All In - 28. All In Extra--Brad's Demise

ALL IN Extra--Brad Milburn's Demise

 

"Chris. Trent. Lyle." Brad locked gazes with the men he had fucking trusted. He was hot with rage, his body shaking with so much anger as he felt his hands wrenched together and snapped tightly in handcuffs. He pierced his glare on the man who had precipitated it all. "Jason. You guys are so dead. You hear me!"

"Let's go, Milburn," the officer yanked at his hands roughly, but Brad didn't care right now. He'd deal with this asshole officer later. "You have the right to remain silent--"

"Dead!"

"Which you are obviously not using," the policeman muttered, as he continued. "You have the right to an attorney--"

"Hey, Brad!"

Brad whipped around to the son-of-a-bitch Jason Yates, glaring at him.

"Four of a kind beats a full house any day," he heard the asshole laugh. Then flushed angrily as he heard the chuckles of officers around him.

He was yanked toward the door, as he vaguely listened to the officer intone his Miranda Rights. He'd heard them before, even if it had been awhile, so he didn't care.

"Hey, Marlin, there's blood on the steps here. I'm going--"

"Oh, shit! Devyn!"

He heard Jason's terrified voice behind him and smiled. He felt the hand on his arm tighten as the officer obviously heard the concern for the brat echo in the hall behind them.

"Don't ya want to go check it out?" Brad offered, trying to put on his most innocent face as he tried to calm down. He needed to think, to plan. This was nothing he couldn't get out of, but he needed to get his wits back together. He needed this man to drop his guard or maybe Brad could goad him into doing something stupid. "Maybe they need your help, Officer...." he turned so he could see the man's badge. "Gentry. Maybe the kid is really hurt up there, Steven."

When Gentry's breath hitched and the man's eyes narrowed at him, Brad blinked at him with a slight smile.

"What did you do to the kid?" Steven Gentry growled, and Brad smiled inwardly. He was definitely getting under the man's skin. Now if he could get the man to assault him, or something, then maybe he'd have easy grounds to get this whole goddamn mess dismissed.

"He must have fallen down the stairs again," Brad shrugged, goading the man even more with his indifferent attitude to the fact that his young step-brother might be hurt.

Steven rolled his eyes.

"Maybe you've seen some of the reports. Devyn is horribly clumsy."

Officer Gentry was a bit smaller than him, but he still managed to lean in a bit intimidatingly, and Brad thought for sure he was going to be able to push the man over the edge. He could feel the man's grip tighten on his bicep as he was thrust none too gently against the side of the squad car.

"Don't think for a second, Milburn, that I don't know what you've been doing to that boy. The fucking drug charges against you are nothing compared to the charges of the assault and rape of that boy, especially in the eyes of the jurors. And there's no way in hell I'm going to screw that up-- as much as I would love to beat the hell out you right now and put a bullet in that fucking head of yours. I know what he's been through, and he's going to get justice. You're going to jail for the rest of your life, and he's going to know that he's finally safe."

Brad sneered as he watched the officer yank open the door of the squad car. He could see that Sam Pratt and Nelson Rainier were being led to other squad cars as well. Shit. He was pretty sure that they wouldn't talk, but there was always the chance that they would just to save their own asses. But they were in as deep as he was, and if they all held their peace, he was sure that the police couldn't have much on him. What they hell could Jason have fucking told them anyway? Other than the comparatively small amount of drugs he'd taken to Natales and the others and maybe a suspicion--even if it was a correct one--that Brad had abused Devyn, there wasn't much else that Jason could know. He knew nothing of the big stuff Brad was running through the company. He couldn't. Brad hadn't let him be privy to much yet.

Brad leaned out the window. "You know I'll be out before you can even get Judge Hollister to --"

The slow smile that spread across the officer's face caused Brad to pause, frowning in alarm.

"Yeah, we didn't go to Judge Hollister. And I wouldn't count on any help from Watson anymore either," Gentry grinned smugly. "I suggested to Sheriff Marlin that maybe we'd want to go to a federal judge, since maybe Hollister was tired of dealing with cases involving you. Between him and Watson, you've been a very lucky boy," the officer said, before his face melted into a gleefully, diabolical grin. "Not anymore."

Brad felt his heart skip a beat. Shit.

 

@@@@

 

"Mr. Bradford Milburn," Sheriff Marlin stalked into the room, dropping a file folder on the table. Brad kept his eyes impassive, his look bored as he watched the man sit in front of him. That asshole Officer Gentry was hovering in the corner with his arms crossed, eyeing him smugly.

If he didn't know better, he'd think the fuckers had something more. He just leaned back in the chair, feigning an air of distain and impatience with the whole proceedings.

"Do you understand your rights as they were read to you by Officer Gentry?" Kyle Marlin asked.

"Yeah," Brad sighed.

"You understand the charges as they were read to you, correct?"

Brad leaned forward with a slight smirk. "Exactly what do you think you have that you can prove any of those charges, anyway?"

Sheriff Marlin obviously took that as an ascent. "What about the drugs found in your safe?"

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "They weren't there yesterday," he lied. "Maybe Pratt or Nelson put them there."

Marlin smirked back at him. "That's not what they are saying. They are telling us everything you've been up to."

"Bullshit," Brad scoffed, but he was sure that the damn sheriff could see the flinch of uncertainty that he couldn't keep from his eyes. He felt a layer of perspiration break out on his upper lip.

The damn sheriff just stared at him. Well, screw him, Brad thought. He'd have a hell of a time proving that Brad himself actually had anything to do with it.

For as much as Sam and Nelson had done for him over the years, Brad couldn't afford let the sheriff pin anything on him. Brad had more than himself to protect. If Haskins even thought that Brad would roll-over on him--

"How about attempted murder?"

Brad felt his breath hitch for a second, his heart thudded in his chest. Sam had been the one to actually engineer the car and motorcycle accident, so the Sheriff had to be lying that Sam would say anything about that. Sam would have to incriminate himself for murder, and Nelson had been the one to suggest it so they were in just as deep as he was. There was no way they'd talk. There was no way they could possibly connect him to either of those--

"What the hell are you talking about?" Brad managed to sneer, even as his heart began to race in fear. "I'm a legitimate business man. I do construction."

"Yes, I see that," Marlin said slowly, flipping through some papers in his folder, even though he wasn't really looking at them. "But I've been having new eyes look over the files of your father's car accident as well as a former employee of yours--a Kieran Reynolds--and there are inconsistencies in the reports."

"Like it's my fault that your people can't record things," Brad rolled his eyes.

Marlin pursed his lips and nodded, conceding the point for the moment. Brad could see now that the officer wasn't sure how well he'd be able to get murder charges to stick. The man might get something on Sam, but it would be harder to prove Brad was actually involved, even with a confession from Sam. "Yes, it seems that Deputy Watson was rather remiss in his duties in the past."

Brad managed to keep the smile off his face, feeling a bit more relaxed. "I'm sure he did his best."

Brad was rewarded with the tensing of the man's jaw, and Officer Gentry piercing him with a glare.

"So you deny you had anything to do with those accidents?" Marlin continued.

"Of course, they were accidents. Do you really think I could murder my own father?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Marlin shot back. "Seeing as you can send a thirteen year old boy to carry your drugs and then let men rape him and beat him? Yeah, I really don't think believing you could murder your own father is a stretch."

Brad leaned forward, placing his cuffed hands on the table. "Devyn had tutors. What Devyn did with them is not my concern. He's a fucking teenage boy, the brat was probably screwing all of them, begging them to take him--"

Gentry nearly shot off the wall but froze at a glare from the sheriff.

Brad smiled slyly. "He's a whore. His tutors all told me that he kept coming on to them. I've had to change them several times."

His caustic remarks about the young teen were rewarded with Gentry looking like he was ready to spit nails.

"These tutors, as you call them, have all been known to sell drugs."

"Really?" Brad feigned surprise. "I didn't know. I guess I need to vet Devyn's tutors better."

Marlin sighed. "I think you can cut the crap, Milburn. We've already picked up two of them, and here are their signed confessions about how you used Devyn as a mule to transport the drugs and money back and forth. They also state that they paid you more for the privilege of raping a young teenage boy under your guardianship."

Brad sat back. It was their word against his. There was still no proof. He had to keep remembering that. But, shit, two of them. He wondered which two they had picked up. Had to be Pollinger. That man was a goddamn wimp. If the man thought he could get an easier sentence, then he would roll on Brad.

"You know their words are worth shit," Brad sighed. "They mean nothing. Who do you think a jury will believe--a respectable business man who's been trying to do his best for his poor step-brother, or the assholes who actually raped him? Because you and I both know that's how this will play out."

"What about Jason?" Marlin countered.

Brad narrowed his eyes. "What about him?"

"Don't you think his word would be worth something?"

"What's he gonna say? That he thinks I'm involved in drugs? That he suspects I had something to do with Devyn getting hurt by his tutors? You're delusional, Sheriff, if you think you can make any of these accusations stick. My lawyer will destroy you."

"So, you want to deny you tried to kill Devyn Kennedy?"

Brad was now getting in a groove of denial, and he managed to looked bored and irritated by the constant accusations. "Really, trying to murder Devyn now, too? How many attempted murders are you trying to get on me?"

"Well, I'm willing to bet that these finger prints on Devyn's neck are yours," Marlin said, sliding a picture across the table. Brad jerked slightly at how dark the bruising was on the unconscious boy's neck. Fuck, he'd never gotten that out of hand before. Most of the time he managed to control his discipline of the boy to less visible places.

"These marks on Devyn's neck indicate he was nearly strangled. The damage and bruising to his throat indicate that it significantly cut off his air supply, possibly causing unconsciousness. Are those your fingerprints on his neck?"

Brad shifted in his chair. He wasn't exactly sure if they could prove if they were his fingers or just someone who had his size hands. He stayed silent.

But Marlin was looking even more smug as he passed another picture over. "Devyn tried to kill himself, because you beat the hell out of the kid--your buddies Chris and Trent said so," Marlin stated, showing a couple of the pictures that had been snapped before the poor boy had been bandaged up. "They saw you hit the boy, strangle him, before you had Pratt lock them out of the house without their keys. So I know you did this to this poor kid."

Brad sneered again. "Devyn will never take the stand against me," he threatened softly. "You'll only have the word of two felons--"

"Well, we have this too," Marlin said, trying to repress his grin. He slid over a picture of what looked like a pair of pajama pants.

"Do you recognize these pants?" Marlin asked, and Brad had a funny feeling he was walking into a trap, but he didn't honestly recognize them.

"No, why?"

"Well, they were found in Devyn's bathroom, shoved behind the toilet and sink. They have blood on them."

Brad shrugged. "So, maybe he cut himself." Then he cast an evil glare over to Gentry. "Maybe one of his johns fucked him too hard."

Gentry shot off the wall. "Fuck you, Milburn! You raped that boy and he couldn't even scream out his pain. You're a sadistic shit who--"

"Steven," Marlin interrupted calmly.

And Brad turned a grinning face back to the sheriff, gleefully happy at having managed to provoke the other officer.

"I think I might have to have him charged with slander when my lawyer gets here," Brad said easily, glancing at his fingers tapping on the table, hoping to get an apology out of the sheriff for his officer's reaction.

He was surprised when he didn't.

"It's not slander if it's true, Mr. Milburn," Marlin continued. When Brad narrowed his eyes in curiosity, Marlin passed over a report, which Brad couldn't even begin to decipher all the numbers and such. "This report shows that there was blood in the groin area of the pajamas. The blood was Devyn's."

Brad shrugged. "So what?"

"This also shows another substance mixed with the blood," Milburn stated, watching Brad carefully. Brad tried to school his features carefully as he abruptly realized where those pants had come from. Shit, he'd been too drunk to really notice or care but...

"They show your DNA in semen mixed with Devyn's blood on the pajama pants. Our prosecutor is charging you not only with prostituting Devyn out to your dealers, but also with raping Devyn yourself. And Devyn doesn't have to say a word if he doesn't want to. This evidence speaks for itself."

Brad looked up at the smug look on both officers' faces. Fuck. Brad managed to not let the sudden fear racing up his spine to show on his face or in his voice.

"I want my lawyer, now," Brad said simply.

Both officers exchanged a grin.

"I'm assuming you don't mean Mr. Rainier, since he's on his way to his own jail cell right now."

Brad glared at him. "Nelson was a contracts lawyer; he is not my..."

"Criminal lawyer?" Marlin smirked.

Brad hated the way that the officers were obviously now enjoying his discomfiture. "Yes. Alex Quentin should already have been called. I told the asshole over there when they brought me in."

Gentry snorted slightly. "Yes, your lawyer is on his way. The D.A. is talking with him right now."

"Good," Brad sat back again. "I have nothing further to say to you all until he gets here."

 

@@@@

 

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Brad ranted at his lawyer.

The middle-aged man was still well built, even if he had a smattering of grey at his temples in his dark brown carefully clipped hair. He wore an expensive Italian linen suit and looked every bit the lawyer that Brad expected of the man who would represent him against all these bullshit charges.

"I think you're going to have to make a plea bargain," Alex said.

"A goddamn plea? To what exactly, all the drug charges, to murdering my father? Raping and nearly killing my step-brother?! Which do you think I should plea to?! Huh?!"

Brad was past the point of being enraged. His lawyer had just walked into the counsel room and suggested that he make a deal to hopefully lessen his sentence. The prosecutor, Quentin said, was going for the death penalty if he tried to deny the charges. Quentin thought maybe they could plea down to 25 years to life, with the possibility of parole, if he pled guilty from the start.

"I don't fucking understand how they think they can make a case like this stick. All they have are the testimonies of some other dealers and a couple of felons, right now. I'm sure we can find someone to fuck with the damn DNA on the pants to get it inadmissible--"

"I'm not hearing that," Quentin sang as he covered his ears.

Brad just growled at him. Quentin sighed and stared at him.

"They have more. Much more, Brad," Quentin continued. "They have tapes, Brad, of you and Sam and Nelson talking in your office."

Brad whipped around from where he was pacing. "What?"

Alex was nodding.

"How the hell did that happen? Nelson sweeps for bugs every damn day."

"They were recorded by the camera phone of one of your employees, apparently at a window."

Brad's head dropped back on his shoulders. Shit.

"Jason. It was Jason, wasn't it? Fuck," Brad couldn't believe it.

"There are two with you in it. The second one is really incriminating, Brad. You talked about killing your father and Kieran, using Devyn as a prostitute and to run your drugs.... There's not going to be much I can do to keep the jury from hearing that. Plus, there's one that apparently Yates recorded when he went with Devyn to Natales. He managed to get Natales to admit to quite a bit of your involvement. And between those recordings, the evidence of drugs found in your home and at least two of your construction sites, as well as the DNA evidence from Devyn's pants and all the testimony... Hell, the minute they put Devyn on the stand, you're dead. With what you did to that kid, a jury isn't going to cut you any slack. Brad, you are easily looking at a minimum of life in prison without parole or the death penalty if you don't have something to offer for a deal."

"Shit," Brad cursed under his breath.

"Look, Brad," Alex sighed, "Sheriff Milburn suspects that, while you are certainly a low-life drug dealer--"

Brad's mouth dropped open in shock at his attorney's bluntness.

Quentin held up his hand to stay his protests. "His words, not mine." After Brad settled down, Alex continued. "While he thinks you're a piece of shit, both he and the D.A. knows there are bigger fish to fry. The D.A. wants your supplier."

Brad dropped his head in his hands. He was so screwed.

"Look, think about it," Alex Quentin said, snapping his briefcase closed. "As much as I want to tell you that I can somehow get you out of this, the fact is that you are looking at the death penalty here--murder, rape, drugs. Jesus, Brad, is there anything you weren't into?"

Brad glared at him. "You're my fucking lawyer. You're supposed to get me out of this."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have let yourself be taped admitting to your father's murder and left evidence of raping a sixteen year old boy in your own home," Alex shot back. "I can't do much for you. You go in front of a grand jury tomorrow. They will indict you. And if you go in front of a jury trying to plead not guilty to these charges, you will be putting your head in a noose. Your only hope is to work a plea deal."

Brad shook his head. There was no way he could give up Haskins. He'd be a dead man. "I'll plead guilty now, if they don't push for the death penalty."

Alex sighed. "I'll let them know, but I'm not sure the D.A. will go for it; they want more. People are screaming for your head, Brad; and it's not about your father and his mother's murder. What you did to that kid--"

Fucking Devyn, Brad growled to himself. "Just do it."

 

@@@@

 

Brad froze as Officer Gentry led him back toward the jail that was connected to the police station. He ignored the hard stares from the other police officers as he was led through the long corridor. As they came to the cell block, Brad was surprised when the metal door opened and revealed that the cell was already occupied.

"What the fuck is this?" Brad snapped, eyeing the two men lazing on each of the two bunks.

"You're not special here, Milburn," Steven Gentry smiled. "Unfortunately, your little operation has temporarily filled up our cells, but there's no way we're putting any of you all together. So you have to share with others. Say hello to your cellmates."

"Seriously?" Brad growled, staring down at the two men. They weren't any bigger than he was himself, but something in their eyes glinted and made Brad uneasy. "There's not even room for all of us to sleep."

"Oh, don't worry," Gentry said, "Hank and Oliver there are being released in an hour or so, so you'll get your fucking private cell so you can get your beauty rest. They're just waiting for their bail to come through. They're in for assault."

"Really?" Brad stared at the men.

"Yep," the blond one looked back at him coolly. "Guy next door was drunk and was beating up his wife."

"We don't like that kind of shit," the other one stared Brad down.

Brad stiffened but refused to show any fear. That's what these fuckers wanted. He could practically feel Gentry grinning behind him.

"Don't worry, Milburn, it's just couple hours."

"You think I'm fucking worried about those two?" Brad sneered, putting on his best front. "They touch me and I'll have their heads."

Gentry patted Brad on the shoulder as he released the cuffs, and for a second Brad thought that the officer was offering his support. "You're exactly right there," Gentry said, offering a comforting squeeze of his shoulder before pinning each man in the cell with a stare. "Anybody gets in a fight in here, and it'll be added to your charges."

The two men in front of him just grinned. Shit.

"Yes, sir," the two prisoners chimed in together.

"See there, nothing to be concerned about," the officer stated with another pat on his shoulder.

Brad glared at the officer, knowing that the man was taunting him. Steven Gentry just grinned back as he shoved Brad into the cell, slamming the metal door behind him. Hank and Oliver--if that was even their real names--didn't move as Brad leaned casually against the door, crossing his large arms across his chest.

He forced his breathing to stay calm. He couldn't let these assholes see any fear. He wasn't stupid. He knew that Gentry put him in with these men, hoping they'd intimidate him.

"So, Bradford, what exactly are you looking at?" Oliver asked casually.

"Fuck you," Brad sneered at the men.

Hank sat forward, leaning conspiratorially towards his fellow prisoner. "I hear he's in for murder."

Brad rolled his eyes when Oliver pretended to look surprised; he wasn't a very good faker.

"Really?" Oliver drawled.

"Yes, fucking really," Brad snapped. "So keep your fucking shit-face out of mine."

Hank rose abruptly, and Brad was startled by how quickly the big man moved. Oliver was up seconds after the blond, and Brad instinctively tensed his body, planting his feet ready to fight.

"Sit the fuck back down," Brad snarled. "You do not want to mess with me. Do you even know who I am?"

The men moved instantly, almost perfectly in sync and Brad gasped as he felt his body slammed back against the wall, a thick forearm choking the air from him as it pressed against his windpipe. Before he could get out a shout, he was dropped to the ground on his back, a heavy weight crushing the breath from him. He felt his arms pinned above his head under the knees of one man as the other sat on his chest. He flailed, kicking at anything he could reach, but the heavy mass wouldn't move. He gasped at the pain stabbing into his arms by the man's knees, losing even more precious air.

"Yeah, we know who you are," Hank growled in his ear, pressing his arm harder across his throat.

Brad choked and gasped, real fear spiking for the first time since he'd arrived at the jail. The idea of facing the death penalty or Haskins's wrath was trivial compared to the physical reality of what these men could do to him right now. He suddenly realized just how much he'd relied on Sam's intimidating presence.

"You're the asshole who beat the shit out of a kid," Oliver stated.

"Let... me...up," Brad gasped as he mustered as much vehemence as he could.

"What, Brad?" Hank snarled. "Feeling a little powerless?"

Oliver leaned forward, causing his knees to dig into the fleshy muscle of Brad's arm. Brad hissed in agony, his eyes starting to water. Fuck! He tried to draw a breath to yell, but only succeeded in allowing the asshole on his chest to press even harder on his chest.

"How does it feel, Brad?" Oliver whispered next to his ear, and Brad could feel his panic starting to set in at not being able to get a breath.

Brad gasped when Hank lifted slightly, letting Brad get in a bit of air, but it was short lived as Brad felt the man's heavy weight plop back down on his chest.

"This is nothing compared to what will happen to you in prison," Hank stated. "You want a real taste of what you are in for?"

Brad gasped as his balls were suddenly crushed in the man's grip. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the acute pain spiking through his body. Shit, that hurt!

"Think about it, Brad, this is what's waiting for you, for the rest of your fucking life, until they fry your ass. Everything you put that kid through, and I mean, everything," he punctuated his words with a fierce squeeze, and Brad's eyes teared in agony, "that you did to that poor kid is going to come back to haunt you every, fucking, day."

When he thought that he'd finally pass out from the intense pain and lack of air, suddenly the pressure on his chest was gone. He gulped in huge breaths of air, managing to get three or four good breaths before a foot slammed down in his stomach.

"Fuck!" he gasped, arching up off the ground before dropping back in exhaustion.

"No, we're not like that," a voice floated over him, "but don't worry, there's plenty of others where you're going that'll give you lots of experience."

"Trust me, you're no longer the big fish you think you are," Hank said. "And this..."

Brad suddenly felt his groin explode in pain as the big man kicked his balls. White lights danced across his vision as the breath was sucked out of him again. He cupped his throbbing groin in agony as he rolled to his side unable to even get enough of a breath to scream in pain.

"...that was for that poor kid that you fucking raped, you asshole," Hank sneered.

Brad panted heavily on the floor of the cell, unable to focus his bleary eyes on either man. Oh, fucking hell, he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear the men moving, but didn't really care anymore. He had no fight left. He tried to muster up some righteous indignation, he wanted to spew threats and curses at the men, but he just didn't fucking have the energy.

As he lay there, sucking in gulps of air, he realized that the asshole was right. He was looking at years of this. Fucking years. God, he had to get Quentin to make a deal. Giving up Haskins and the rest seemed like nothing now. What the hell did he care what happened to Haskins, anyway? He'd be in prison while Haskins still roamed free. He rolled to his stomach, attempting to protect his throbbing groin and aching chest and stomach from further abuse.

He sighed when he heard the click of the cell door opening. He didn't know how long he'd lain like that, but the sound of the door opening brought him a surge of relief. Finally, now the two assholes would get in even more fucking trouble. From his vantage point on the floor, he could see his two attackers lounging on the cots just like they'd been when he'd first been brought it.

"Your bail has been posted," he heard Gentry state as the two men rose.

"What the hell happened to him?" the officer asked, although Brad was pretty sure that he didn't truly care.

Hank stepped over him as he followed Oliver to the cell door, shrugging.

"He fell."

 

@@@@

 

Brad could feel his body shaking as he waited for Alex Quentin to come into the consultation room. He was supposed to go for his grand jury hearing later that afternoon, so he was hoping to make a deal before then. He had asked for immunity from the charges against him for his information, but Alex had immediately come back with a no deal. The D.A. wouldn't take less than twenty-five to life, with no parole and would push for the death penalty if he pled not guilty. The attorney had been gone for over an hour now. When the door opened, Quentin was followed by Sheriff Marlin as well as the district attorney.

"You remember Mrs. Jenson? The district attorney?" Alex waved as he sat down next to Brad.

Brad nodded, folding his hands tightly together to keep his fear under control. Turning on Haskins was a huge risk. The man had a reach that scared even Brad. Which, when Brad was under that man's protection, was comforting and powerful, but now that he would be on the other side of that force, Brad couldn't help but feel terrified.

"So, Mr. Milburn," the D.A. started, dropping confidently into the chair. Kyle Marlin was glaring from behind her, obviously not happy about any deals that were being made. "I understand you are willing to offer up several of your contacts and offer testimony against Paul Haskins in return for 'special housing' in prison to ensure your safety from other prisoners as well as us foregoing seeking the death penalty."

Brad nodded. "Yes. I'll plead guilty to the drug and rape charges, but you drop the first degree murder charge. You know you'd have a hard time proving that anyway."

"We'll drop the charge to second degree, which doesn't carry the death penalty," Mrs. Jenson shot back, obviously having already planned to offer that. "We do have you on tape admitting to the death of your father as well as Mr. Pratt and Mr. Rainier's confessions and testimonies. So, the only thing you got going for you is that I want some information from you, and everyone wants to avoid a long jury trial. That's the only reason I'm even talking to you now."

Brad glared at her. He had hoped for more, but obviously, it wasn't going to happen. The best he could hope for now was protection, even if it was from the inside of a prison. "Fine, I can tell you all you need to know about Haskins operation. He was my supplier for years, he has contacts everywhere. I can give them to you," Brad breathed, "But I want you to make sure I'm safe."

"And what makes you think you wouldn't be safe?" she asked curiously, and Brad saw the slight twitch on the sheriff's lips.

"Because," Brad drawled, piercing the officer with a glare, "I've already been assaulted. I have no doubt that should I go into general population, my life would be hell, probably even forfeit."

The D.A. made a show of flipping through some papers, and Brad was sure she was holding back a smirk as well. "Yes, I see you claimed two cellmates attacked you. We are deeply sorry that happened," she intoned, but Brad could tell she was nowhere near being sincere. "You understand that the jail was overcrowded due to the substantial number of arrests stemming from your case. There was simply nowhere else to put people."

"That's what I heard," Brad gritted through his teeth as he glared at the sheriff.

"I assure you that charges are being brought against your assailants, and you will have the opportunity for justice," she stated.

"That's very comforting," Brad stated, knowing full well that neither man who attacked him had cared if they would face more charges or not, and they probably wouldn't ever face any repercussions from attacking him.

"Well, assuming that your information about Haskins and your other contacts is legitimate, I can offer you life in prison. We won't seek the death penalty."

Brad glanced at his attorney, who nodded. "What about the chance for parole?"

"No chance of parole," she stated, glaring back at Brad. "You killed your father, Devyn's mother, and you raped and prostituted out a young boy, there's no way you're getting out again."

Brad exhaled slowly, seething inside as he ground his jaw. Shit. He closed his eyes, as he breathed in through his nose. It wasn't unexpected, but he'd been hoping, maybe...

"And the ... accommodations?" he finally asked.

Mrs. Jenson was silent for several long moments before placing a picture file on the table in front of her. "I can offer you an upgraded cell in this detention center. It's a small center only thirty cells, so very few inmates--which means less interaction with others," she said finally. She slid a picture showing the luxuries of the prison cell she was offering. It had a comfortable looking bed (well, the slab and mat that passed for a bed), with a flat screen TV and even a gaming console. It was small, but it would be private.

"It's not normally intended for life-time prisoners but the state is willing to make a special allowance in return for your testimony against Haskins. We've been trying to get Haskins for years, so you are lucky--provide us information and proof and where he's run to ground, and you get what you're asking for."

Brad glanced over at Alex. His attorney leaned in, whispering in his ear. "This is the best you're going to get. I suggest you take it."

Brad drew in a breath. "Deal."

"Good," Mrs. Jenson smiled smugly. "So, let's get some facts down."

Brad slowly gave up everything he knew about Paul Haskins and all of his other dealers. For several hours, he was grilled about every drug deal as well as everything Haskins or any of the others had done to Devyn. Brad was so fucking tired of talking about that blond brat, he was beginning to wish he'd actually finished strangling the kid, just for the sheer pleasure of having done so.

It was late in the afternoon and the time for his hearing was quickly approaching before the D.A. finally decided to take a break. Apparently, she felt she had enough from him to make his deal with the judge when he pled guilty. He knew it was just a formality now--stand in front of the judge, enter his plea, then he'd be carted off until his formal sentencing.

His gut still ached from being stomped on by that Hank guy, and his groin still throbbed with the crushing pain of being kicked, but he'd made the deal to try to avoid more of it. He could live in some semblance of luxury even as he faced a life-time behind bars.

As the sheriff cuffed him again, the man glared down at him. "You are fucking lucky, Milburn," the man growled. "If it was me, there'd be no deals for what you did to that kid."

Brad smirked. "I'm sure he'll never forget me."

He gasped slightly as the man tightened the cuffs with a glare. Brad winced but reveled in the fact that he could still goad the man into a reaction.

Outside the consultation room, Steven Gentry approached, a frown marring his features, and Brad grinned, knowing it irked the man to no end to know that Brad would be getting off easier than he should be.

"Guess I'll be lounging in the lap of luxury soon," Brad goaded.

Gentry faltered a step before he straightened and brought the bullet-proof vest over. Brad frowned slightly at the vest, suddenly aware that the police considered he might be a target.

When Brad's smile slipped a bit at the sight of the vest, Gentry smiled as he dropped the heavy thing over Brad's head. "What's the matter, Milburn? Think someone might be out to get you?"

"Fuck you," Brad sneered back, unwilling to let the officer see his fear.

"Would you like to refuse the vest?" Gentry offered. "It might be tight on those sore ribs."

Brad bit his tongue as the man tightened the straps on the sides of the vest.

"You know, Officer," Brad droned out, "maybe you can give Devyn my sympathies. It seems you might know just how he feels."

The flinch from the police officer told him that he'd hit a nerve. Brad couldn't help the grin of satisfaction as Sheriff Marlin handed him over to another officer.

"Take a break, Gentry," Marlin said. "I'll get Parsons and McCaffry to escort him to the courthouse."

Steven Gentry stepped back with a tight nod, and Brad continued to grin gleefully. He could feel the officers throughout the building piercing him with daggers as he was lead toward the side door. McCaffry shoved him unceremoniously into the back of the squad car as Alex Quentin told him he'd see him at the courthouse shortly.

The ride wasn't long, but for some reason Brad couldn't help feeling jittery. He'd feel better when this was over, and he was safely ensconced in his little luxury prison cell. When the car pulled up to the courthouse, Brad wasn't surprised at the crowd gathered that was being held back by other officers. There were shouts and curses, but he couldn't really make out any of them specifically. Obviously, the charges against him had been leaked. The two officers pulled him out of the squad car.

As he stepped forward, he grinned at the crowd, knowing that they'd be paying for him to live out his life safe and secure in the small but luxurious prison.

"Keep grinning like that and you won't make it to your prison cell," McCaffry stated.

"Aww, are you just jealous? Not only did I get millions from my father's death, but I tasted that young sweet ass for years," Brad couldn't help but to taunt the officers as much as he could now. They couldn't do anything to him now. His fate was sealed.

Both Parson and McCaffry turned on him, their faces flush with rage. "You fucking--"

For a second, Brad didn't register that anything was wrong. He saw the shock and horror register on the officer's face. Why the hell did the man have red splatters on him? Where--?

Then he felt it, the searing burn that ripped through the back of his neck and out the front of his throat. The world around him erupted in chaos, but he was oblivious. His mouth gaped open and blood trickled out as he felt his body falling forward into McCaffry. There was screaming everywhere.

He choked on the blood that tried to suffocate him as it drained into his windpipe. He felt hands on him. Officers shouting. The warm, sickly feel of his blood running down his throat.

"--sniper--!"

"Get down!"

He was vaguely aware of his body hitting the pavement as McCaffry dropped him to the ground, but his brain was quickly shutting down. He was numb to the blood spilling from the gaping hole in his throat and drowning the concrete under him in a crimson pool. Haskins. Should have fucking known the man would never allow him to testify to anything. His eyes blurred as he felt his heart pound out his precious life's blood. He lungs gasped in a last breath as he stared sightlessly at the feet pounding around him.

Fuck...