Page 1 of The Enforcer

Prologue

Shane

Eight years ago

This case is either going to make or break me. I’m not sure if it’ll be in a good way or not.

As I sit beside Raxel James, the defendant I’ve been tasked with defending, sweat accumulates on my back and trickles down my spine. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have let my ego make me take a case no one else would touch with a ten-foot pole.

When I got the case file in front of me, I thought I had a good chance of either winning, or making sure his sentence was low. But as the prosecution delivers their case, I’m not so sure. While my case is strong, theirs is stronger. It’s not helping that Raxel is not taking any of it seriously, smiling menacingly at the man who he almost beat into a coma.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I look over at him with carefully disguised irritation. He’s too scary to show outright annoyance. I lean over and whisper, “Stop laughing. The jury won’t think you’re serious about being remorseful.”

In a voice that sounds like he’s on a whiskey and cigarette diet, he replies, “I’m not. I already have one foot in prison, man. Just make sure it’s not for too long or you’ll be next.” My heart stutters in my chest, but I pretend I’m not affected and lean away from him.

Raxel continues to smirk as the witness on the stand delivers his testimony and I know it’s the beginning of the end for this case.

I’m proven right soon after when the jury finds Raxel guilty of attempted murder.

When the verdict is read, I drop my head, white knuckling the table as I tell Raxel, “I’m sorry, man.”

For someone that was found guilty of attempted murder, Raxel is pretty chill about the verdict. “Let’s see what the sentence is. You did a good job, man.”

I felt like I did but hearing him actually say it means a lot. I relax, feeling like he won’t try to have me killed because he’s going to prison.

When Raxel is sentenced to fifteen years to life, my heart sinks at how terribly I lost this case. Turning to him quickly, I tell him, “We’ll appeal. I’ll start filing as soon as I get back to the office.” If I still have an office. One of the partners at the firm I work for heavily implied that my job is contingent upon the outcome of this case. It’s just my luck that I took this case on and assured them it would be a positive outcome. Fuck me.

Regardless, Raxel is my client and I’ll continue to work hard for him to get him free. Or at least have his sentence reduced.

Raxel meets my eyes and nods. All the faith he has for me seeps into my marrow and I know I’ll stop at nothing to see him out of the clutches of the department of corrections. He might not be a good guy—I watched Raxel beat someone nearly to death on video and saw the x-rays of the aftermath—but I think there may be more to him. Or I may just be tenacious and don’t want to give up, especially when I lose.

I don’t like losing.

“Call my best friend, Zeke, and tell him these exact words.” I pay rapt attention to what he says, making sure I don’t miss the message he wants to deliver. “Tell him life is good on this side of the fence.”

“Anything else?” I ask, wanting to make sure I do all I can for him before he’s dragged away.

“Yeah, tell him to calm the fuck down. I’ll be out soon.” Raxel’s laugh haunts me as he’s pulled from the courtroom. I’m not sure what to do with that last bit of information, but I can call his friend. The one that had the outburst in the courtroom earlier and had to be pulled out by the other bikers before he caused even more of a scene.

That’s the one I have to call. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but I told Raxel I would.

Back at my office, I get everything in order to start the appeals process, even though I won’t be able to file for another thirty days. Either way, I want to have all my ducks in a row before I present myself to the judge that sentenced Raxel.

Then, blowing out a long breath, I pick up the phone receiver on my desk and dial the number I have for Raxel’s friend. The phone rings several times before a deep, gruff voice answers. “Who the fuck is this?”

Clearing my throat nervously, I say, “Shane Astor. I’m the lawyer for Raxel James. He wanted?—”

“Whatever message he gave you shouldn’t be discussed over the phone. Meet me at the clubhouse off of highway thirty-nine. Pass mile marker eighty-seven and you’ll see a dirt road on the left. Take it and drive all the way up the hill.”

Before I can ask more, he hangs up.

I look at the phone, not sure what I’m supposed to do. The sun is close to setting, so I’m not sure I should even try to drive out that way. Highway thirty-nine is about twenty minutes away from my office and about forty minutes from my condo. If I decide to go, I’ll be getting home late.

Should I go to deliver a simple message? I should call back and just tell him what Raxel said and be done with it. What’s the point of going to the clubhouse if I just have to tell him two sentences?

This could be a set up, but I’ve never been one to back down from doing what needs to be done for my client. I want to get this over with so I can get back here and finish Raxel’s appeal.

Gathering my things—since I plan to head home after the message is delivered—I follow the directions to the clubhouse that the man on the phone gave me.

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