t know what to do with my advances, or she actually likes it. Both equally excite me. Either way, I’ll win.

“Or are you a beach girl? I like both.” I do all I can to keep the conversation going in the direction I want. “We have such a beautiful harbour, and the beaches make Sydney, don’t they? We’re lucky to live here. Did you grow up in Sydney?”

I hear her swallow from my seat.

“Pacer. Sorry, but we’re here to discuss your case … to keep you out of prison, remember. You should probably take this a little more seriously.” The flush has moved to her chest.

Hopefully it makes her pop just one more button of her blouse, so that I can get a better look at her tits. I bet they’d fit perfectly in my palm. On that thought, I put my glove back on and catch her watching me … again.

I know you want to fuck me. You’re not very good at hiding it, honeybee.

With a shrug, I shake off the tension. “Thought you might want to get to know me more, that’s all. You know, make me feel comfortable because you’re responsible for my future.” I try not to smirk, but I think my eyes give me away, no matter how hard I bite down. “Do you really know what you’re doing? No offense, but I was told that you were the best in the business.”

Thank God she stops biting her pen. Her stare pierces my soul—her eyes narrowing. “Why is it whenever anyone is about to say something really offensive, they generally start by saying no offense?”

She looks pissed, and I like it. I can’t decide if it’s because I offended her or because I feel like a schoolkid in the headmistress’s office.

“Let me tell you, Pacer, I am the best. I am so good that I’ve never lost a case. The problem is you are making my job extremely difficult.”

“You look like you love a challenge,” I bite back.

Her pen hits against the notepad with a little force behind it. She doesn’t look as amused as I feel.

“Clearly, Pacer, your idea of cleaning up the city hasn’t exactly worked. You idea is flawed because here you are with me, defending a murder charge. They have a crown witness who is willing to go up against you, and you will go to prison if you don’t stop acting so nonchalant about it all. You will listen to my instruction. Starting with what you say to people. When I have the voice recorder on, you say very little. This is an accountable recording and can be tendered in court the moment the prosecution gets wind of it, and they will because no one in this business can be trusted. Keep your mouth shut, and what you say to me inside this office stays here, and does not get repeated … understood?”

My cock throbs again but I don’t want to make it obvious by adjusting myself. There’s a lot I would like to say to you right now, honeybee. Especially now that I know you won’t repeat it.

Where’s she from, I wonder? Tanner … I wonder if she’s any relation to John Tanner? She can’t be. He puts crooks behind bars, whereas she fights to keep them out. That has to be a conflict of interest … or something. She must be an eastern suburbs princess? Or is she from north of the bridge? Yeah, She smells like money. She has that bitchy air of arrogance about her that they have on that side of the harbour.

Wherever she’s from, I like her.

Now sitting up straight in my chair, I listen to every word that comes out of her sweet mouth. I love every time she says my name, and I love the way she spits it, as if she hates me.

But I know that you actually like me as much as I like you, honeybee.

***

It’s not until 7:52 pm at night when she finally decides to leave the office. She must really take her job seriously. I had to wait to see her, just one last time. I want to get to know her more, but I know she’s scared of my world. It’s only because she doesn’t understand it.

Chelsea laughs with another blonde girl as she walks along the sidewalk. I sink down and I watch her from the back seat of my Audi, parked across the street. I need to follow her, see her, smell her. I just want to be near her again.

There’s just something about her that draws me to her … like an ant to honey. Her blue eyes and smart mouth make me all kinds of crazy. I’ve never had a woman command me like she does.

Once she’s disappeared around the corner, I jump in the front and slowly follow behind as they walk. The bullshit traffic in the city makes following her easy. I’m glad I didn’t drive my Maserati today. It’s loud as hell, and everyone stares whenever I drive it. Usually I like that, but not today—not when I just want to catch another glimpse of the woman who makes my heart race, my cock throb and my head spin after our first ever meeting. No woman has done this to me before. Women are always just so available to me. It gets boring after awhile. But not Chelsea —she’s different to the others I’ve met … and it drives me wild. She may come across hard, but I noticed the little changes in her. I saw her squeeze her legs together. I saw her eyes on my cock. She was hot for me. Her little signs are like waving a red flag at a raging bull. Her smart mouth may have been saying no, but her body was screaming yes!

She steps into a restaurant I know well. Luckily for me, there’s a spare park across the road, so I pull straight in. Wanting to follow her in there, I look past my white button-down shirt to my jeans with a tear in the knee. It’s now the second time today that I’ve wished that I hadn’t worn jeans. Why didn’t I take this meeting more seriously and dress in a suit, like I normally would? I’d stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of suits in the upmarket restaurant if I just waltzed in there with ripped jeans.

Not that I can just waltz into any joint around town anymore. Sydney feels like a fucking prison already.

My eyes don’t leave her for a second, highlighting that if I were in prison I wouldn’t be able to sit and watch this little honeybee, so I can wait. Watching her might help keep me out of trouble.

I’m in luck; her and the other blonde take a seat at the table next to the floor to ceiling window. The brown skirt she’s wearing rides up her thigh as she sits.

My cock just won’t fucking stop.

I grab hold of it and want to just rub one out while I watch her. She does something to me—stirs a fire inside me, and I never handle fire very well.

A tall guy in a suit walks up to the table, and I let go of my cock and sit up in the driver’s seat to get a better look. He leans down and kisses my honeybee on the lips and he sits down next to her. Raging heat flares across my skin. I want to rip the fucking steering wheel apart. Or better yet, drive my Audi straight into the front window of the restaurant, skull-drag that fucker into the car and take him out to the warehouse to slowly annihilate the cheap suit-wearing pussy.

What the fuck has gotten into me? I need to calm the fuck down.

I ram the Audi into gear and slam my foot against the accelerator. I need to get the fuck away from here before I do something really stupid … again.

This feeling I have for a woman I’ve just met is beyond my control. I don’t know what to do with it. All I know is I want her.

I need to find out everything there is to know about her and make her mine, and mine only.

CHAPTER TWO

 

“So how about that hot gangster client of yours, Chelsea? He’s … wow!” my assistant, Sienna, teases. “Seriously, Brad, wait till you get an eye-full of him. He would melt the undies straight off your body! He has that whole hot, broody man thing going on.”

“Sounds like something I could handle.” Brad pouts femininely. “Tell me more.” He nudges my side.

“Will you two stop it? First of all, you know my rules about intimacy with clients. Second of all, he is all kinds of bad, and that’s being generous.”

I ignore their giggles as I almost gulp my Collins gin cocktail. I pray that the ice-cold drink extinguishes the burning in my chest. After two hours in an initial consultation with Pacer Fratelli, my mind and body are holding their own courtroom debate. My head knows how wrong he is, but his arms, the tattoos that cover them, his chest, his wicked smile, and leather gloves … Who knew men’s gloves were so hot? He floods the receptors in my brain that differentiate good from bad.

Sienna and Brad’s voices slowly drone out as I think about the crime scene photos and Sean Collins —Pacer’s victim: a headless body covered in burn marks and deep cuts. I’d never be able to un-see the autopsy photos that identified who he was, and it was Pacer Fratelli who did that to him. The body was found on a boat that was set on fire. Sean Collins bought that boat from Pacer only three months prior. His DNA was bound to be all over the vessel. But what makes this worse is Pacer isn’t denying it. He’s a ruthless murderer, and now it is up to me to keep him from going to prison. How am I meant to prove to the courts, prove to society, that he will not cause harm to anyone when he clearly has no regard for human life? Nor does he seem to hold an inch of remorse for his actions.

But I know there’s more to him. His dark eyes spoke to me. They mainly wanted me to undress, but there’s something in me that wants to protect him. There was a look in his eyes when I spoke harshly to him. He listened to everything I had to say. It made him seem almost vulnerable. I want to keep him on the right side of the law, so that I can get to know him a little better.

My God, what am I thinking? Why do I even feel like this?

“Earth to Chelsea?” Brad tilts his head and frowns. “Where were you just then?”

“Sorry. This case is just very intense. I’ve never led something as big as this on my own before. If I win, I think they’ll offer me a partner position.”

I draw back on the remainder of my drink until it makes a bubbling sound in the empty straw. I can’t drink it quick enough.

“You’ll be fine. They wouldn’t have given you this case if they didn’t think you could handle it.” Sienna always soothes my ego.

“That’s the thing—I think they have thrown me in the deep end to test me.”

“Well if you don’t want Mr Mobster, hand him over to me.” Brad winks.

I shake my head and smile. “Honey, Mr Mobster is likely to cut your head off if he hears you say that.”

Brad breaks into fits of laughter. “I don’t know if that excites me or scares the hell out of me.”

I know the feeling.

“I think I might head home. There’s a ton of evidence to sift through before I’m due in court in the morning. I have to adjourn the bail hearing as it is.”

Getting up from my seat, and say my goodbyes. I’m against the clock with this matter. I have a feeling that the next twelve months of my life are going to be absorbed by this guy. I think he’s going to keep me very busy.”

***

As soon as I get in the door of my terrace apartment, I kick off my black work pumps, pull at my bun and shake my hair out. With my head failing to stop thinking about my bail hearing tomorrow, I decide to start by finding the best precedence to use to keep Pacer out of remand. I know why the partners have given me this case. I’m blonde and a woman, so I’m a soft touch that will appeal to the jury during the trail. The magistrate, on the other hand, may be harder to convince—and that’s who I’m dealing with tomorrow to get a two week adjournment. The change of council in the representation of Pacer should be enough to convince the magistrate to approve it. I don’t know why Pacer changed his legal representation when he’s had Michael Hangcock represent him for years.

I note that Jackson Reed is the crown prosecution on the case. He always goes with the same legislation at bail hearings. The lazy fool.

I’m sure Pacer wouldn’t do anything stupid when there’s a million dollars riding on him to behave. But these gangsters seem to have very little respect for money, or human life … or the law, for that matter. They are a law unto themselves. If he doesn’t toe the line, my unblemished reputation in the courtroom will suddenly take a step back. And I am not about to let that happen; I’ve worked too hard for this.

But if I win, I get everything I want.

I pour myself a glass of the week-old wine from the fridge and sit down at the coffee table, spreading out all of the police fact sheets and textbooks on legislation, together with the cases that hold precedence. As much as I can afford the luxuries of expensive wine, I just don’t have the time for it, so this vinegar shit will do. I wince at the sour taste when I take my first sip, but by the second gulp I can drink it without cringing.

Paciano Salvatore Fratelli, it reads across the top of his dossier.

I look at Pacer’s dozen pages of criminal history and bite down on my pen, something that’s quickly becoming a habit since meeting him. Biting my pen seems to diminish the heat from rising out of my underwear. Must be the leather gloves.

I pick up one of his first charge photos. Boy, was he young. He’d been in and out of juvenile detention five times on serious charges before he had even become a man. I wonder what kind of childhood he must have had to be so involved in criminal activities at such a young age? I look at his photo again and try to find some answers in the two-dimensional image.

I set aside the photos with their respective charges, ready to stick up on my corkboard for a timeline.

Taking another sip of my wine, my mind wanders to the image of his muscular arms that burst from the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt, the tattoos that I could see across his forearms, and the way the shirt clung to his round chest. Every time I looked up at him I could just make out the shape of his erect nipples beneath the layer of fine cotton. Then when he took his glove off, finger by finger … fuck me! I think that was what I was literally thinking when he did that. Him fucking me with that leather-clad finger.

Sweet baby Jesus!

A spark of electricity shoots across my body with every image, and my nipples harden against the lace of my bra. I brush my fingertips across them and feel a pulse throb down between my thighs. I wonder what he looks like with his shirt off, and another pulse shoots across me. I slide my hand down the front of my skirt and into my underwear and push against my yearning clit. I rub over it and pulse again. Images of Pacer Fratelli’s seriously seductive smile floods my mind as my hand eases my burning desires for this forbidden fruit. My pebbled nipples beg to be touched and I squeeze them lightly as I imagine Pacer’s tongue flicking across them. I push my fingers hard against myself and just wish it were he, about to drive into me. There is something carnal about my desires for this man, and I am incapable of stopping them. His dominance both scares me and excites me. I felt my heart race when he sniggers. I know how dangerous he is, but there another side to him that I see. I slide two fingers inside, and my internal walls grip tight in a sensual embrace, welcoming the their touch. His smile flashes before my eyes again, and his obnoxious laugh sends me over the edge.

Pacer Fratelli is so bad, but the fantasy of him is sublime. I would never, could never be with someone that is so heavily involved in criminal activity, but the very thought of him … it does this.

What the hell is this?

It’s all too much, and my feverish hands make quick work of my thirsty urges. Fuck, I need to get over this, quick smart. My orgasm pulses deep and spills out across my body in pounding spasms.

My face fills with an instant burn, and a prickly heat springs across me. Perspiration beads glisten on my skin like tiny crystals. I catch my breath and slip my hand out of my underwear. The sudden excitement of Pacer, trapped in my mind, has made light of my yearning to just get laid. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me? I just need a solid fuck. God knows how long it’s actually been. Four, no five … I can’t bring myself to think of how many months it’s been since a man has found his way into my bed.

My poor little puss; she’s so neglected. I give her two pats and laugh at myself.

Those damn leather gloves. I blame them.

I run my free hand through my hair to blow out at the wet strands that have stuck around my lips, and I grab my glass and gulp the remainder of my week-old wine, before flopping back against the couch to collect my thoughts.

Seriously though, what the hell was that?

Pacer Fratelli is my client! A dangerous client. A client I know is a murderer.

I can’t feel like this, but I do.

His smile flashes before my eyes again. Oh my God, would you just leave me the hell alone? I punch my fists down onto the chair on either side of me.

I strip down as I head to the shower, peeling off each layer as if I’m shedding skin and discarding the clothes on the floor with an angry slap. My body is still abuzz post-assault, but at the same time I am pissed off. These thoughts have no place in my mind. They can fuck right off.

A after a good talking to myself in the stream of the cold shower, I throw on my old university sweats, ready to see my night out in front of the coffee table … and all things Pacer Fratelli.

Dangerously hot Pacer Fratelli.

Gah!