The door burst open with such force that it rattled the two-way mirror on the opposite wall. Sarah stormed in, her boots pounding against the linoleum, Officer Diaz right behind her, his face twisted in barely contained rage.

The air in the room shifted instantly, thick with tension and the kind of fury that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But I didn't move. I didn't react. I just leaned back in my chair, my fingers steepled, my smirk firmly in place, letting Lorena handle the storm.

Lorena stood with the kind of effortless grace that screamed power, her blazer hugging her curves as she moved. She didn't rush. She didn't raise her voice. She just turned to face Sarah, her voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel.

"I'm sorry to say this, Officer Sarah," she began, her tone cool, measured, "but you don't have an arrest warrant." She reached out, tapping the file on the table with one long, manicured nail, the sound sharp in the heavy silence.

"And you don't have any crucial evidence that directly links my client to murder." Her gaze locked onto Sarah's, unflinching.

"You also brought him here in handcuffs—which, as you well know, is against protocol when the individual in question is merely a suspect, not a convicted criminal." She paused, letting the words sink in, her voice dropping to a darker, more dangerous tone.

"So if we wanted to, Mr. Reynolds could press charges against you for unlawful detention and violation of his rights."

Sarah's face flushed a deep, angry red, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Lawyer Lorena," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained fury, "this piece of shit is a murderer. He's a psychopath." She jabbed a finger in my direction, her eyes wild with rage. "He killed people. He enjoys it. And you're just going to let him walk?!"

Diaz stepped forward, his voice a low, venomous growl. "You're letting a killer go free," he snarled, his eyes burning with hatred. "He's dangerous. He's unhinged. And you're protecting him?"

Sarah's breath came fast, her chest rising and falling with fury. "You know he's guilty," she hissed, her voice raw with frustration. "You know what he's done. And you're still defending him?!"

Lorena's lips curled into a cold, professional smile. "Knowing and proving are two very different things, Officer," she said, her voice dripping with finality. "And right now, you have nothing but your personal vendetta."

She closed the file with a sharp snap, the sound echoing in the tense silence. "If you want to question my client again, you'll need an arrest warrant. And actual evidence." Her gaze flicked to Diaz, then back to Sarah. "Until then, Mr. Reynolds walks. Freely."

Sarah's hands clenched tighter, her knuckles turning white. "This isn't over," she growled, her voice a low, dangerous snarl.

Lorena didn't react. She just met Sarah's glare with a calm, unshakable stare. "No," she agreed, her voice smooth, "it's not. But right now, you have nothing. And unless you want my client to file a lawsuit against this department for unlawful detention, I suggest you let him go."

The silence that followed was electric, thick with tension and the kind of fury that could ignite the room. Sarah's glare burned into me, but I just met it with a lazy, amused smirk. She knew she'd lost. Lorena had just dismantled her entire case in front of her, piece by piece, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Diaz let out a frustrated growl, his hands balling into fists. "This is bullshit," he snapped, his voice trembling with rage. "He's a killer. And you're just going to let him walk?"

Lorena turned to him, her expression cool, her voice cutting through his anger like a blade. "Officer Diaz," she said, her tone icy, "if you have evidence, present it. If you have a warrant, use it. Until then, my client is free to go." She gestured toward the door, her gaze never wavering. "Unless, of course, you'd like to add unlawful detention to your list of alleged crimes."

Sarah's breath came in sharp, angry bursts, her eyes flicking between Lorena and me. "You're making a mistake," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "You're letting a monster walk free."

Lorena didn't flinch. She just met Sarah's glare with a calm, unshakable stare. "I'm doing my job, Officer," she said, her voice steady, "just like you should be doing yours."

She turned to me, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Reynolds," she said, her voice smooth, "you're free to go."

I stood, stretching my arms behind my head, my grin widening as I met Sarah's furious gaze. "Always a pleasure, Officer," I purred, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time, bring a warrant."

Diaz let out a low, furious growl, but Sarah just stood there, her body trembling with rage, her eyes burning into me like she wanted to set me on fire. "This isn't over," she snarled, her voice a dark promise.

I chuckled, my voice low and amused. "I hope not," I said, my smirk turning wicked. "I do love a good rematch."

The night air was thick with tension as Lorena and I stepped out of the police station, the hum of the city a distant murmur against the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. My eyes immediately locked onto the sleek, black Aston Martin parked under the flickering glow of a streetlamp, its polished curves reflecting the neon signs of the surrounding buildings.

I let out a low, appreciative whistle, my smirk deepening as I turned to Lorena. "Lawyer Lorena," I said, my voice smooth as aged whiskey, "can I trouble you for a ride?"

She didn't even glance at me, just pressed the unlock button on her key fob with a practiced flick of her wrist. The car's lights flashed in response, and the soft click of the doors unlocking echoed in the quiet night. "Yeah," she said, her voice casual but laced with amusement, "why not?"

I watched as she slid into the driver's seat, her movements fluid and controlled, her skirt riding up just enough to reveal the tops of her stockings—black, lace, fucking tempting.

My pulse kicked up as I took a second to appreciate the view before opening the passenger door and sinking into the buttery soft leather. The interior smelled like her—rich, dark, intoxicating—and I inhaled deeply, my smirk turning predatory.

But before I could shut the door, a sharp, furious voice cut through the night.

"JACK!"

I turned, my eyebrows lifting in mock surprise as Sarah stormed toward me, her boots pounding against the pavement with the kind of rage that made the air around her vibrate.

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