Page 6 of Bullet

I pick up the pen she tried to launch like an arrow. It would be much more convenient for Lynette George, Attorney at Law, if I just dropped dead on the spot. Unfortunately for her, I’ve always been a contrary bastard, and loathe to do anything that people expect of me. The one caveat being my club. I’d do anything my prez asked of me, hence why I’m sitting here.

I flip to the last page of the contract and scrawl my name on the bottom line. It’s not like I have to read the thing. Cost isn’t an issue. The club will pay whatever it takes.

“The bail they’re going to set will likely be outrageous.”

“We’ll pay it.”

“I figured. Clubs like yours always have the means.”

“You keep saying ‘clubs like yours’ and ‘men like me’.” I initial the bottoms of all the pages on the tiny little blank, then throw down the pen and watch as it rolls dangerously close to the edge of the table. I skewer her with a hard glare. “You might have heard things about other clubs, but I don’t appreciate you assuming that me or any of my brothers are the same way. We don’t stand for that kind of thing.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes, totally unaffected by me. She’s not the least bit intimidated or afraid. Not of me, and not of the situation. She displays a steely confidence that has my cock kicking violently in my pants.

“Of course not. Every client I defend is innocent,” she mutters sarcastically.

“If you already think I’m guilty,” I say through gritted teeth, “then why are you so intent on being here?”

“I already told you. This is a favor to my sister, nothing more.”

“Really? I think you get off on defending monsters like me. Beasts that can pay. It doesn’t matter to you where the money comes from. It doesn’t even matter if someone is innocent or not. All that matters is that you win cases and make a name for yourself so you can get ahead. Isn’t that the way the systemworks? And a case like this? High enough profile? Expensive retainer? This is the kind of thing your firm likes to see. Take enough cases like this and win, you won’t just make a name for yourself. You might just make partner one day.”

She remains impassive, deaf to my barbed insults. I wonder if I’ve called her bluff. This is a nothing case. All that stuff she just spewed was only meant to scare me. Wasn’t it?

“No doubt.” Her clipped admission is the only response I get before she snatches the paperwork back up. She tucks it away, then stands and smooths wrinkles out of her skirt that don’t exist. “Just so you know, there’s not going to be bail. I’m going to see about your release. They didn’t have nearly enough evidence to even get a warrant for your arrest.”

My dick pulses. Of all the women it could choose, why her? Why someone who has already decided they hate me. I’m not the kind of man who likes a challenge. I haven’t noticed or wanted a woman in a very long time. I like my own company. I have my club. I have my range. I like the peace, quiet, and solitude of living in a city with that small town feel. I have my club brothers as family, and I made a sort of peace with my life. It wouldn’t be much to some, but it’s everything to me.

Why her, then? Probably because Lynette George isn’t like other women. Not professionally, and certainly not personally.

Her eyes lock with mine, cold and hard, as distant and deadly as any adversary I’ve ever faced in my life. Despite the fact that I’m taller than her, that I outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds, that I’m hardened, muscled, and have lived on the wrong side of the law for quite a few years now, and that was after nearly two decades as Special Ops, a shiver rolls down my spine.

She drops her voice to a whisper as she leans in, her sweet breath fanning over my cheek. “I’m going to break all my rules and stick my neck out for you. Do you know what happens to people who accuse judges of corruption in any form?”

It doesn’t seem like that’s the kind of question that she needs a response to.

“When I come back into this room, you’ll have a court date set. I’ll get all of that by being utterly sweet and charming and skirting around the issue that your club’s ex-lawyer, Harold Jacobs, clearly called in a favor for you to be sitting here right now.”

“Why did you ask me those questions about bail if you knew I wouldn’t need it?”

Her eyes spark, and something like a taunt flashes across her face. She doesn’t give me a response. Her silence tells me she doesn’t owe me one. She backs up and exits the room, heels clacking against the cheaply tiled floor.

All I can do is sit and wait.

The club had the best lawyer in the state before I definitely did not assault his son. The one thing that Lynette was absolutely right about is that Harold Jacobs knows every single one of our secrets. If he uses them to come after me—and by extension Satan’s Angels MC—then our prez might just change his mind about violence not being a solution.

After forty minutes, the heavy steel door bangs open, admitting Lynette alone.

“You’re free to go,” she snaps like she’s almost disappointed in the outcome of her doing her job so well. “They’re coming into release you right away.” She stands there as a triumphant ice queen, yet somehow brimming with fire and fucking brimstone.

I can’t stop myself from picturing her at the range, feet spread in those heels and that prim and proper fucking suit, stance frigid, pointing a gun at the target. I bet she knows her way around the business end of a gun, for all she likes to pretend she’s a white-collar princess. She strikes me as the type to not let personal defense slide, and in her line of work, it’s probably wise to know how to keep the creeps away.

I did some basic research last night before I made the call today. I would have thrown the card in the garbage if Lynette George wasn’t a criminal lawyer and didn’t work for a firm that is very well known for taking on even the worst cases and winning. She’s built her career off the scum she hates.

The only possible answer I have as to why my brain is spoon feeding me this bullshit fantasy is that I’ve starved myself, ignoring the needs that every man has for far too long. Now that it’s started, it can’t stop.

In my head, at my range, Lynette George would get in position to fire that gun, but then she’d turn, her eyes darkened with banked flames that she’s so afraid to let burn unchecked. She’d tell me that she has no idea what to do. She’d want me to show her. I’d tuck in close, press our hips together, wrap my arms around her. She’d hesitate at the unexpected and unwanted feeling of safety, but she wouldn’t shake me off. Not even when she’d feel the hard outline of my cock pressed against her lower back.

I shake off the fantasy before I get a mental image of her climbing me like there’s a bear chasing her and I’m the tree that’s supposed to save her. She’d beg me to pin her arms aboveher head with one hand while I edge her skirt up with the other, higher and higher, until I’d find her ruined panties, soaked with her arousal.

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