InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Breaking the Rules ( Chapter 11 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"You know, there's a damn good chance that she's gonna hang you by your balls for that . . ."

Evan shot Bone a cheeky grin.  "You think so?  That'd mean she'd have to touch 'em, you know."

Bone Brauerton slowly shook his head.  The huge man was the head of Evan's security team—as though he actually needed one—but he was a rock star, and he had to keep up appearances, didn't he?  And Bone took his job seriously, or at least as seriously as a guy nicknamed after the physical state of his penis could, anyway . . . "Gotta tell you, Roka, I really don't think that you'd like it nearly as much as you seem to think you would."

"Eh, it's all good," Evan argued with a shrug.  "How do I look?"

Bone rolled his eyes.  "Like Hugh Heffner," he said, removing the bright red pimp's hat he always wore—the one with the snowy white ostrich feather sticking out of the stark white silk band.  "God rest his immortal soul . . . May a little bit of Heff live on in each and every one o' us sinners . . ."

Evan's grin widened.  "Yeah?  You think?"

"Yeah.  You about ready?  You're supposed to be there in an hour, and it's on the other side of the city . . ."

Evan heaved a sigh and idly scratched his silk-clad ass.  "All right; all right.  Jesus, Bone . . . Quit nagging me already . . ."

Bone tilted his shoulder and flexed his huge arms.  They'd met years ago when Evan was still in elementary school.  Back then, though, Bone had gone by his real name—something that Bone would probably break Evan's legs for mentioning now, and that was all right.  It was Evan's considerable opinion that 'Bone' fit him much better, anyway . . . Bone's parents had just moved to Maine from Idaho or some odd shit.  The entire family was buffalo-youkai—very large buffalo-youkai—and Evan had thought that Bone was the funniest guy he'd ever met . . . "Don't fuck with me, little man—Oo-rah!" he warned seconds before he broke into a wide grin.  "Whatcha think?"

Evan chuckled as he fussed with the gaudy paisley fuchsia cravat.  "Ni-i-i-ice . . . been working out again?"

"Eh-h-h," Bone drawled.  "C'mon, Zelig.  Get a-movin', will ya?"

Evan heaved a sigh and adjusted his shoulders under the black silk brocade smoking jacket.  "I dunno.  I look respectable, don't I?"

Bone snorted but didn't answer as he led the way out of the house.


Valerie tapped her foot and glanced at her watch as she waited outside the courtroom for the miscreant rock star.  She'd called him twenty minutes ago, only to be told that he was on his way.  It wasn't much of a consolation, all things considered . . .

'If he's late, I swear I'll kill him . . .'

She sighed, refraining from rubbing her forehead in a completely exasperated sort of way.

Bad enough she'd had to spend nearly every waking minute of her time with him since she'd taken the case a few weeks ago, but somehow that man had managed to talk her into having dinner with him, too, and then the whole free the fishes incident?

Valerie almost smiled—almost.  'Okay,' she reluctantly admitted, 'so that was fun . . .'

Of course, it wasn't nearly as much fun the next morning when she was rudely awakened by the prodding of a police man's nightstick against the small of her back.  They'd actually fallen asleep in Central Park, much to her embarrassment, and if that weren't bad enough, she'd had a hangover to beat all hangovers, too . . .

And Zel, bastard that he was, just laughed and told the cop that he hadn't been sleeping at all, so she was the only one who had actually broken the law on that count.  That the glib rock star was able to talk the cop out of giving her a citation for it . . . well, that just figured, too, didn't it?

She sighed and checked her watch again.  'If he's not here in the next two minutes, I swear that I'll—'

She heard him long before she saw him, and no small wonder, really, considering he was being escorted up the wide marble staircase by a full entourage of security, including the really huge black man that Valerie had seen a few times, most recently during the Central Park incident, as she had started referring to that night—his manager, the woman she'd briefly been introduced to as Dahlia, his press secretary, and about twenty-five reporters and photographers who were snapping pictures left and right and generally making a nuisance of themselves.  The documents she'd looked over had expressly forbidden the press from having access to the courthouse.  Apparently, security hadn't gotten that message, though . . . Then again, considering who it was, she couldn't say that she was surprised, either.  As much as she hated to admit as much, Zel Roka was probably the biggest rock star on the planet . . .

'Oh, God, it's a three-ring circus . . .' she thought with an inward groan.

And then she caught sight of what he was wearing, and her temper exploded.  Black silk pants, white socks with black thong-slippers, an obnoxious black silk brocade smoking jacket with electric blue lapels and tied belt, and the most hideous fuchsia paisley silk cravat, of all things . . .

"Mr. Roka, were you under the influence of anything illegal when the car you were driving struck Mr. Matthis' truck?" one reported yelled over the din.

With a sigh, Valerie strode forward, shoving her way into the midst of the throng.  "Mr. Roka won't be answering any of your questions.  Thank you," she stated in a tone that broke no room for argument.

"Well, hey, baby!" he greeted happily.

She glanced at him, then did a double take.  Aqua eyes today, and flaming red hair.  She sighed and shook her head, wondering why she'd ever honestly believed him when he'd promised—promised—that he'd wear what she'd told him to wear . . . "What the hell are you wearing?" she hissed in his ear.

That damned grin of his widened.  "It's a suit, sweetheart."

She narrowed her eyes and wondered if he could see steam escaping her ears . . . "It is not a suit, you odious man.  It's—"

His soft chuckle—how could she hear it over the din the reporters were making, she'd never know, but she did—cut her off.  "I told you that I'd wear a suit," he said.  "But that one you brought me was too fucking small . . .  By the by, V . . . Did you reconsider my proposition?"

She rubbed her forehead.  "What proposition, Mr. Roka?" she asked, only paying half-attention since she was having unpleasant visions of the headlines that were bound to appear after that man's perverse display.

He snorted but laughed.  "About marrying me, of course!"

She blinked and shot him an incredulous look.  "Don't be stupid!" she snapped.

"Aw, fine, but you coulda played along until after the hearing, don't you think?  If I break into a torrent of heartbroken tears in there, they might get the wrong idea," he teased.

She heaved a sigh and wondered if the judge would remove her from the case if she beat the hell out of her client before they entered the courtroom . . . Given Zel Roka's disrepute, she highly doubted it . . . "All right; I'll bite.  Where the hell did you get that . . . that . . ." she trailed off, waving her hands at his alleged 'suit'.

That damned grin widened.  "Well, Bone, o' course!  Loaned it to me."

She snorted indelicately as Mike and Dahlia shooed the reporters away though in actuality, they weren't listening to the two nearly as much as they were being forced to retreat by another force, entirely.  'Bone' was standing with his very broad back to them with his arms outstretched as he slowly moved forward, effectively herding the reporters back, though if he weren't careful, he'd likely walk them right down the stairs the hard way . . . The odds that the 'suit'—and she used that term very lightly—was Bone's was entirely laughable since it fit Zel well enough, and he was a good foot shorter than the man in question—and quite a bit less bulky on the whole, too . . .  Of course, she might just consider herself lucky that the blasted man hadn't borrowed the head of security's hideously red hat, too . . . "Mr. Roka—"

She was cut off when the courtroom doors opened and the bailiff leaned out, glancing around until his gaze found Valerie.  "Counselor Denning?  Judge Lister's ready for you."

She winced inwardly.  Sparing a moment to glance at her client, the wince shifted into a low groan of absolute despair.

Why, oh why, did she just know that this preliminary hearing was going to be one of the biggest fiascos in the history of common law . . . ever . . .?


Evan bit the inside of his cheek and tried—really tried—not to laugh outright as he followed Valerie out of the courtroom, only to be greeted by a bevy of reporters that had managed to elude the courthouse's security.  The frazzled attorney spun around faster than he could blink, slapping him in rapid succession in the center of his chest as the very precarious rein she'd had on her glorious temper, snapped.

"Damn you; damn you; damn you; damn you!" she growled, her face growing redder by the second as he broke down in helpless laughter.  "What the hell is wrong with you?  Can't you take anything seriously?" she blasted.

Evan tried to curb his laughter; he really did.  It didn't work, but he did try . . . "S-S-Sorry, V," he choked out, vaguely aware of the camera flashes that were chronicling this very inopportune moment.  "But you asked if there was anything else that I needed to tell you—"

She heaved a sigh and opened her mouth to continue her gripe-fest, only to stop short when she realized a moment too late that the photographers were having a field day, snapping pictures of Zel Roka, being attacked by his lawyer.  After muttering a few choice curses, she grabbed his arm and dragged him straight through the paparazzi with all the authority of an army general, herding him into a small meeting room nearby.

"Hell, that was pretty good," Evan drawled as she closed the door.  "You want a job on my security team?"

"Shut up!" she snapped, gripping her forehead in her fingertips and rubbing furiously.  "Why—why—can't you be normal?" she almost whined.

Evan pressed his lips together since he highly doubted that she'd appreciate his amusement at the moment . . .

Okay, so he probably should feel a little bad for flustering her.  Thing was, well, he didn't.  Who'd'a thought that a woman like her would get rattled just because he'd casually mentioned that he wasn't wearing underpants, anyway?  Hell, she really should have known that, shouldn't she?

'That's not what did it, dumbass,' his youkai pointed out in an almost lazy sort of drawl.  'It was that you kept brushing her ear with your lips when you told her.'

He really couldn't help the little grin that surfaced at that.  Damn, she'd smelled too fucking good not to lean in closer . . . 'Course, he'd nearly whined when he did get a good whiff of her, but that was completely beside the point . . .

She intercepted the smile and narrowed her eyes dangerously.  Evan tried to make it go away.  Damned if it worked, though . . .

"If you laugh again, you can find yourself another attorney," she gritted out.

Somehow, he managed to choke back the chuckles.  "You know, I really had nothing at all to do with you asking the judge why he wasn't wearing underpants," Evan pointed out innocently—too innocently.

She growled.  She actually broke into a throaty little growl that was just sexier than all hell, in Evan's estimation.  He had half a mind to tell her so and to pull the smoking jacket back enough for her to see that the simple little noise was more than enough to send him straight to boner-hell, but he figured that she wouldn't appreciate it at the moment, given the situation . . .

True enough, she'd muttered to him as the proceedings got underway if there was anything else that he thought she ought to know, and Evan, who wasn't sure exactly what she meant, had leaned in to tell her that he wasn't wearing underpants.  Unfortunately, Judge Lister—Evan found out quickly enough that the man didn't have any sort of sense of humor in any part of his upper-asscrack body, either—had just asked Valerie if the defendant had any questions regarding his rights when she stood up and demanded to know exactly why 'he' wasn't wearing underpants.

So, Judge Lister, after turning about ten shades of red that bordered on purple, had informed the Counsel for the Defendant that it was—quote—none of her business, what sort of undergarments the judge was wearing, if he was wearing any, at all—end quote—along with a dire warning that Valerie was toeing the line, as far as he was concerned, with facing charges of her own in the way of contempt of court . . .

She let out a deep breath and sank into the nearest chair, planting her elbows on the table as she continued to rub her forehead.  "Please . . . please . . . can't you please at least pretend that you have an ounce of common sense?  This judge isn't a joke, Mr. Roka.  He will lock you up and throw away the key—then have a party to celebrate."

Evan wrinkled his nose and heaved a thoroughly put-out kind of sigh.  "No one understands me," he whined.

Valerie rolled her eyes.  "Oh, don't even go there, Zel," she muttered.

He shot her a very petulant little pout.  It didn't work, but then, he hadn't figured that it would.

"And another thing," she went on, slapping her hand on the table as she shot to her feet, the light of irritation sparking in her gaze yet again.

'God, God, God, she's so fucking hot, I can't stand it . . .'

'Down, boy,' his youkai reprimanded.

'Aw, hell . . .'

"If you're ever tempted to speak in court again, please remember not to do it!"

He really couldn't help the grin that broke over his features at that reminder . . .

"Were you driving the car, Mr. Roka?" Judge Lister had asked just after he'd read the charges levied against him.

"Well, if that's what the fuzz said, then I musta been," he replied before Valerie could stop him.

"Then why are we here again?" the harried judge had asked.

Evan shrugged off-handedly and lifted his feet to rest on the table.  Valerie knocked them off a second later.  "I dunno, Your Judge-ness," he'd said in a slow drawl.  "Probably for the same reason that my lawyer was crawling around in my bushes . . ."

She heaved another sigh and slowly shook her head.  "Okay, Mr. Roka.  I want you to go straight home—do not stop to talk to any reporters; do not stop for photographs.  Got it?  Straight home, and do not leave that house unless I tell you that you can."

"But—"

"I mean it."

"All right, but—"

"No."

"V—"

"No means no, Mr. Roka."

"Sure, sure, but—"

"But what?" she growled, rounding on him yet again to glower up at him.

He grinned.  "Well, see, I got this gig tonight . . ."

She stared at him for several minutes before finally letting out a deep breath and shaking her head.  "What time?" she demanded in a completely defeated tone of voice.

Evan chuckled.  "I gotta be there for sound check in about . . . an hour."

"And you swear that you're only going there?  Nothing else?  You promise?"

He nodded, figuring that he'd do well to let her off the hook for once.  "Swear."

For some reason, she didn't look all that relieved, either . . .