No, I’m not stupid enough to kill the guy in the middle of the day in a crowded federal courthouse. I’d never put my or Murphy’s freedom at risk by being that reckless.

I do plan to have a chat with the fucker.

He’s washing his hands at the sink and doesn’t even bother to look up when I enter. It’s nice that he’s so carefree and unafraid. Guess no one’s ever terrorized him in his whole miserable life.

That’s about to change.

I’ve obsessed over this for days, but I still allow things to happen organically. More fun for me that way. He glances up and scowls. I guess I look a little menacing in the small space. I widen my stance to increase the threat.

Then I strike.

In a quick movement, I grab him and shove him into one of the bathroom stalls. The space is too small for the door to close behind us, but that’s fine. I don’t need it to.

With one hand, I press his face against the cool tile wall and use my free hand to jam the letter opener into the side of his neck. Not enough to make him bleed or leave a mark that will invite questions, but enough for him to feel the threat.

“Who are you?” he asks, frantically thrashing under me. I allow the weight of my body to sink into him and he squirms. “What? What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” I whisper against his ear. “You’ll enjoy it.”

He struggles even harder. “No. Oh my God. Get off me!”

“What’s wrong? Don’t like it when someone bigger forces himself on you?”

“Stop, please. Please don’t,” he begs.

“Tell me, Senator, do you stop when someone begs you to?”

He goes completely still. “What do you want?”

“I want justice for the actual crimes you’ve committed.”

“I’m on fucking trial!” He sounds so outraged at the indignity of it, I want jam the letter opener in his neck all the way.

No. Lilly and Chance need me. My club needs me. I hang onto my desire to make him bleed by a thin thread. I’m stronger than my base instincts.

“We both know that quid pro quo bullshit is nothing. You pissed off someone higher up and they’re gettin’ even. This whole trial’s a joke. Think hard, Shane. Who else have you hurt?”

“No one!”

I take the letter opener and wave it in front of his eyes. But fuck, who knows how many women he’s violated over his entire career? I highly doubt Lilly was the first. The letter opener might mean nothing to him.

After a beat of silence, he asks in a strangled whisper, “Are you her brother?”

Ahh, maybe he remembers after all. “Nope.”

“Oh, God.”

“Not him either.”

“I didn’t—”