Due Process

1. Silas

1

Silas

Silas didn’t give two shits he’d stabbed some douchebag to death with a butcher knife, but Boston’s PD sure as f**k did.

On a Thursday afternoon, he sat in an interrogation room rather than his personal office, waiting for the questions to begin. Goosebumps rose across his skin from the chill. Having been covered in blood earlier that morning, he’d been stripped of clothing for evidence and had been allowed to dress in old gym clothes from a bag in his Mercedes’ trunk.

Even though he’d made the 911 call to inform the authorities about the break-in and how he’d defended himself, he still got a luxurious ride in the back of a cruiser—cuffs and all.

While he hadn’t been arrested, a body lay in a pool of blood on his sister’s kitchen floor, and Silas wore a bit of the dried splatter across his face that had sprayed from the fucker’s neck after the killing stab.

He’d deserved what he got—

The heavy door pulled open, and a single detective entered.

“Just a reminder that these rooms are recorded,” the detective said, sitting down across from Silas, his eyes as cold as his tone. “Would you state your name for the record.”

“Silas Barlowe.”

“And I’m Detective Marsh who you met earlier at your sister’s house.” The detective spouted off the date and time before settling into silence as he looked Silas over.

Silas didn’t twitch beneath the man’s steady stare. He’d learned long ago to not show weakness when doing business, and he refused to see his current situation as anything outside the norm.

“Tell us what happened today.”

Not allowing himself to suck oxygen into his lungs to steel his nerves, Silas launched into his tale, a firm grasp on his emotions and adrenaline-crashed body. “I went to my sister’s instead of my office this morning to fix her kitchen drain. The front door opened about five minutes after she left for work, so I called out to tease her about forgetting something which she’s always doing. Grace didn’t answer, and heavy footsteps alerted me to the fact it wasn’t my sister.”

The detective leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his face blank, but Silas could tell the guy didn’t believe a word of his story. He’d have one hell of a time proving otherwise though.

“I got up,” Silas continued, “rounded the island to find out who the f**k was in her house, and that’s when the guy entered the kitchen with a g*n. I managed to grab his wrist, the g*n clattered to the ground, and fists started flying. Fucker wasn’t that big, but he held his own enough I feared for my life.”

Silas pointed at his eye which hadn’t fully swelled shut but hurt like a b***h from the fucker’s granite knuckles. “So I grabbed a knife from the butcher block and stabbed him in the gut. The guy was like a raging bull—kept coming at me no matter how much I managed to s***h him until we ended up on the floor. I got lucky and had a clear target at his neck, so I took the opportunity.”

Not one ounce of regret lined Silas’s voice, but considering what the guy had broken into his sister’s house for, Silas wouldn’t ever feel bad about ending his life.

“Once he quit fighting, I called 911. You know the rest.”

Detective Asshole/Marsh had been the first on the scene and studied him in silence a few moments.

Silas didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash.

“Now tell me the truth.”

“That was the truth,” Silas didn’t hesitate to reply.

The detective pulled his cell from his back pocket, giving Silas a reprieve from the inquisitive stare, but Silas didn’t slump, didn’t let out a heavy exhale to release tension from his shoulders.

No. Silas Barlowe knew how to keep steady and portray confidence even when under fire. As the CEO of a prominent acquisitions firm and having been trained by his father—the best in the business—Silas’s devious side was honed to perfection.

He sat unmoved, feigning an unaffected nature. Calm, cool, and collected in the midst of the s**t he’d gotten himself into.

Wasn’t the first time he’d landed in trouble. Probably wouldn’t be the last. His temper sometimes overcame his better senses…

Lips in a thin line, the detective shoved his cell back into his pocket and leaned forward onto the table, arms crossing. “You’re aware your sister has security cameras?”

No glint lit the detective’s eyes, no excitement of having one-upped Silas.

Telling as f**k.

“Of course I’m aware,” Silas replied, suppressing his smirk. “I paid for the installation. The evidence is there to prove my story.”

“The footage would suggest otherwise.”

Silas easily held in his snort at the bullshit line. Detective Marsh—definitely an asshole—thought to lie and trip Silas up. Once the detective went off the straight and narrow, Silas lost his desire to be helpful.

There was only one reply he would grace the detective with. “I’d like to call my lawyer, Noah Madden of Madden Law.”

Detective Marsh’s already thin lips firmed, but he didn’t argue or badger. The law prohibited him from doing so.

“Phone?” he snapped out, and Silas rattled off Noah’s office number.

Seconds later, the door slammed behind the detective, and Silas settled in for another wait, not the least bit concerned.

Minutes ticked by, and no one entered to ask if he wanted something to drink or a blanket. Enough time lapsed that Silas quit trying to keep from shivering, and he wrapped his arms around his core. He closed his eyes, reliving every minute of the day in vivid detail—and he also went over the story he’d told, word for word in his brain.

The truth as everyone would know it.

There would be no evidence to prove otherwise.

Grace had been protected, and Silas took great satisfaction in being there yet again for his little sister. The only person on the face of the earth who loved him unconditionally. The only one he’d been able to rely on.

Ever.

He supposed a day would come when a good man would take his place in her heart, but even then, Silas would always have her back.

No matter what.

No matter when.

No matter who he needed to end.

Having done it once, he’d do it again—without a second thought.

The door handle clicked, and Silas opened his eyes.

He’d expected Noah himself, so a glance at the stranger entering the room furrowed his brow.

Five-seven at the most—a damn kid for f**k’s sake—posh and freshly pressed…designer suit…pink shirt a shade too flashy. Clean-shaven square jaw like those boys on a Gucci runway…fuller upper lip that appeared bee-stung. Perfectly formed nose. Strawberry-blond hair.

And striking pale blue eyes that caught Silas’s breath.

A waft of sweetness, almost feminine, swept over him as he drew near.

Silas didn’t give the detective behind the young man a glance as he strode forward with assurance, a cocky tilt to his head.

The first-ever male to catch Silas’s eye and a surge of adrenaline sent blood rushing to his d**k. Perhaps he wasn’t as hetero as he’d thought—but the kid was pretty enough Silas’s d**k didn’t care what he hid in his pants.

“Troy Emerson.” The kid stuck out his hand. Smooth. Manicured. f*****g clear polish. “I’m a new associate attorney at Madden Law.”

“Where’s Noah?” Silas asked, reaching to accept the offer of his hand.

“Court.”

Their palms clasped, static electricity racing up Silas’s arm and pulsing sudden need through him, but he remained outwardly unaffected.

Troy sucked in a quiet, quick inhale, and Silas allowed his slow smile, the flash of interest to show in his eyes to let Troy know he wasn’t the only one dealing with insta-l**t and blood swelling in his groin.

Silas never had a man before, hadn’t once considered getting up close and personal with another d**k, but he wasn’t averse to Troy. Every inch of his pale skin marked up from Silas’s fingertips and mouth seemed like a damn good idea. Time well spent.

Troy tugged his hand away from Silas’s firm grasp and settled into the chair beside him, sending a flood of his scent up into Silas’s nose.

Sweet as f*****g honey.

Silas’s mouth watered, his d**k going hard as granite. He didn’t care if Troy stood or sat to take a piss. He just wanted to yank on the slightly wavy hair atop his head, taste his lips, and drink down his whimpers while Silas ravished him.

Strikingly beautiful, Troy could easily become an obsession.

Silas hadn’t been antsy to get the f**k out of there until that moment. He wanted Troy alone, to do all sorts of nasty s**t to him, ethics be damned—

“Is our client being charged?” Troy asked with a firm tone, snapping Silas back to the present situation he’d created for himself.

At least the kid didn’t waste time or breath and sounded as confident as his attire suggested.

Why did that fact thrill the f**k out of Silas’s d**k?

The detective eyed Silas, his cold stare still intact, but a twitch of his lip let Silas know he wasn’t pleased. “As of right now, no,” the detective finally answered the lawyer’s question.

“Then he’s free to go.” Troy got up without hesitation.

Silas mirrored his movements and towered over the little lawyer by a good six inches. Troy could have been an elf with how willowy and gracefully he moved across the room. Hot on his heels, Silas filled his lungs, discretely tucking his interested d**k in the waistband of his mesh shorts. At least his T-shirt covered the leaking tip peeking out at the top.

“Stay in town, Mr. Barlowe,” the detective stated from behind them as someone opened the door to let them pass. “And be available for further questioning.”

Silas didn’t bother replying, his snort and good luck only inside his head. He’d taken out the trash, and it was time to deal with the adrenaline still coursing through his bloodstream that desperately needed an outlet.