Page 18 of Bullet

I carefully study the tops of my boots, so I don’t give myself away.

“Sure. That’s why you’re blushing right now.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“She knows your real name.” I should have expected that he’d take the goading to a whole different level.

“That’s because when you’re arrested and have to go to court, you’re not booked with your fucking club moniker.”

“I know all about being arrested. That doesn’t change that no one around here knows what your name is.”

“It’s embarrassing. I don’t feel like being the brunt of every joke for the next decade.”

Smoke whistles. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse. My mom has Scottish roots. You can just imagine.”

“It’s a problem of pronunciation, then.”

“No.”

“Did they name you Haggis or Bag Pipes?”

“Hilarious.” If anyone else was here listening to this conversation, they might laugh, but as it is, Raiden and Ella are far too into trying to devour each other’s faces and Tyrant and Lark are over on the other side of the room, standing close to each other, talking about something that probably has to do with their daughter.

“If you won’t get obliterated and mourn the loss of the range, then I’ll do it for you.”

“Just play nice when she gets here,” I advise, trying not to sound like a sanctimonious prick. “I was smug about this with her, but we need a lawyer, and she needs a job. She has a very small amount of time to get her own shit set up before I’m due in court and I want it to be her representing me.”

“Why her? What’s so special about her when there are plenty of lawyers out there?”

“Would they be willing to go against the big guns? She already did and look what happened.”

“Look what happened to the range,” Smoke fires back. His face hardens into a murderous glare. “Harold deserves to be strung up. I can’t believe Tyrant won’t let us do it.”

“We can’t just go over there with pitchforks and a battering ram.” I’ve already gone over this with him more than once since Sunday. He hates that when Tyrant called church, the decision was to wait and try to locate Harold to speak with him to figure out what exactly it is that he wants.

“We could fight fire with fire.”

No matter how much I wish we could just go torch the asshole’s house, Tyrant was right about common sense needing to prevail. “That’s what we’re doing by using our damn brains.”

Smoke rolls his eyes and turns to pick up a pool ball. He starts racking them up in the middle of the table. He might even be able to convince me to play a game. Why not? It would be better than standing around here worrying, though I hate admitting that’s what I’m doing.

“I’ll ask again. Why her? She sounds like a judgmental wilted little butterfly with a bad case of color blindness. You don’t owe her anything because she got fired.”

The balls come together with a loud bang.

“As I said, I don’t know that anyone else will want to risk their career over representing me now that a precedent has been set.”

“That’s it? This is strictly business?”

“It’s strictly business.”

“You don’t want her in any way?”

“I do want her. She’s a beautiful woman and I have eyes and the same anatomy as any other man.” Giving the truth is sometimes far easier and less suspicious than lying. “But the saying about not mixing business with pleasure is a saying for a reason. Desire isn’t a good enough excuse to risk my freedom and this entire club. We took an oath of brotherhood and promised to always put this place first.”

Smoke picks up the two pool cues and passes one to me. “Lots of us have made questionable matches.”

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