Page 17 of White Heat (Lost Kings MC 5)

  Thank God she hadn’t come to the jail alone.

  A different guard, JT, escorts me back to my cell after she leaves. He and I have gotten friendly enough that I’m comfortable asking why Lizard’s here today.

  “OT. He always sucks up as much as he can.” JT cocks his head. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

  “Nah. Just a prick.”

  JT doesn’t seem surprised. Nor does he disagree.

  It’s not until later that night that I fully understand how much Lizard needs to die.

  “Man your ol’ lady’s got some nice fuckin’ tits on her.” His voice wakes me from my half-sleep. He makes some obscene grabby gesture. The urge to destroy him makes me shake.

  “Nice and firm. Real too. Figured they’d be plastic.” I keep telling myself he’s bluffing to get me to come at him. But Hope’s flustered face and bright red cheeks flash in my mind from earlier today and I know he’s telling the truth.

  No wonder Wrath called an emergency meeting today. I knew there was more to it than he let on. And I know the reason he didn’t tell me is so I don’t do something stupid. If I give into my rage, I’ll rip this shithead apart.

  Lizard wants it. Wants me to snap—and trust me, inside I’m snapping louder than logs on a motherfuckin’ fire. But outside, I’m calm and quiet.

  He opens the cell door and I sit up, placing my back against the wall. “Didn’t you hear me? Your old lady’s got some fantastic tits.”

  Whatever he’s about to dish out I’m not in the mood for.

  But I’ll take it so I can get back to my girl.

  “Five minutes, motherfucker,” I finally answer.

  He gets up in my face. “What’s that?”

  “Five minutes outside these walls is all I’ll need with you.”

  A flicker of fear and uncertainty registers in his eyes. Without the security of his badge and baton, he’s one hundred percent coward.

  Then he stands straight and smug, crossing his arms over his chest. “Think next time she comes to visit, I’ll search her twat to make sure she’s not smuggling in contraband.”

  To anyone else, his tone might sound full of authority and power. But I’m not easily impressed or scared. No, to me he sounds like a dead man gasping for his last breaths. Because by touching Hope, he’s bought himself a bullet to the brain. Even if it takes me years, this fucker will not go unpunished.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I’m so nervous.”

  Wrath and Z both reassure me before I push through the heavy doors to the Slater County courtroom where Rock’s bail hearing is being held. “We’ll be right here when you’re done, Hope,” Z calls after me.

  Mr. Glassman meets me in the back of the room. “Is Rock here yet?” I ask before he gets any words out.

  He steers me into one of the attorney conference rooms and shuts the door. “Not yet. We need to go over your testimony.” So for the next half hour that’s what we do. Fear cripples my lungs when the bailiff bangs on the door to announce we’re up.

  My heart jumps at the sight of Rock’s big frame filling up one of the chairs at the defense table. There’s no jury, so he’s wearing his county-issued orange jumpsuit.

  Suddenly I can’t swallow over the lump in my throat.

  I follow Glassman up the aisle and take the seat on the other side of Rock.

  “Hey, baby,” he whispers.

  His cuffed hands rest in his lap, and I risk wrapping my fingers around them for a few seconds. Inside my heart’s breaking into a million agonizing pieces. Outside, I try to project calm reassurance to the man I love and professional indifference to everyone else.

  When the bailiff announces the judge’s return to the courtroom, I stand and move to one of the seats behind the defense table.

  I’m so focused on Rock—or rather the back of Rock’s head—that I barely listen to what I know is an eloquent plea from Glassman. I pull my notes out of my briefcase and shuffle through them. But I already know the words by heart.

  When it’s time for me to speak, I stand and approach the podium. The DA nods at me. I’ve gotten the impression even he thinks the judge’s refusal to grant bail is excessive. The fact that he hasn’t opposed anything Glassman said this morning only reinforces that suspicion.

  “Your honor, the primary purpose of bail is to ensure that the defendant will be present for all court appearances—”

  “Ms. Kendall,” the judge interrupts. He didn’t interrupt anyone else today. “I’m well-aware of the purpose of bail.” I bite back the “are you sure, because it doesn’t seem like it,” response that immediately jumps to mind.

  There’s no way in hell I’ll let this judge rattle me. “Yes, well, Mr. North is a well-known businessman in the area. He’s lived in the capital area for the majority of his adult life and he has a large number of friends and family in this area.” I outline each of the criteria used to set bail, skipping over the ones unfavorable to Rock.

  “Ms. Kendall, the defendant has a criminal record.” I knew he’d bring that up.

  “None of those convictions are within the last ten years, Your Honor, and he has no record of flight. Further, the evidence is flimsy at best—”

  “Objection,” the DA says without bothering to stand up.

  Glassman argues the objection while I wait to continue. I’ve saved my most compelling argument for last.

  “Go on, Ms. Kendall.”

  “Finally, Your Honor, Mr. North and I are planning to be married in the fall. I also have strong ties to this community. Our wedding will be held in Empire County. There is no reason for him to flee. Thank you.”

  On my way back to my seat, Rock catches my eye and he nods at me. I flash a quick smile, which almost turns into a gasp as I take in the dark bruising around his left eye. No wonder he wouldn’t look at me before. Panic claws at me, desperate to get him free. The roaring blood in my ears drowns out some of the judges words. But I tune in enough to hear him say he’s reserving his decision. At least it’s not a flat-out denial like the last two times.

  My girl’s something. To complete this full circle of irony trip we seem to be on, here she is in court speaking on my behalf again.

  This time it’s a felony that could get me sent away for twenty-five years instead of simple pot possession.

  She’s wearing dress pants, a thin, short-sleeved sweater, heels and more makeup than she usually bothers with. Not the skirt I first saw her in. She’s utterly calm and professional as she approaches the bench. But I know my girl. I know by the way she can’t keep her hands still and the panic in her eyes how hard this is for her.

  Pride surges through me as I catch the lick of anger brightening her eyes when the judge interrupts her. I admire her strength and courage as she stands there and so beautifully pleads for my release.

  She shocks me by using our wedding as one more reason to grant bail. I hadn’t expected that. An attorney admitting in open court that she plans to marry a man being accused of murder? I can hear the screech of tires and smell the burning wreckage of her career crashing and burning all around us.

  I’d been trying to keep my head down so she wouldn’t see the present from Lizard’s fist staining my face. I’m fine. But I can’t stand giving her yet another thing to worry over. And I’d take a thousand more hits from that asshole if it means she’s safe.

  Of course she notices. Fear and fury flash over her face.

  “Rock,” she calls out when the bailiff takes my arm to lead me back downstairs to the van that will take me back to the county jail.

  “I’m okay,” I reassure her.

  There’s no time or opportunity to say much more before I’m taken away.

  There’s nothing more brutal than watching the man you love be taken away in handcuffs over a crime you know he didn’t commit and a judge refusing to grant bail for no reason. I’m convinced of it. Knowing that he’s hurt, that someone hurt him, makes it so much worse.

  After Rock leaves, the judge m

otions for me to sit at the table next to Glassman.

  “Off the record,” he says to the stenographer.

  His hawkish eyes zero in on me and a zip of fear tears through my chest. “Miss Kendall, I find it deeply disturbing that an educated professional woman, an attorney, would associate with such a disturbing criminal element.”

  My palm slaps down on the table so hard, it echoes through the room as I push out my chair to stand. Glassman clamps his hand on my leg to keep me seated.

  “Your honor, Miss Kendall’s personal life is not at issue here,” Glassman says.

  “She made it my issue by testifying.” His sanctimonious gaze swings back to me. “Young lady, you better think long and hard about your life decisions before you end up in a cell too.”

  I can’t breathe. Can’t form a single word. I’m so stunned by the talking-down to, I don’t know what to do. I want to scream at him that he doesn’t know a fucking thing about me or Rock, but the bastard still hasn’t decided on whether he’s granting bail or not. I can’t be the cause of Rock staying in jail another second because I can’t keep my big mouth shut.

  Beyond that, the patriarchal bullshit this old man just spewed at me burns like acid. People outside the MC world love to criticize the misogyny and subjugation of the women inside it. But oddly enough, some of the worst sexism I’ve encountered has been in the legal world. Usually from old fuckers like this one who ask me innocuous sounding questions such as, am I old enough to be an attorney, if I’m married, when I plan to have children or what does my husband think of my career. Stupid crap they’d never ask a male attorney. But this has to be the worst.

  I’m fuming by the time we leave the courtroom. Glassman takes my elbow and leads me to a corner across from where Wrath and Z are waiting. I hold up one finger, asking them to wait.

  “What the fuck was that?” I snap at Glassman.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m sorry.” He glances over his shoulder at Wrath and Z. Admittedly they’re a scary combo. But as mean as Wrath’s been to me in the past, he’s never once made me feel as small as Judge Holier-Than-Thou just did. “Are you okay, Hope?” Glassman asks.

  “No. I want my fiancé home. This is crap! He’s got no right keeping—”

  “Hope, calm down. I’m asking if you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He sighs and throws another glance at Wrath and Z. “I’ve seen how much you two care for each other, but the judge might be right. You’re definitely risking your career—”

  I hold up my hand to stop whatever else he’s about to say. “I don’t give a flying fuck about my career at the moment. I love Rock. I’d choose him over this,” I wave my hand in front of his face, indicating the whole legal process, “in a heartbeat.”

  “I understand.”

  I don’t think he actually does understand, nor do I care what he thinks.

  I wave the guys over so they can ask Glassman their questions. He explains things in his overpriced-lawyerly way, which amounts to “wait a few days.”

  After Glassman leaves, Z puts his arm around my shoulder. “You look really shaken, Hope. What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it here.” I point at the security camera above us and Z nods.

  Wrath pulls me in for a quick, brotherly hug before we head outside.

  I feel like I left a piece of my heart in the building, except I know my heart is on his way back to the county jail.

  Whatever happened in that courtroom was bad. Hope’s a mess when she walks out with Glassman. Her cheeks are red, eyes glassy. I think I see steam shooting out of her ears though, so that’s a good sign. Z and I glance at each other and I know he’s thinking the same thing.

  When we finally get her in the car, Z and I both turn around to face her. “Spill,” I demand.

  “Before I tell you about the hearing. We’ve got a problem. Rock had a black eye.” She chokes on the last sentence, but I make out her words. Rage pounds through me.

  “I don’t know if it’s that guard or someone else. He tried to hide it from me and they took him away so fast, we couldn’t talk—”

  “Did Glassman say anything?”

  “No. I don’t know if he even noticed.”

  That’s fine. The suit won’t fix this. The club will.

  “Was he okay otherwise, sweetheart,” Z asks as I turn the engine over and head home.

  “I think so.”

  “We’ll take care of it.”

  “I know,” she says softly.

  Once we get on the highway, soft Hope vanishes. Ballsy Hope is a lot easier for me to deal with. As she unleashes her pent up fury from the hearing, my hands tighten on the steering wheel. No way should some asshole talk to her like that. Judge or not, I don’t give a fuck. Maybe we stop by his house after we fuck up Izzard and rip his damn tongue out.

  Z doesn’t even have to call any of the brothers in for church. They’re all waiting at the clubhouse when we return. Hope holds her head up and calmly explains the judge pussied out and won’t make a decision for a few days. She’s honest that Rock’s chances of getting out are shit and doesn’t sugarcoat one tiny detail. What she doesn’t mention is Rock’s black eye. She trusts that I’ll take care of that. And I will.

  When she’s finished, Trinity hugs her and the girls head upstairs. I tip my head at the war room. “Everyone at the table in five.”

  They don’t need five.

  Z’s the last one to the table. He holds up a piece of paper and nods at me on his way in.

  There’s no reason to fuck around, so I get right to the point. “Hope didn’t mention it, but Rock came to court with a black eye. She couldn’t get any information out of him or figure out if he has any other injuries.” Angry voices fill the room, and I whistle to shut everyone the fuck up. Christ, I miss Rock.

  “We don’t know if it’s the guard or if he got into it with another inmate, but we should move on Izzard now. I doubt Rock’s the only person he’s fucked with, so there’ll be plenty of suspects.”

  Everyone agrees. Never been prouder of every single one of my bloodthirsty brothers.

  Z taps the table and I sit so he can speak. “He’s a perverted fucker. Likes finding his “dates” on Craigslist. Roughed up more than one girl. I didn’t have enough time to figure out if he’s connected to one of the crews in the area, but we gotta assume he might be.”

  “Set up a date,” Sparky says. He almost never says anything in church, unless it’s about his plants.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Z answers. His gaze shifts to me.

  “Don’t even suggest—”

  “Swan will do it,” Dex says and we all turn to him for further explanation. “She loves the club, she’s been upset she can’t do more to help out.”

  I nod, warming up to the idea. “We need to make sure she’s protected and nothing happens to her.”

  Dex signals me. “I’ll be responsible for getting her out. Who’s giving the beatdown?”

  I’ve given this a lot of thought since our last sit down and mask or not, silent or not, there aren’t many guys my size running around. It’ll be obvious as fuck where this payback’s coming from if I’m there. We’re doing this for Rock and for the club, not my ego. As much as it burns my fuckin’ ass, I can’t go. “I think, Teller, Murphy, and Z should deliver the message. I’d like a fourth guy there to keep the engine running.”

  Ravage raises his hand. “I’ll do it.”

  I jerk my thumb at the door. “Go grab Swan.”

  Swan’s more than agreeable to the plan. Well the part of the plan we actually tell her about. Do we tell her the guy’s a CO at Rock’s jail? Fuck no. All she knows is the club needs to lure some fuckface to a remote location and we need her help to do it. Does she ask any follow-up questions? Nope.

  She has one request. “Let me know when, so I can get my shift at CB covered.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Dex says.  We make the arrangements for Saturday night. We’ll all be on edge until then, so I tell the guys to go smoke up or do whatever the fuck they want—within reason—for now.

  I’m not expecting Sway and two of his guys to show up a few hours later with an offer to “help” us out while Rock’s away. The last fucking thing I feel like doing is entertaining his drunk ass.

  Sway’s a hard motherfucker—you don’t earn that president’s patch by being a pussy—but we’ve sparred enough in the past for him to know fucking with me won’t end well for him.

  He slaps my hand and pulls me to him for a hug. “Sorry, I couldn’t get up here sooner. We got shit going down in our territory.”

  “It’s okay, brother. Appreciate your support. Letting Steer stay with us and help out at CB for a while was a big help,” Z says after he gets the same greeting.

  “Mind if we crash here tonight?”

  “Not at all,” I answer with as much hospitality as I’m capable of.

  Setting my personal irritation over how Sway’s treated Trinity in the past aside, I don’t like him sniffing around our clubhouse at a time when he probably assumes we’re weak. Lot of guys in our organization would love to have a piece of our grow operation.

  Not that we couldn’t use the extra muscle, but having him here annoys me. Rock wouldn’t like it and neither do I.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I’m so thankful Trinity’s here for me to vent to. She listens and asks questions. After I’m finished calling the judge every foul name in the book, she bites her lip and puts her hand on my arm.

  “Some clubs, you know, when a member’s inside, there’s an exception for ol’ ladies to sleep with other brothers while her man’s doing time for the club,” Trinity rambles out.

  “That’s gross,” I say without thinking.

  Her eyes meet mine then dart away and she shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s a way to take care of her while her man’s inside.”

  A heavy uneasiness spreads through my stomach. What’s Trinity trying to hint at? “Well, the last thing on my mind right now is sex.”