He opened his mouth to argue, but Ryan cut him off. “Just let it go, Hunter.”
Struggling to keep a hold on his temper, Hunter did just that until the Prosecutor decided that this was the perfect time to tell him about all the additional rules that he hadn’t been made aware of before.
“You’re not allowed off the property unless it is a medical emergency, a Court date, or for the convention that your attorney stated was vital that you attend and even then, you’ll be confined to the hotel. You-”
“That’s bullshit,” Hunter said, cutting him off before he could continue sprouting a bunch of bullshit that he knew wasn’t right since one of the first things he did when he got out of jail was to look up the rules for house arrest in Florida.
Hunter knew from his search that he got free time to leave the house on certain days so that he could run errands. He was also supposed to get special release times so that he could conduct his business. He was supposed to-
“The terms of your house arrest don’t allow you to leave, because you are being allowed an assistant who can do those things for you,” the Prosecutor reminded him with a sneer. “Under normal circumstances, you would have been forced to complete your sentence in prison, but lucky for you, your attorney was able to negotiate your house arrest terms with the Judge. So, I would count myself lucky if I were you.”
“It’s a good deal,” Ryan said tightly, but only loud enough for him to hear.
Knowing that Ryan wouldn’t fuck him over or lie to him, Hunter reluctantly nodded his head. He also crossed his arms over his chest to stop himself from doing something that would piss Ryan off and make his job a hell of a lot harder.
“You will also have to complete weekly anger management sessions,” the Prosecutor announced, noticeably enjoying himself. “You are only allowed three visitors a week. You may hire a cook, gardener, maid, and any other service that you need without violating your weekly visitor’s policy,” the Prosecutor said, not sounding very happy about that concession.
“I’m all set here,” the technician said, as he stood up. “Your ankle monitor will alert you if you go past one hundred feet. Once that happens, you have forty-five seconds to get back within the perimeter or you’ll be in violation of your house arrest.”
“Great,” Hunter said dryly.
“This should answer any questions that you might have,” the technician said, handing him a brochure, “If it doesn’t, there’s a number on the back that you can call.”
“While your assistant is on the premises, she’s required to follow the same guidelines with the exception that she is allowed to come and go as she pleases,” the Prosecutor said loudly, no doubt trying to drop a hint to his new assistant on how to screw him over.
That was something that Hunter would never allow.
*-*-*-*
“I’m sorry, but what was that about house arrest?” Kylie asked, positive that she’d misheard the entire conversation.
At least, she hoped that she had.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” the Prosecutor that she’d met with during the interview yesterday said with such a blatantly false smile that it took everything in her not to roll her eyes and make this situation worse. “Mr. O’Mallery requires the assistance of a fulltime assistant and that’s where you come in. As long as you follow the rules set up for Mr. O’Mallery’s house arrest, you’ll be fine.”
Kylie doubted that, especially since she now knew that her new boss, the same one that she was required to live with, was mandated to complete court-ordered anger management sessions, which made it sound pretty bad. The best part, she couldn’t quit, not unless she wanted to fork over ten grand. Admittedly, when she’d signed the contract she hadn’t known about that stipulation, but Mr. O’Mallery’s lawyer had been nice enough to whisper the finer details of the contract to her and remind her that she was obligated to stick it out for the year or face a breach of contract clause that would rob her of ten grand.
Kylie really wished that she hadn’t signed that contract. Normally, well, within the past five years at least, she’d tried to find the bright side of things, but right now as she looked around the trashed house and the seriously angry man that looked close to tearing the Prosecutor apart with his bare hands, she was admittedly having a heck of a time finding anything positive about this situation.
“Please call my office if you have any problems, Miss Davis,” the Prosecutor said, and that should have comforted her, but it didn’t since she seriously doubted that he was really concerned about her well-being. The smug smile he sent her new boss, who was visibly seething with rage, only confirmed that suspicion.
“I’ll be in touch if you need anything,” Mr. O’Mallery’s lawyer said to her new boss before he sent what he probably thought was a comforting smile in her direction.
It wasn’t.
Not even close.
As Kylie watched everyone walk out the front door, she struggled to keep her feet planted where they were. It was only the fact that she couldn’t afford to lose ten-thousand dollars that kept her from doing what instinct demanded and run.
“I want this mess cleaned up by tomorrow morning,” was all her new boss said before he turned to walk away.
“What cleaning agency do you use?” Kylie asked, thankful that at least part of her brain was still functioning.
“A cleaning agency won’t be necessary,” Mr. O’Mallery drawled, as he neared a set of closed doors.
“It won’t?” Kylie asked in confusion as she slowly glanced around the room littered with trash, food, spilled alcohol, vomit, and things that would probably haunt her for years to come.
“No, I’m sure that you’re more than capable of having the house cleaned and put back together before tomorrow morning,” her new boss said with an evil smile that told her exactly what she should expect for the next twelve months.
Hell, pure hell.
Chapter 4
The first day of hell, Hunter told himself, and only three hundred and sixty-four more days to go. With that really fucking depressing thought, he threw his covers aside, sat up, and switched the alarm clock off before it had a chance to go off.
Rubbing his hands down his face, Hunter climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom, noting the time and wishing that getting up at five every morning was a habit that he could break, but his years as a Marine had guaranteed that he’d be getting up every morning before five until the day he died. When he was a kid, he used to sleep well past noon no matter if it was a school day or the weekend, it never mattered, because no one had fucking cared enough to bother with him.
His parents had been too busy with their fucked-up marriage to notice him and his teachers were always relieved when he didn’t show up for school. Hunter did what he wanted, when he wanted until he was seventeen and convinced his parents that they’d all be better off if he left home. He’d appreciated the fact that they’d pretended to care and even put in a little effort to try and convince him that they wanted him to stay. But, in the end, they’d simply agreed that there was no real future for him at home and signed the papers so that he could join the Marines.
It was probably the smartest and dumbest thing that he’d ever done in his life, but it made him the man that he was today. Unfortunately, it hadn’t helped with his temper. If anything, his years in the Marines seemed to have honed his anger into something that he could use to push himself harder and faster so that nothing and no one could fucking touch him.