GUILTY AS CHARGED
BY HARLOW JAMES
Copyright © 2020 Harlow James
Guilty as Charged
Cover Design: Pink Elephant Designs
Edited by: That Bookish Brunette Literary Services
All rights reserved. No parts of the book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
To my sister, the inspiration behind Sydney and this story, and the lawyer in our family.
I’m so proud of you and what you’ve accomplished, the uphill battle you had to climb when your life didn’t turn out the way you thought it would.
But then you fell in love, and everything else fell into place.
I love you.
“Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.”
Marianne Williamson
Prologue
Javier
Dark wood. Sleek lines. Fluorescent lighting.
Seems all courtrooms look the same. The only comparison I have was to a time so long ago I’d nearly forgotten what to expect.
My knee bounces up and down as I perch forward in my chair, hanging my head between slumped shoulders and clenched fists resting on my thighs.
I knew this was coming. It just came faster than I thought. Between waiting for a court date and my attorney pushing for a trial before the court, only a few months had passed since that night—the night I beat the shit out of a man that more than fucking deserved it.
“You could do less time. You know that, right?” John Russell, my court-appointed attorney turns to me as we wait for the judge to make his decision. One glance up at the bench and he’s back in my face.
“I already told you. It’s not an option. So stop fucking bringing it up.”
He throws his hands in the air, sinking back in his chair as he exhales in defeat. “I can’t believe you’re willing to give up more of your life when there is evidence that could keep you out of prison—hard pressed evidence that could get you off with six months max, plus maybe some community service.”
The poisonous glare I flash him in warning is getting harder to control as the anger from within threatens to spill over. Of course it’s my penchant for anger that landed me in this chair to begin with, anticipating the decision from the man who holds my future in my hands. Although if you asked my attorney, I’m actually the one that’s in control of that.
With one twist of my head over my shoulder, my eyes land on the reason I’m sitting in this chair, the golden eyes identical to mine staring back at me, shedding tears while silently thanking me for protecting her when I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. And even though my sister’s guilt is apparent as well and she begged me to reconsider, I assured her that her privacy and well-being was far more important to me than landing in prison.
Which is exactly where I’m headed.
“Alright, Mr. Montes,” the judge addresses the courtroom as he takes his seat again and shuffles papers across his desk, pulling the attention of both counsels to his bench. He glares at me over the rim of his black-rimmed glasses, the color almost identical to the hair on his head, except for a few grays sprinkled throughout. His tone is demanding and laced with irritation, like I’m making his day less enjoyable just by being in his presence. He furrows his brow further as he studies me from his position atop the room, much like most men of his power look at me—like I’m a parasite, an unwelcome visitor in his realm.
I know what people see when they look at me—olive skin, dark hair, tattoos trailing up and down my arms. I look like a criminal to some, a man with a chip on his shoulder to most, a man that has been working to make something of himself but made a decision one night in the blink of an eye that just shoved him three steps backwards.
And now I get to make the stereotype a reality.
“Is there anything else you’d like to say in your defense? Perhaps a reason why you beat the victimwithin an inch of his life, causing permanent damage to his left ear among his other injuries? Or even that you regret what you did before I lay down your sentence?”
I cast a death glare across the room at the prosecutor, wishing I were glaring at the victim of my actions, a man that I wish I had killed because that’s what he deserves for what he did. But the coward didn’t even have the balls to show up, claiming emotional distress to be in the same room with me. Rumor is Jesus skipped town after he was discharged from the hospital, but still had enough cojones to press assault charges against me, leaving a permanent mark on me and my sister.
“No, Your Honor. I did what I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
With a shake of his head, his jaw tenses and then he stares down at me with a glare of acceptance that maybe I am the man everyone pegs me to be—a criminal with anger issues and a man with no remorse.
“Well, given that there is no
