Jensen:: A Military Bad Boy Romance (The Bradford Brothers Book 1) (3 page)

And this chick looks like the total opposite of all of that. Stuck-up and snobby, with a stick up her ass and something to prove all the time, to somebody, for some reason. I know the type, and I stay away from them.

But still. Out of nowhere she surveys the room and locks eyes with me. She has gorgeous blue eyes, like she just got off a plane from some Nordic country as ice cold and steely blue as those eyes of hers. I look back and hold her gaze. Of course I do. I’m no pussy, and even though I wouldn’t date her doesn’t mean I won’t try to fuck her. I don’t “date” anyone, anyway.

She looks like the type with a boring boyfriend or husband at home, but I don’t care. I don’t want a relationship, just some hot sex. She’s probably never had hot sex but there’s always a first time for everything. Just like me winding up in jail for some stupid fight no different than the ones I’ve gotten into since I was a boy, without such humiliating repercussions. No one knows what the future holds.

I decide to make a move. I’ve never been known for my patience.

I approach the table and make up a dumbass excuse to talk to Tim. Of course I do have a valid reason— I’m waiting on my perpetually late attorney— but I know Tim can’t make him appear any faster than I can. I just want an excuse to be closer to this mystery woman.

Tim’s in the middle of telling her that even though she doesn’t have criminal law experience, he can quickly train her.

Great
, I think.
She’s a lawyer. And a newbie at that. I hope they’re not wanting to assign her to my case. I’ll just stick with Dylan— as awful as I’m starting to think he is— or pay some private attorney out of pocket. Money talks, and a new attorney will have to do what I want, not what the VLA has trained him to do.

But damn is she hot
, I think, as Tim introduces us and I shake her hand firmly, the same way I’d like to grab her ass if I weren’t impeded by this orange jumpsuit and my temporary lack of freedom.

I return to the table to continue waiting for Dylan, all the while thinking,
What is
she
doing here?
, instead of only
What am
I
doing here?
I clearly bashed a guy’s skull in to end up here. But she’s like a fish out of water. Why would she want to represent someone like me?

When Dylan finally arrives and I jump to the front of the line to meet him, he takes me back to the attorney/ client conference room and I can’t help but look back at Riley one more time. My curiosity gets the better of me and I wink at her. She looks pleased.

If I weren’t in jail I’d have her in bed by tonight
, I think, as I reluctantly enter the room with Dylan and kiss all hopes of fucking Fancy Lawyer Lady goodbye.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jensen,” says Dylan, as he sits down at the small wooden table in the conference room.

“You too,” I tell him, although I want to add,
I was beginning to think you’d never show up
.

Instead, I say, “I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

“I know you’re nervous about your arraignment. Everyone always is,” Dylan says. “But don’t worry. I have full faith that you’ll be out of here as soon as that hearing is over.”

“It’s not that. I’ve been needing to talk to you about my case.”

Again, I let unspoken thoughts remain unspoken. Unspoken thoughts like:
You’ve said some things I’m not too fond of, and I want to set you straight.

Even though Dylan has been assigned to represent me for free, I know that doesn’t mean I have to go along with everything he says. I’m free to fire him and have another lawyer assigned, or to hire one out of my own pocket.

Which is fine because it’s not like I’m hurting for money. I just want to make sure my lawyer listens to me and defends my case the way
I
want it to be defended.

“Jensen, we don’t have a lot of time. We need to go out there and tell the judge we’re ready for your arraignment hearing to be called…”

“I understand,” I tell him, and stop there instead of finishing with
that you’re in a rush and you’re shuffling through my case as one of many
. “But this is important to me. When we first met you mentioned using a PTSD defense and I said I wasn’t that into it.”

“Uh huh,” Dylan says absent- mindedly as he flips through my file, highlighting something.

“But what I should have said is that I really do not want you to use that defense. The more I’ve had time to think about it— and thinking is about the only thing I get to do in here— the more certain I am. I don’t have PTSD. I’m not crazy.”

“Jensen,” Dylan says, looking straight into my eyes. “A PTSD diagnosis does not mean ‘crazy.’”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I sigh, frustrated.

Crazy is burning everything my dad ever owned in front of me, simply because I mentioned his name. Simply because I was mad at her for leaving him— for leaving us. My mom is crazy. I’m not crazy. But any kind of official diagnosis is too close for comfort for me. I’m not anything like my mom, and I never will be.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” I try to explain to Dylan. “I just mean that everyone thinks that anyone who has been to war has PTSD, and that’s just not always the case—”

“Jensen, you haven’t only been to war. You’ve seen traumatic and life- altering things there. You’ve experienced very bad things.”

“So has everyone who has been to war,” I say, exacerbated beyond belief at this point. “But it doesn’t mean I have PTSD.”

“It’s the best defense anyway,” Dylan says, perplexed. “If it helps you, you should use it. Not resist it.”

“Dylan. I’m serious. I want you to just defend the case and please don’t give me some PTSD diagnosis along with a potential criminal record.”

“Fine. Okay Jensen.” But he doesn’t say it very convincingly. “But today’s hearing has nothing to do with any of that. You’re just pleading guilty and bail is being set, or not. In your case, as I’ve said, I highly suspect it won’t be. You’ll walk out free until your next hearing date. And then we’ll have plenty of time to talk defense strategy.”

He signals the guard to let the judge know we’re ready.

“All right.”
Just like we had plenty of time to talk today.
“I just wanted to make sure I clarified my position with you.”

“Understood.”

We enter the small courtroom where the judge holds arraignment and bail hearings in the jail. She reads my charges and Dylan introduces himself, as does an assistant district attorney.

“How does the defendant plead?” asks the judge.

“My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor,” Dylan says.

“And as for bail?”

“Mr. Bradford committed a heinous battery,” says the assistant district attorney. “He mercifully pummeled an innocent man. As you can tell by his size, and I’d also note that he has specialized military training during the course of his Special Operations work in the Air Force, it was not at all what you could characterize as an ‘even fight’…”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Dylan interjects. “Mr. Bradford is not on trial today. And of course he has defenses to this charge, which was unfairly brought and of which he is innocent. He should be released on his own recognizance. He’s never been convicted of any crime. And he’s an upstanding member of the community.”

That part makes me have to try hard to refrain from snorting out loud. Apparently someone who kills for a living is considered an upstanding member of the community when it comes time to set bail on their assault and battery charge. But if that’s what being conferred “veterans’ status” brings with it, I guess I’ll take it.

“Excuse me, Your Honor,” interrupts the assistant district attorney, “but Mr. Bradford is not the angel that the defense is painting him as. He’s had criminal arrests stemming from being a runaway teenager with truancy issues and some minor breaking and entering charges, and he’s gotten into some trouble while he was in the military…”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Dylan interrupts right back. “Those are juvenile records that have been sealed. And Mr. Bradford’s military history has nothing to do with civil court. He was honorably discharged after years of faithful service, in hostile war zones. The prosecution is just trying to fling mud and see what sticks, but none of this is relevant here.”

“I agree,” says the judge. “Move along to the bail portion of this hearing, please.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that my past hasn’t truly caught up with me. I’m still getting away with things. I’m still coming out on top, although this is the most “upside down” I’ve ever been.

“Mr. Bradford was born and raised in Albuquerque and he has family in the area,” Dylan continues. He looks down at the part of my file he had highlighted earlier. “A mother and two brothers.”
She’s not much of a mother
. “And he works for a private contractor training new recruits at Kirtland Air Force Base, to do the same kind of pararescue work that he himself did while in the military. If he is forced to remain behind bars, the military will suffer. It needs Mr. Bradford’s skill and expertise.”

“Then perhaps he shouldn’t have beat up a…” begins the assistant district attorney, but the judge cuts him off.

“That’s enough, counsel. Mr. Bradford, you are free to go on your own recognizance but you must report back for a pre-trial conference and for all other hearings in this case. Your terms of release are as follows. Until this case is tried you are to avoid alcohol and establishments that sell liquor; you are to avoid illegal drugs; you are to avoid all contact with the alleged victim; you are not to use any firearms or weapons; you are to seek or maintain employment; and you are not to travel outside of the state without prior permission of this Court. Do you understand?”

“Your Honor, we have a clarification question,” says Dylan. “With regard to maintaining employment, and not using firearms or weapons.”

“Yes?”

“As I mentioned previously, my client works for a military contractor and his job involves training new recruits…”

“Oh yes, counselor. Let the record reflect that the defendant may only use weapons or firearms as necessary and pertinent to his employment. Do you understand this and all other conditions of your release, Mr. Bradford?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“You will wait in the holding cell until you are called to be discharged. We are adjourned.”