by JP Sayle
Thing is, I didn’t give a fuck who that was in here. The guys housed here weren’t worth the steam of my piss. I’d fought my battles to run Dark Angels and my rep preceded me. What I didn’t do anymore was look for trouble. Lizzie’s death had changed that. The old familiar wound throbbed in my chest, but my chained hands prevented me from rubbing at the ache.
Was River okay? Had the state tried to take her while I was stuck in this rat hole?
It irked me more than I wanted to admit that River and I were reliant upon the dude who sat watching me with careful, sea-green eyes. There was something about him that reminded me I’d not scratched a particular itch in a long time. The smell of his cologne was spicy and expensive, and it suited him. The tug low in my belly was a distraction I didn’t need or want. Besides, this sharp looking dude probably preferred his men clean cut and well put together.
His brown hair was styled short at the sides, longer on top, and brushed off his attractive face. His jaw wasn’t quite square as it was a little too pointed, but his lips were full, and for a second, I indulged in imagining what they’d feel like against mine.
When his eyes narrowed on me as if I’d given away my thoughts, I slipped on a mask of disinterest, but I found my gaze shifting to the sharp looking suit he wore over what appeared to be an athletic body. How tall he was he? Would he be able to look me in the eye when we were standing?
“Does the silence mean you’ve nothing else to say?”
I shifted my gaze back to his face when his honey-coated voice disturbed me. “Looks like.” I kept my expression bland and worked to suppress my embarrassment. How long had we been sitting, saying nothing?
“It’s too late today to petition the court for bail. I’ll file first thing tomorrow, and hopefully, we’ll have you out in the next couple of days. Be warned, bail might be set high and there’ll be restrictions about going to the club.” He continued to outline what he thought the judge would make part of the provisions for bail while he neatly placed the pad he’d used and my file into his briefcase. His tanned, manicured hands were sure and steady.
When I’d asked Nutty to contact Mr. Davenport, I had no clue he had a son that was also a lawyer. Not that we’d shared personal information other than what was necessary to sort out the shit storm after River was born. The dude had done a solid job and hadn’t shown any aversion to me or the club.
After he’d trounced the hospital and made sure I kept guardianship of River, he’d given me his card saying that if I ever needed him again, he’d be more than willing to help. I’d taken him at his word. As I sat listening to his son, I wasn’t so sure what all it meant that he’d sent him this time. Would the son fight as hard as his father had? I’d need to reserve judgement on that and see if he got me out of this hellhole.
Only when Mr. Davenport indicated at the glass window behind me that we were done, did the door open and I got my first chance to see him standing. He waited for the chains to be unlocked and I was allowed to stand before offering me his hand. He was a few inches shorter, but he kept his eyes level with mine as I took hold of the soft-skinned palm he offered.
“I’ll check in with the court appointed official dealing with your case and ensure that River remains with”—his brow wrinkled—“Nutty, that’s who you said was looking after her right now?”
My hair shifted around my shoulders as I gave a curt nod.
“I’ll pop by the club and check in with them before I go home.”
“They ain’t at the club. I own River’s Tattoo shop and my home is on the top floor, Nutty and River live there with me.” On hearing the information, his face showed mixed emotions, ones that were gone too fast for me to decipher them.
“I’ve that address, I’ll go there next.” He seemed flustered for the first time as he glanced down at our still joined hands.
What the fuck was I thinking holding on to the dude’s hand? I dropped it faster than I could change gears on my motorcycle. He stepped to the side, gave me a polite smile, and walked out the open door. I watched his retreating back for a moment and let my gaze lower to his ass.
“You got a thing for your lawyer?” came a gruff voice that held nothing but contempt.
The guard was a mean-eyed snake of a guy who was full of his own importance, though he barely reached the middle of my chest. I chose to ignore his comment, not deeming him worthy of my energy and stood still, waiting for them to lead me back to my cell.
“I’m talkin’ scumbag.”
I twisted my head a fraction till I could look him in the eye and then gave him a dismissive snort. The place had cameras everywhere, so there was no way I was going to start shit and jeopardize getting released on bail.
The other guard poked me in the ribs with his baton. “Get moving, big guy.” His voice held a hint of frustration as I caught him giving the other guard a sideways glare.
There were some guards that weren’t looking to start shit, whereas others wanted nothing more than an excuse to give a good ass kicking. This wasn’t my first rodeo, but some players here had a lot less to lose than me.
Standing to my full height, I stared forward and let myself be led back down endless halls. The chains chafed at my ankles and wrists but I said nothing. Men of all shapes, sizes, and ages filled the cells we passed. The stench of blood, piss, sweat, and shit permeated the air and left a sour taste in my mouth that had remained since I’d stepped foot inside the place.
Five minutes later, back in my cell, I released a breath and wished I hadn’t when I inhaled the stale scent of greasy food and it turned my stomach. There was no escape from it in the tiny concrete box that must have been close to the kitchen ventilation. At least I didn’t need to share a cell, so there was that.
The only time I came into contact with other inmates was in the yard where we exercised. I’d been in this facility twice before, but not for more than a few hours. I might run a motorcycle club, but on the whole we tried to be law abiding citizens. It wasn’t always possible when fools picked a fight and it was hard to step back and not show them they were idiots.
Our rep tended to keep people away from the clubhouse, situated near the northeast city limits, bordering the Leon River. My granddaddy had owned a large piece of land there and had built the original clubhouse so it was away from prying eyes. At that time it hadn’t been more than a big wooden shack, but fifteen years ago a storm had demolished it.
I’d inherited everything at twenty-one, some four years before it became a pile of sticks. As my granddaddy had died before Lizzie was born, and he’d hated Swifty, the man his daughter, my mom, had hooked up with, he’d left everything to me, even though I was but a baby at the time. When I inherited, the vote for me to head the club had been a forgone conclusion, as I owed everything.
Swifty had objected, having taken over leadership after granddaddy had died. He was a mean piece of shit, who loved to beat on me and my sister when we were kids. He’d not been able to kick us out, so he’d made it his mission to make life as difficult as possible. The moment he’d challenged me, I’d been more than ready to give him a little of what he’d given to me and Lizzie. That fight was how I’d gotten the name Killer, not that I’d killed him, though it was close.
Fights between club members were all about fists and smarts. Swifty decided to break the code and had fought dirty, using a hidden blade he’d worn in a wrist sheath. He’d managed to slice nice and deep at my thigh before I’d taken him down. By the time I was done with him, he had seven broken ribs, a broken jaw, cheek bone, and nose. I’d dislocated the fingers on one hand, his elbow, and shoulder. He’d been squealing like a pig by the time I’d finished.
He’d sealed his own fate that night for breaking the code, and the club had turned their back on him. None of the club members had challenged me again since.
I blew out a breath and perched on the tiny bunk. It creaked and groaned under my bulk as I shifted to get comfortable on the thin mattress they classed as a bed.
/> The clubhouse and the members were mine, my place, my people. Now that fucking skanky whore, Nola Fink, was messing with that. How the fuck had I ended up in this position? Had I let things slide over the last few years? Should I have stopped members from bringing in possible new prospects? Again, came the question: Was this a setup?
These questions meant shit all when the horse had already bolted, and I was sitting in jail unable to find out the answers. Nola had fucking troublemaker written all over her skanky ass, and that was why I’d kept my distance. But could she have concocted this shit on her own? She was a typical hang-around trying to fuck her way up the chain of command. Or so it seemed after Sid said she’d tried it with him.
In the past, girls like her would’ve gotten my message of disinterest pretty quickly. Not this bitch! She’d somehow managed to follow me back into my apartment off the club. What she didn’t know was that I’d had to bring River with me that night because Nutty had a date. A sliver of guilt was squashed quickly that I’d held back that information from Mr. Davenport. There was no way they were going to drag River into this mess. Will sassy ass think I’m withholding? Of course he will!
That didn’t mean I’d change my mind, not a fucking chance in hell!
Should I have told him I’m gay?
That was a much harder question to answer with the attraction still buzzing through me. It wasn’t common knowledge in the club that I was gay. Sid and several other brothers I trusted were aware. It wasn’t that I gave a flying fuck what anyone thought, it was more to protect River from the bullshit that came with everyone knowing.
Where does this leave me? The clanging of the cell door opening and closing down the hall answered for me and I scowled.
From outside the cell, sounds of cat calls and guys talking shit continued and I rubbed at my throbbing temples. Mr. Davenport better get his shit together and get me out, and fast, because I wasn’t sure how long it would take to break my control. The last thing I wanted to do was find out.
Chapter Four
Mason
Hunger gnawed at my stomach as I drove from the Bell County Jail to Lincoln’s tattoo shop in downtown Belton. Food would have to wait until I’d made this final stop and I could find somewhere to grab a bite to eat. I gave a mournful sigh at thoughts of the marinated chicken and fresh, crisp salad I’d planned for dinner.
To distract myself from when I’d last eaten, my fingers drummed against the steering wheel as I focused on the road and the list of calls I still had to make. I’d already rung my father to pull a few strings to get me in front of a judge first thing in the morning. My key priority was to get Lincoln out of jail.
As cool as he’d played it, he’d struck me as a man ready to snap. I’d heard the comment the guard had made as I’d walked away, but I’d not heard Lincoln’s response. Had I been right? Was Lincoln gay, or at least bi? When he mentioned he was living with Nutty, it had thrown me for a minute. The only background I had on Lincoln was all connected to the Dark Angels. And although there’d been some discussion about Nutty, I still wasn’t able to figure out what she meant to Lincoln.
What does it matter? He’s a client.
I shifted against the leather seat, my shirt sticking to my damp skin. The evening Texas sun caused the heat haze to rise and shimmer above the highway. I had the air conditioning on, but I also had the window of my 2011 BMW 1M open, it did little to cool the sweltering heat of summer that carried the hot wind blowing through the window.
The first thing I’d done was take off my suit jacket when I’d gotten into the car, but the leather seat was unforgiving after the car had sat in the baking sun for the two hours I’d been with Lincoln.
As if I’d lost the ability to think about anything other than Lincoln, the time I’d spent with him replayed over in my mind. The image of him standing in the doorway, his commanding presence, and fuck-the-world attitude weren’t things to easily shift from my head.
The music playing from the speakers stopped as my phone rang and I clicked the answer button on the steering wheel. Before I could say hello my eldest brother’s, Luis, voice boomed through the speakers.
“Where are you? You should have been at the gym ten minutes ago.” Luis continued to bitch at me, not giving me a chance to respond. “I’ve got everything set up. It’s taken me half-an-hour, you better not be canceling on me again.”
Shit!
“I’m sorry. Blame Dad, he gave me a case—”
“It’s always about a case. When was the last time you took any time for yourself?” Luis’s genuine concern was the only reason I kept my cool while he pointed out my flaws as he saw them. He’d left the Army Special Forces the year before and worked from home. His CPA business had several big clients that meant he could pretty much dictate how he managed his own time.
I hoped that when I could afford to branch out on my own, that it would give me more time to do the things I secretly dreamed of. The guilt I’d held about not following family tradition and joining the military meant I’d started on the bottom rung of the law firm my father co-owned. I’d gotten to the point that I could pick and choose my cases, but it hadn’t lessened the need to prove I’d made the right choice of career for me.
“I can practically hear your mind ticking. It’s alright, I get it. When Dad asks, you feel the need to jump to attention. We’ve all been there. But you’re thirty years old, at some point you need to stop letting the guilt get to you.”
That was the thing with older brothers. They’d already been there so could pass on their words of wisdom. Only thing was, all four of them had done what Dad wanted. “It’s easy for you to say it, you didn’t disappoint him,” I ground out through my frustration.
“He might have been disappointed for, like, a minute, but he got over it. You need to as well.” He sighed and there was the sound of someone calling his name.
“Go on, we’ll rearrange for next week.” I quickly said goodbye before he could start again.
Using the directions I’d looked up, I drove down Mission Drive thinking I might have taken a wrong turn. Was the tattoo shop in this urban suburb?
As I pulled up in front of the address I had for River’s Tattoo shop, I shook my head and drove my car up the large driveway in front of the modern looking three-story building. My eyes widened at the reality that the hard ass biker owned this place. Lincoln, it would seem, was full of surprises.
The sand colored brick was sedate and boring. The wrap around porch on the first and second floors was well maintained. The place was nothing like I’d expected. Tucked away in a residential area, I’d bet my last dollar that Lincoln wasn’t popular with his neighbors. When I’d searched the internet for the shop, River’s was the only one with hundreds of rave reviews in the whole of Bell County. Lincoln’s name was mentioned in most of them.
Again, my father’s words ran through my head. This man was a conundrum. Appearing to the world as one thing, but he seemed to have hidden depth. Depth that was more intriguing than I wanted it to be. Client and possibly straight!
The muggy evening air made the decision for me after I debated for all of two seconds about putting my suit jacket back on when I exited the car. I locked my car and walked up the drive to the front door.
There was no traditional sign to indicate it was a shop. Instead, Lincoln had River’s Tattoo etched into the front glass windows. As I mounted the steps to the front porch, I noted the rainbow painted wooden table and chair small enough for a child. A smile tugged at my lips as I walked to the front door. The top pane of the glass door caught my attention and I read the inscription, Spirit Run Free.
What did that mean? I frowned as I searched for a bell to press. Finding two, I pressed them both, hoping Nutty, whoever she was, would be in.
It took a few minutes before I heard the sound of childish laughter and a female voice shouting from inside. The next thing, the door opened to reveal a small child. Long, deep brown hair that gleamed with health hung around a t
iny elfin face that held eyes identical to Lincoln’s, only these were full of curiosity. Her face had smudges of dirt over the bridge of an upturned nose. There was also dirt smeared over the front of the colorful playsuit she wore. Her tanned legs and feet were bare. The wooden floor she stood on gleamed in the sunlight, showing it had been well cared for.
“Hello.” She gave me a polite smile.
“I’ll tan your backside, missy. What have I told you about opening the door to strangers?” came a voice from inside, then a slightly harassed looking woman in her thirties appeared. Her face was also smudged with something that looked like flour. It appeared at some point she must have run her hands through her short black spiky hair as it was tipped with white powder, along with both hands. She was as dainty as a flower and hardly reached the middle of my chest. She wore a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that revealed slender legs.
Was this what Lincoln liked?
“How can I help you?” Nutty asked, her voice sounding anything but friendly.
I gave her my most winning smile and offered her my hand before I remembered the state of them. “I’m Mr. Davenport, the lawyer—”
“Oh, yeah, right. Come in,” she said, then mouthed over River’s head ‘Not in front of River.’
“Thank you.” I kept the smile in place and dropped my hand as I was ushered inside. River glanced between me and Nutty, clearly understanding something was amiss but not sure quite what.
“U’s hiding somethin’, Nutty. I’s can tell. Is this about where my Poppy went?”
My brows arched. Poppy? Was she talking about Lincoln?
Nutty gave a heartfelt sigh and crouched down in front of River, looking more than a little resigned. “Your Poppy is in a little bit of trouble and Mr. Davenport is going to help us sort it all out.”