“So, am I representing you?” “Do I have a choice?” “Not if you want to stay out of prison.” “Fuck.” Reaching up with my still-cuffed hands to scratch my nose, I pointed to the stack of paperwork in front of him. “Is that all about me?” “Every page,” he replied, pushing the stack toward me. “Front and back.” Shoulders slumping in defeat, I leaned back in my chair and studied him. “Why are you helping me?” “Why did you hit the Ryan boy?” I shrugged. “He had it coming.” “Try again.” I met his unyielding stare, before blowing out a breath and mumbling, “You clearly already know why.” “Indulge me.”
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