“Henderson, who the hell is that with West?” Grayson asks, with a confused frown, nodding toward the defense table. “I thought Gordon was representing him?”

For the first time since entering the courtroom, I feel brave enough to glance over, trying not to look directly at Reggie. I’m not ready to make eye contact with him…not yet. Instead, I take in the three people next to him, two men and one woman, all in a very intense discussion.

Mr. Henderson replies, bringing my attention back to him. “We were advised he would have new counsel just before we arrived. They’re with the NAACP. I don’t know what they’re doing here or where Gordon is, but I’m about to find out.” His expression is grim with disapproval.

“I thought you said he took the deal.”

Before Mr. Henderson can respond, the bailiff calls us all to rise. I stand along with everyone else, my nerves a frazzled mess as the judge takes his seat behind the bench. A placard sits in front of him, displaying the name Jamison Carter. He’s an older man with graying hair and holds an indifferent disposition. At his command we take our seats while he glances down at the papers in front of him and addresses the court.

“Good morning, ladies and gentleman. Calling to order the People of Texas versus Reginald Desmond West. I have a motion here stating Mr. West has retained new representation,” he says, looking toward the defense. “Please, address the court.”

The one closest to us stands, buttoning his suit coat. “Good morning, Your Honor, my name is Everett Jones, head counsel for the NAACP.”

“Mr. Jones, I have a sworn statement from your client accepting a plea agreement from the prosecution. Does Mr. West still wish to accept the deal?”

“No, Your Honor.”

I stiffen in shock and hear Grayson curse next to me.

The judge folds his hands in front of him, raising a brow. “Please stand up, Mr. West.” Out of my peripheral vision, I see Reggie do as instructed. “Tell the court how you wish to plead.”

My heart beats wildly as I wait to hear that voice, the one I wish I could forget. As if sensing my anxiety, Grayson grabs hold of my cold and clammy hand.

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Blood rushes my ears and a lump forms in the back of my throat as I try to absorb what he just said.

Mr. Henderson jumps up. “Objection. Your Honor, we have a signed statement from the defendant accepting the deal already. We’ve been more than lenient with our terms, so if Mr. Jones is trying to get more than what has been offered, I’m afraid he’s wasting his time.”

“Your Honor, my client is retracting his statement,” Mr. Jones states calmly. “At the time he signed, Mr. West felt he had no other choice but to accept Mr. Henderson’s terms if he didn’t want life in prison. However, after consulting with our organization, we advised our client not to plead guilty, out of fear, for a crime he did not commit.”

“Fear.” The judge leans forward slightly. “Fear of what exactly?”

“Mr. West was concerned he wouldn’t receive a fair trial otherwise. After his brutal arrest and the other incidents that have occurred in Harmony Falls recently, Mr. West signed the plea under duress.”

“Bullshit,” Grayson mutters.

I can feel him vibrating with rage, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off the scene unfolding before me.

“Your Honor, Mr. West not only admitted to the crime but we also have DNA evidence along with positive ID,” Mr. Henderson says, his voice growing louder by the second. “Now, I know Mr. Jones doesn’t want to risk his client receiving a life sentence without the possibility of parole all because Mr. West thinks he was treated unfairly. Let’s be reasonable here.”

“They have a necklace that could have come from anywhere and a victim with a sketchy memory. Prosecution’s entire case is circumstantial at best. Your Honor, we believe our client was targeted because he’s a minority and was coerced into a confession.”

“We have the interview on video, Mr. Jones. I can assure you, your client was not coerced. Matter of fact, he was the one begging for the deal in exchange for the names of the others involved.” Henderson is beyond angry and the unruffled looks he keeps getting from Mr. Jones only seem to make him angrier.

“Enough,” the judge says, annoyed. “Counsel, approach the bench.”

Mr. Henderson and Mr. Jones both approach, their discussion with the judge heated.

“Can he do this?” Pap harshly whispers, his tone dripping with fury.

“Yeah, actually, he can,” Clint responds, sounding just as angry.

My eyes drift around the room until they land on the one person I’ve tried to avoid looking at. I catch him staring right at me, a malicious smirk tilting his mouth. My heart beats harder as those dark, soulless eyes stare back at me.

“I’m going to make you scream, bitch.”

I drop my eyes to the floor and shake my head, trying to silence the menacing voice in my head as I attempt to catch my breath.

“Hey, baby, you okay?” Grayson asks, bringing his lips close to my ear.

I grab hold of his voice and soak in the safety it offers. I nod but keep my head down, not wanting to lose it here in front of everyone, especially in front of a man who doesn’t deserve my fear.

“Let the bastard plead not guilty,” Pap fumes in a low tone. “That way he can be punished to the fullest extent of the law, like he deserves.”

Tania reaches over and gently pats his leg. “Calm down, Pap, before your blood pressure hits the roof. I’ll do the cussing for the both of us,” she says, trying to lighten the mood, but there is no denying the anger in her voice.

The courtroom falls silent as the two men return to their seats. Henderson is furious while Mr. Jones looks confident and smug.

“What’s going on, David?” Grayson asks, leaning forward.

“They’re retracting the plea and the judge is allowing it,” he replies grimly. “The judge isn’t giving long for a trial date either. Only a couple of weeks.”

As soon as he says this, the judge announces the trial will start in two weeks. My heart stops when the defense asks for Reggie to be released on bail, but thankfully, it’s denied.

After the judge dismisses the court and leaves, we all stand. I keep my gaze away from everyone, wanting to get out of the stifling room. We file out quietly, our moods somber. I barely register saying goodbye to Grayson’s mom as she walks out before us, my head reeling at what just went down. I hate knowing that this is going to be dragged out, and I can’t help but fear what the near future holds for us all.

I’m pulled from my tortured thoughts when we make it outside. Between the shouts and chants from the angry protestors to being instantly bombarded by reporters, it all becomes too much.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Grayson grinds out. Just as we are about to descend the courthouse steps, a voice echoes over the crowd, overshadowing the chaos.

“Racial purity is America’s security!”

The hateful words being shouted through a megaphone bring us all to a stop on the concrete steps. I turn from under the shelter of Grayson’s arm and gasp at the sight before me.

“Jesus Christ,” Grayson curses, sounding as shocked as I feel.

We stare at the mass of people approaching, draped in robes, faces hidden beneath hoods. They’re holding up signs and the words written on them are enough to make my blood boil.

WHITE POWER.

GOD is WHITE.

KLAN out NOW.

“What the hell?” Tania says, her tone filled with anger and fear.

The reporters all stand stunned for only a second before flocking down to the scene.

A new fear consumes me as the group moves in fast and purposefully, heading straight toward the angry protestors. All of who are even more agitated with their arrival. A few more police officers come running out of the courthouse and down the steps, but it’s too late. Chaos erupts, both groups striking out hard and fast.