Page 26 of Corrupting Cinderella (Lost Kings MC 2)

  Since I took control of the Lost Kings, I've worked hard to insulate myself with people in positions that can help me and my brothers avoid Grinder's fate. If New York ever gets its head out of its ass and legalizes weed, I'd sleep a lot easier. I already have things in place to turn us legit as soon the legislature and governor give the green light.

  Yeah, it's a long drive out in my comfortable but unfamiliar rental car, so I have lots of time to think over all this shit.

  And avoid thinking about where I stand with Hope.

  I left my cut at home. I’d like to avoid the hassle of an ass-probing strip search, so I’m in complete compliance with the facility’s endless visitor rules and guidelines. Besides my ink, nothing on my body associates me with LOKI. No jewelry. No thinly veiled logos or sayings. Nothing. And it feels fucking weird. Like my identity is somewhere in limbo back in Empire, waiting for me to return. I've got a simple, plain black sweatshirt on and black track pants. No zippers or buttons to attract the attention of the metal detector. No pockets to attract the hands of the guards. I'm even wearing plain black underwear, since the rules specifically stated visitors should be wearing underwear. I don't even want to ponder what incident led them to including that in the official guidelines.

  The scene inside is as depressing as I expected. I suffer a bit of guilt over making Teller and Murphy do this trip every month. They barely knew Grinder. But at least maybe it helps them understand why I prefer to avoid the things I do.

  I timed my trip so I'd get here right after count, and the waiting area is full of visitors who had the same idea. Voluntarily walking myself inside a prison is not sitting well with me, but I suck it the fuck up and make my way through the metal detectors. The visiting room I'm escorted to is different than I expected. No metal cage separating us. Regular tables and chairs. I guess Grinder's been behaving himself.

  I stand up to greet him. We're allowed a quick handshake before the guards gesture for us to sit down.

  Time inside has not been kind to my friend. At six-two, he's always been a big guy, but now he's thin and gray.

  "Long fucking time, Rock," he greets me in the same slow, rumbling voice I remember.

  "Yeah," I agree, because what else am I going to say? He knows why I haven't come to visit.

  "I hear the MC is doing well."

  "We're solid."

  "Thanks for making sure my account is full."

  "Of course."

  "You seen Rosie lately?"

  "No, man. She don't want to see anyone associated with the MC."

  "You take care of her?"

  "Send her money. She takes it."

  He nods. "That's good."

  "She come visit?"

  "Never. Don't want her to see me here."

  I can understand that. That’s kind of a dead end conversation topic.

  "So what'd you do to get into the fancy visiting room?"

  His mouth quirks, and a hint of the guy I remember makes a brief appearance.

  "Got myself up to level three now. Comes with all sorts of privileges. Even allowed to wear my own underwear, instead of that state-issued crap."

  It feels horrifically inappropriate to laugh, but I chuckle anyway. Grinder seems to appreciate it.

  "That's good, man."

  "It is. There's talk I might get shipped back to a regular facility to finish out my sentence."

  "No shit?"

  "Hoping I can transfer down to Pine."

  "That would be nice. A lot closer, so more of the guys could come visit."

  "Please, they're all too young to even remember me now."

  I snort at that. It's not really true. The guys remember Grinder. We just don't talk about him a lot.

  "How's Wrath?"

  "Ornery as ever."

  "Z?"

  "Still sticking his dick in anything that moves."

  "You?"

  I'm not sure how I feel about discussing Hope with Grinder. Part of me doesn't want to rub my happiness in his face. Part of me doesn't want anyone inside these walls even knowing she exists and that she's important to me.

  "Been seeing a girl for a little while."

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. "Club girl?"

  "Nah. Farthest thing from it."

  "How's that working out?"

  I almost choke on the answer. "Most days, pretty damn good. Sometimes, a little rough."

  Real fucking rough.

  He nods thoughtfully. "Rosie didn't know shit about MCs before we met."

  "I remember you telling me that." Seemed strange to me, even back then. Now it’s uncomfortably familiar.

  From what I remember, Grinder’s ol’ lady was in med school when they met. Way he told it, she hopped on the back of his bike and never looked back.

  "So fucking smart." He shakes his head, flexes his hands. "Bet she wishes she'd never met my dumb ass, never left med school. She'd probably be a doctor with a nice little private practice like she always wanted, if it hadn't been for me."

  "That was her choice."

  He gives me a level stare. "Nah. Hated anything that took her away from me. Made her fucking miserable until she quit."

  That’s some pretty heavy self-realization Grinder’s got going on. I guess sitting in a cell for twenty-three hours a day, six days a week by yourself will do that to a guy—if it doesn’t drive him insane first. Turning over his words, I can’t help but think about my own situation. I'd never do that to Hope. In fact, I keep trying to push her back into her career. Still, this whole conversation is stirring up a storm inside of me.

  A big one.

  "If I ever get the fuck outta here, you gonna have a place for me?"

  "Of course. What kind of question is that?"

  He shrugs. "Nice to have something to look forward to."

  We talk awhile longer. Nothing of any consequence, but I sense he just enjoys the company. Again, I feel like shit for not coming out more often. The guards let me grab a bunch of snacks from the vending machines, so for the rest of the visit we consume a lot of crap that comes out of crinkly wrappers. At three-thirty, all the visitors are kicked out. Grinder promises to keep me up to date on his transfer request. I promise I'll be back out to see him soon.

  I intend to keep that promise.

  My body feels like it’s connected to a live wire the whole ride home. I have never been so fuckin’ anxious to get off the road. Everything in me is screaming to go see my girl and fix this fuckery between us before I lose her for good.

  Hope doesn’t want to see me. She made that damn clear. I can’t stand this, though. I have to see her. I just need the right excuse.

  The perfect plan comes to me, and I discard it immediately. The guys will slit my throat if they ever find out.

  It’s a bad fucking idea. But I can’t shake it.

  I think it’s the last play I’ve got.

  I miss Rock like crazy.

  I’m trying so hard to understand him. Why he does the things he does. Our relationship has been so complicated from the very beginning. Even after my husband’s death. Rock and I have such differing viewpoints on so many things.

  The one thing we certainly agree on is sex. The sex is freaking amazing.

  But is that enough?

  Almost immediately I’m ready to kick my own butt. We have more than sex. He sees things in me I don’t even recognize and loves me for them. Although his life with the club confuses me, I respect his devotion to the people he considers his “family.” He cares about something bigger than himself, and over the years I’ve found that to be a rare quality in people. Anyone can spout off nonsense about how they’d die for their loved ones, but Rock means it right down to his very soul. It’s hard not to admire that level of commitment.

  His obsession with keeping me safe comes from a good place. A place of protecting me, not controlling me. There’s a difference, and I know in my heart he’s on the right side of that very thin line.

  I’m not sure what to do about it, though.

Every day that goes by without a word from him scares me. Maybe I finally pushed him away for good. Maybe he’s decided I’m too much work, and he’s back to his former ways of screwing dancers and club girls who aren’t so complicated and pissy.

  The thought makes me sick.

  I need something to take my mind off of our situation. A distraction in the form of my crazy friend Lilly would be perfect.

  It only makes sense that since we both work downtown, Lilly and I would occasionally get together for lunch. Yet for some reason, we never do. Now that I am down here more frequently but still don't have a lot of clients, I have more free time on my hands, so when she asks me to come meet her, I'm happy to say yes.

  Lunch with Lilly should help me take my mind of the situation with Rock. I feel like I’m dangerously close to caving in to every one of his demands, and I don’t like what that says about me.

  Sophie is traveling again this week, so it will just be the two of us. Or so I think. When I finally make my way through the concourse to the food court where many state workers spend their lunch hour, she's sitting with a straight-laced younger guy I don't recognize.

  "Hope! Over here." She stands up and waves frantically. I take a second to adjust to the sight of Professional Lilly. Boobs snuggled down under layers of fabric, hair twisted into a professional knot, skirt an inch below her knees. I glance down at my own pants and blouse and feel a little underdressed next to her, which is pretty hysterical when you think about it.

  “Hey, hon.” Lilly leans over and gives me a quick hug. She gestures to her companion. “This is Brad. We work together sometimes and ran into each other on the way down, so I invited him.” She gives me an I’m-sorry-I-hope-you’re-not-mad face. “Brad, this is my friend, Hope.”

  He actually stands up to greet me and shake my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” My gaze darts around the cafeteria. “Anything here that won’t make me want to barf?” I ask Lilly.

  She squints and points to the far, back corner. “The deli. They make great sandwiches.”

  “’Kay. I’ll be right back.”

  I’m anxious because I know Lilly only gets an hour for lunch and it takes forever to place my order.

  When I return, they’re both talking about someone I don’t know. Work stuff, I guess.

  “So, what do you do, Hope?”

  My mouth is full of turkey sandwich, so Lilly answers for me. “She’s a lawyer.”

  Brad raises an eyebrow. “Nice. What do you practice?”

  My nose wrinkles, but I give my standard answer before asking him, “You?”

  “I’m a consultant with Empire Canvassing.”

  “Don’t let him fool you—he’s a dirty lobbyist,” Lilly says with a dramatic head shake.

  My lips curve up at the generic sounding name of his firm. “What are you lobbying for?”

  He rolls his eyes in obvious delight and gives me a broad grin. “A new tech company that manufactures grow house equipment.”

  My blank look seems to amuse both of them. “They’re lobbying to legalize pot in New York,” Lilly explains.

  “Why are tech companies interested in that?”

  I get the impression Brad is not impressed with my intellect. “Big money to be made in the states that are legalizing. Think about it. You’ve heard of NORML, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, they’ve been pushing for marijuana reform for years with no movement. But these investors and lobbyists who are backed by big-money have managed to propel some of the legislation forward in no time.”

  I think about some of my clients—heck, Rock being one of them—getting dragged through the criminal justice system for stupid, simple pot possession. “I guess if that’s what it takes to finally get some sensible laws and stop sending people to prison for something so silly, it’s a good thing.”

  Brad seems surprised. I guess he thought I’d be judgmental. “Our firm works on other stuff too. This is just a big deal at the moment.”

  We talk about some other topics. Lilly mentions a movie she wants to see. Brad awkwardly asks me out. Thankfully, Lilly saves the day. “Oh, Hope’s got a big, scary biker boyfriend, Brad. Sorry.”

  Brad’s definitely shocked. I’m a little shocked myself because I’m close to bawling at the table. I’m not actually sure I still have a boyfriend anymore, scary or otherwise. I keep this to myself, though.

  “You don’t seem like a biker babe,” Brad says without apology.

  Heat creeps over my cheeks. “I wasn’t.”

  “He’s not just a regular badass, he’s an MC President,” Lilly brags.

  Brad quirks an eyebrow at me. “I hope it’s the Wolf Knights or the Lost Kings. The Vipers don’t have the best reputation where women are concerned.”

  What the—

  The question must be visible all over my face. “Our firm lobbies for some other interests as well. I know more about this area than you can imagine, Hope. So which one is it? I hear Mr. North is a clever businessman, but someone you don’t want to cross, and Mr. Hunt is a gentleman, but he’s got a nasty streak if you fuck with his family.”

  Good grief, my boyfriend has quite a reputation. “Uh, Rochlan North.”

  “Please don’t tell him I asked you out,” he says with an absolutely straight face.

  Lilly bursts out laughing. Brad and I do not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I’m not thrilled with the report I get from Hoot.

  Yeah, I’m risking pissing Hope off for good by still having her followed, but I’m fucking worried about her. Greybell finally made bail, and I’m not taking a chance he will come back to finish what he started. From what I’ve been able to figure out, his family shuttled him away to a mental hospital.

  He best fucking stay put.

  I don’t know if Hope is aware of his release. It’s not like she would change her routine even if she did.

  She’s stubborn that way.

  However, I’m annoyed with today’s report from Hoot for different reasons.

  She’s having lunch with Lilly and some guy Hoot doesn’t recognize. Although I know Lilly enjoys playing the field, I’m concerned she might have taken it upon herself to set Hope up on a date.

  The idea kicks my fuckin’ ass into gear.

  When Hoot tells me it looks like she left the office for the night, I ask him to tail her until the turn off for her house. He gives me the call that she’s almost here, and I steel myself for what’s about to go down.

  This has to go right. Fucking up isn’t an option.

  Headlights wash over me, and I squint into the light, relieved when I recognize Hope’s car. She barely has the key out before she opens her door.

  “Rock?”

  “It’s me.” Shit, I didn’t want to scare her.

  The soft slam of her car door, gentle clicking of her heels over the pavement are just background noise compared to her voice. “Why are you here?”

  “To talk.”

  “Oh.”

  She’s close enough for me to see the corners of her mouth turn down. Without inviting me inside, she opens the door. I follow in right behind her, just in case.

  After setting her things down, she leans against the kitchen counter. She folds her arms over her chest and nods at me.

  Fuck, this is hard. “I wanted to give you this,” I say, while digging into my pocket for the small rectangular box.

  Her eyes fill with confusion as she stretches out one hand to take it. She slides the box open and stares at what’s inside for a beat before speaking. “A phone?”

  “Uh, yeah. I can have your number switched over to it later if you want.” This is awkward enough without getting bogged down in the technicalities.

  “Okay.”

  “Turn it on.”

  She fiddles around with it for a minute or so before the screen lights up.

  “Now what?”

  I hold out my hand, and she moves closer to give me the p

hone. Standing side by side, when I haven’t been near Hope in what feels like forever, momentarily distracts me. Finally, I manage to call up the screen I need. There’s a small blue heart steadily blinking at the center. I hand the phone back to her, and when her fingers brush against mine, it’s a fight not to crush her against me for a scorching kiss.

  “What is that?” She takes the phone from me, studying the screen. “Is that a…map? That’s my house.” Her questioning eyes meet mine.

  I pull out my phone to show her the same screen, mine with a pink heart blinking—her.

  “You…You’re giving me the same thing?” My chest tightens at the sound of her low, velvety voice.

  “Yes. I trust you more than any woman I’ve ever known.” I grab both phones in one hand and tip her chin up. “But. You have to promise me you will never come looking for me if I’m out on club business. Ever. If you’re worried, you tell one of the guys, give them the location and let them handle it. Promise.”

  She blinks a few times before answering. “Okay, I won’t. Promise.”

  I nod, but I don’t let her go yet. I want her to understand how serious this is. “The shit I was in the middle of the other night, sweetheart, if you’d come rolling in…it would have been very bad. For everyone. Especially you.”

  “You scare me, Rock.”

  My pulse jumps—how can she say that?

  The heavy frown I’m wearing must nudge her into explaining. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid for you. Can you understand that? My husband was very cautious and safe, and yet I still lost him. You’re non-stop danger, and I’m so scared of you…dying,” she finally whispers.

  A number of emotions run through me, hearing her admit something so deep. I land on guilt. I need her to hear the absolute truth from me.

  “I’m so sorry that I make you worry. But can I tell you something?” She nods for me to go on. “Only three things in this world keep me up at night. The thought of losing you. Losing one of my brothers. Going back to prison. That’s it. I’m not afraid of dying, babe.”

  Admitting that to her didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would.