Page 2 of The Enforcer

The dirt lane he mentioned takes me high on a hill, deep into a forest. I’m not sure if it’s the best place for a clubhouse, since there’s no one that can come to their aid quickly, but it is secluded.

There are large, closed gates that bar the way, and I’m not sure what I should do to get in. I climb out of my car and walk over to a camera that’s mounted on top of the fence, making sure I’m seen clearly. “I’m here to see Zeke? I have a message for him from Mr. James.”

No one replies, but two men open the gate, clad in leather cuts and blue jeans that look worn and comfortable. I’ve always had a thing for hot men in nice jeans. I try to stop my eyes from roaming over their tight bodies and mostly accomplish it.

Shaking myself, I get back in my car and drive forward, parking in a slot beside a few bikes that seem to have been taken apart.

I wait for the men that opened the gate to tell me where to go. One of them motions for me to follow him and I do, my fists tight to my side. My heart is hammering in my chest as I take in the surroundings—the bar that’s nestled against one wall, plenty of top shelf booze lining the shelves, the two poles that are placed strategically in the space with chairs around them for entertainment of the exotic dancer variety and the men milling about, going about their usual biker routine. Under normal circumstances, I would have looked around more to see what all the fuss with the MC is about, but I’m too nervous to do more than a cursory glance.

At the bar, the handsome, quick-tempered Black guy that almost ran to the stand to beat the witness’s ass is there, drinking a beer with a severe looking Hispanic man that looks like a sexy hawk. What is it about fine men being in a motorcycle club?

“The lawyer is here,” the man who motioned for me to follow him announces to the two, going behind the bar to grab a beer.

Turning to me, the two men look me up and down. I kick my chin up, not wanting to look weak under their scrutiny. I think I pass some test, because the violent one nods.

“I’m Zeke,” he says, holding his hand out to me. “You got a message for me?”

I nod, then tell him what Raxel said. “What does it mean?” I ask, curious.

Zeke smiles, his even, white teeth flashing and a flush blooms over me. God, this man is fucking hot. He’s scary as shit, but hot. “It’s a secret,” he stage-whispers with a wink.

So maybe he isn’t all violent.

The lips of the guy sitting beside him twitch as if he wants to smile, but it doesn’t spread. “I’m Rafael. President of this chapter. Let’s go talk in my office.”

Swallowing thickly, I ask, “What for?”

Zeke stands with a smile, handing me a beer. “Don’t be scared, square. We’re not going to hurt you. It’s hard to hide a body these days.” He has to be joking. Right?

Rafael gives Zeke a dry look before turning to me. “Come on.” He doesn’t see if I’m following, he just expects me to. I’m sure he hasn’t been told no many times before.

When we get to his office, he motions for me to have a seat on a comfortable leather couch, then sits behind his desk. He steeples his fingers as he meets my gaze, his nearly black eyes boring into me. “You did good with the case. Rax may have gone to prison, but you tried to make sure he didn’t. What do you have planned for him now?”

“I uh …” I clear my throat and rub my hands together nervously, hoping I get the answer right. “I plan to file an appeal. I can only file two a year until he gets midway through his sentence, so I have to make them good. I’ll do everything I can to free him or get his sentence reduced. If I’m lucky and make a good enough argument, I can even push for a new trial.”

I’m not really sure if that last one is possible, as I have to find grounds for why his first sentence should be vacated and get another trial underway. I’ll have to research every law book in the library to get a new trial, something that’s not likely to happen.

Rafael nods, putting his hands on his desk. “Okay. In the meantime, what do you think about being put on retainer for us?”

“The motorcycle club? For what?”

He shrugs, but it’s Zeke that answers. “Whatever we need.” I glance over at him where he’s sitting beside me, hands behind his head and his long legs stretched out in front of him. “We’re not exactly law-abiding citizens. We might need your help.”

“If I say no?” I ask, even though I don’t plan to say no. Being on retainer ensures that, even if the firm does fire me, I’ll still have income every month.

Zeke leans into me, nudging my shoulder with his. “Now why would you want to do that? You don’t like us? I promise we don’t bite. Well, I do, they don’t,” he says, inclining his head to Rafael and the other guy that’s in the room as well that has a patch that says Vice President over the breast of his cut.

Despite myself, I chuckle. Looking him in the eye, I reply, “I’m sure you do. And I don’t know you well enough not to like you.”

“You can get to know me,” Zeke says in a flirty voice.

“Enough, Ezekiel. Let me finish my business first,” Rafael says in a matter-of-fact tone. “What do you say? Want to work for Devil’s Mayhem?”

Rubbing my hands on my pants, I swallow and nod. “Yeah.” I look at the handsome face of Zeke and more conviction colors my words. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Chapter One

Zeke

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