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Back with angry, wrinkled eyes, my father sits ahead of me. “What the fuck was that?” he grits out through tight lips.

“You represent that guy?”

“He’s one of my clients, yes.” His demeanor softens, like all of this is fucking normal. Like he’s trying to calm his son. If I weren’t so damn pissed, I may be cognizant of him trying to change a little to create a bond with me, but I’m fucking irate.

“You think defending abusers is okay?”

My hands shake as I raise the glass to lips, not caring that it’s only lunch and I’ve got a buzz.

“I believe everyone’s innocent until proven guilty.”

“Don’t give me that lawyerly bullshit,” I bark, sitting taller in the booth, practically hovering over the table.

Mr. Holland must be where I get my height. Even in his late sixties, he towers over most people and only stands a few inches shorter than me.

“Jett, those are my beliefs. That’s the law.” He’s more or less conducting a business meeting, just with a different client.

“What about morals? You can just represent someone who’s forced themselves on women like it’s no big deal?”

His eye twitches, and he mimics my straightened spine. “Jett, you know how women are. They say a lot of things, claim a lot of things, especially about men of status. Steven is merely a victim.”

A victim?!

That piece of shit would be locked up for the way he’s handled women if I had anything to do with it.

I shake my head, completely bewildered by his hollow answer. “You can’t be serious.”

“People hire me to protect them, and I do just that.” His fingers tap on the table, an ominous pause stretching between us. “Does this all happen to have something to do with the pretty little thing you had on your arm when you arrived?”

My jaw clenches. “Don’t you dare speak about her.”

Veins pulse at my temple as the sly grin on my father’s face only widens. My protectiveness is taking on a whole new meaning. As we share the table, I realize, he doesn’t just believe in the law like he says.

He protects men just like him.

“Can we just move on from all this ruckus? We didn’t come here to discuss my work, Son.”

“Don’t call me that.” My teeth clench.

Deflating at my words, he simply nods, leaving us both staring at each other.

“I won’t apologize for how I make my money, Jett. I believe in my client’s innocence, especially in cases like this one.”

“I can’t believe this shit,” I murmur under my breath. He’s really defending this guy.

“Jett, listen, I’m going to be frank with you. When I first started my career, I took some hard cases; ones that were hard to morally wrap my head around. The more I’ve seen, and exposed myself to, the more I realize just how frequently men like us are targeted. I’ve built my wealth on protecting us. I won’t stop doing that.”

My skin prickles at his suggestion that I’m even a sliver like him, but the small nagging voice in the back of my mind won’t stop reminding me that I am like him.

“I know you like this girl, but pussy is merely a placeholder for men like us. You’ll either move on from her, or she’ll end up testifying against you. It’s just how it goes.” His smug face beams with ignorance as I inhale the little bit of breath I have left in my lungs.

“You’re so fucking wrong.” My molars grind like a saw as I watch the monster in front of me smirk like I’m the naive one.

“You’ve got more heart than I ever did, I’ll tell ya that. Must’ve gotten that from your mom.”

He throws around the traits of my mother like they’re nothing, because to him, they are. He didn’t care about her, just like he doesn’t care about me, and I should’ve fucking known that before coming here.

“You know what, I’ve got to go.” I rise, not waiting for him to, but his quickness catches me by surprise as he stands ahead of me.