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CHAPTER TWO

The interview room was stark, containing only a metal table and two chairs, beneath fluorescent lights flickering annoyingly overhead. Sean Lancaster sat cuffed, his knuckles scraped, his orange jumpsuit wrinkled and stained. Yet, he sat leaning back in his chair with the bored air of a dinner guest politely enduring a story he’d already heard twice.

He turned when the heavy steel door swung open with a petulant groan. In strode Casper.

The man was sharp-edged perfection; six feet of lean muscle wrapped in a midnight-blue suit that hugged every line of his body.

The white shirt underneath was open at the collar, just enough to show a strip of tanned skin. Sean’s eyes snagged at the curl of dark hair along its edge.

“Jesus,” Sean breathed, straightening in his seat without meaning to.

This guy had a jaw that looked carved out of stone, rough with stubble that should’ve made him look unpolished, but somehow it didn’t, which just made things worse. Or better. Whatever.

And his eyes.

Yeah, whoever this guy was, those eyes were gonna be a problem. Those sharp blues locked onto Sean like he’d already figured him out whether he liked it or not.

Sean held the look a second, then another, before he remembered he really should be breathing.

His hair was a mess, dark and all over the place, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times or just didn’t care enough to fix it.

Sean had the sudden, unhelpful thought that he’d like to make it worse.

And ok yeah, he should probably stop staring at his mouth like an idiot. But fuck those lips…

Sean’s hands twitched against the cold metal table watching him move into the room like a predator. Every step screamed control, confidence, and something so fucking dangerous.

As Casper set a sleek leather briefcase down with a soft thud, Sean noticed his hands. His fingers were strong and long, and sent a jolt straight to Sean’s cock. He dropped into the seat opposite Sean and the faint scent of something expensive—sandalwood, maybe, mixed with a hint of wood smoke—drifted off him. Sean breathed it in despite himself, making his pulse kick hard against his ribs.

“Sean Lancaster,” Casper said.

The voice hit Sean square in the chest. It was rough, like whiskey poured over broken glass. His name in that mouth felt like foreplay. He leaned forward as he spoke it, elbows on the table, close enough that Sean could see the faint flecks of silver, like starlight, in those endless blue eyes. Sean’s gaze dropped to Casper’s full and infuriatingly kissable lips.

The space between them crackled, forcing Sean to shift in his seat, his unforgiving jumpsuit hiding nothing.

Casper smirked, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and Sean felt caught between wanting to punch that smug beautiful face and wanting to drag him across the table to find out how all that stubble felt against his skin.

“And you are?” Sean asked with feigned calm.

“Casper Malak, your attorney, as of twenty minutes ago.”

“Huh. You don’t look like the Public Defender type. You look like you bill by the hour and don’t return calls. But damn, counselor, if I’d known they were sending me an angel, I’d have gotten arrested sooner.”

Casper didn’t smile, not really.

“I am not from the Public Defender’s office. I’m with the firm Malak, Mercer, and Vale. I’m taking your case, pro bono.”

“Why?” Sean asked, studying Casper’s face.

Casper didn’t answer. He opened a thin leather folder, glancing briefly at the documents inside before lifting his gaze again. Then silence as he studied Sean for a long beat—too long.

“You reading my file or my face?” Sean asked sarcastically.

“They’re remarkably similar—complicated, and colorful, yet frustratingly vague.”

“Flattered. You flirt with all your clients, or just the ones in cuffs?”

There was a glimmer of something in Casper’s expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. No… restraint.

He flipped a page. “You’re accused of murder. You have no alibi, but also no motive. However, they have your fingerprints on the murder weapon, and a witness who can place you at the scene around the time of the crime. As though that weren’t enough, you have an established pattern of unsavory behavior…petty crimes, bar fights…Makes the DA’s office think they can make these charges stick.”

“So, should I start picking out wallpaper, get comfortable?”

“I don’t think that at all,” Casper said.

“And what do you think?”

Casper looked up, their eyes locking. Sean’s green eyes were defeated, bruised with exhaustion. Casper’s were ocean-deep and cold, until they weren’t.

“I think you don’t believe you will walk out of here.”

Sean didn’t answer. He didn’t look away, either.

“What outcome do you expect if you aren’t going to take this seriously?” Casper asked.

Sean shrugged. “Hell if I know, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting… you.”

“What did you expect?”

“I was expecting a troll from the Public Defender’s office.” Sean smirked. “Someone easier to lie to.”

Casper closed the file. “Here’s how this is going to work: you’re going to tell me everything. The truth, no riddles. No bullshit. I’ll decide if you’re worth saving.”

“And if I am?”

Casper responded without hesitation.

“Then I’ll burn the world down to do it.”

There was the tiniest shift in Sean’s posture, like something deep inside him uncoiled.

“You’re really not what I expected,” Sean said in a near whisper.

Casper stood. “Good.” He walked to the door and just before he knocked to have it opened—

“Hey, Cas?”

Casper turned, an eyebrow raised at the easy familiarity. “Yes?”

“You fuck me over… I’ll make you disappear so clean even your trust fund won’t know where to start looking,” Sean said with a bravado that didn’t quite land.

Casper studied him for a second, then smiled, the first real one.

“I’ll be back to take your statement. And in the meantime, Lancaster, start believing you deserve to be saved.”

The door clicked shut, and Sean leaned back again, watching it. And inexplicably, for the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel so alone.