Jailbait

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  Once there, I locked it behind me and limped my way into the main office where I contemplated keeping the door locked since I could already see Jayco’s smiling face pressed against the glass waving excitedly.

  Why was he so freakin’ happy all the time?

  Still limping, I moved toward the front door and unlatched the lock, not bothering to wait for him as I turned around and headed to the little kitchen where I made myself a cup of tea.

  I also pulled out my salad that was supposed to be for lunch today and walked to my office where I proceeded to wolf it down.

  It was only as I was slurping up the last ranch-drenched lettuce leaf that I realized I had someone in my office with me.

  Not the whole time, luckily. But sometime in the last few minutes, Jayco had stopped at the door and started to watch me.

  “Hungry?” he teased.

  I ignored him and licked my lips, using my hand to wipe my mouth free of any residual ranch before tossing the entire thing into the garbage by my desk.

  Once that task was done, I practically gulped down my tea in four long swallows.

  Damn, I was starving.

  I thought running was supposed to help me slim down?

  Granted, I’d never be the skinniest girl on the block. My genes just wouldn’t allow for that.

  My mother had been a full-figured woman, and my father definitely hadn’t been a slouch in the bulk department.

  “Hey, what’s that look for?”

  I frowned at Jayco.

  “What’s what look for?” I asked, my eyes going to the paper bag in his hand. “Did you go to Murphy’s?”

  Murphy’s was my most favorite bakery ever.

  In fact, if I had to choose any place in the entire world to go to, it would be that place.

  Only, I was on a diet. One that was regimented, counted out my macros, and meant that I couldn’t just go eating bullshit from Murphy’s every single time I got a hankering.

  But damn, that white Murphy’s bag looked tempting.

  “I didn’t,” he said as he walked toward the desk. “This was brought over by hunkalicious biker across the street. He said, and I quote, ‘you need something more than a salad’ and then left.”

  I blinked at Jayco owlishly.

  “What?”

  “That’s what he said,” he put the bag onto my desk. “Did you make it through your long run?”

  I gritted my teeth.

  I wasn’t one for small talk.

  Never was. Never would be.

  That was why, that night that I’d met Trick, it’d been a freakin’ miracle that I’d talked to him for so long.

  With my prickly, standoffish demeanor, my refusal to share anything important relating to me, and my inability to ‘connect,’ I’d always been told that I was hard to get to know. Which, I admitted, was true.

  I’d never been popular. Never would be.

  “Thanks,” I said as I ignored his earlier comment. “Is there anything else?”

  “Your eight o’clock called and said that he’d be late.” Jayco backed out of the room.

  “Thanks,” I grumbled, upset now that I hadn’t taken longer in the shower.

  The hot water had felt fantastic.

  “He’ll be more like eight fifteen,” Jayco said. “And McHottie Biker across the street said that you need some Icy Hot or something. He said to go to the store and get some by tonight, or you’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

  I ignored him and turned on my computer, getting to work while he was still in the room.

  And at eight twenty, not eight fifteen, when my eight o’clock walked into my office accompanied by Jayco, I stood and offered him my hand.

  “Mr. Windsor,” I said as I looked at the man in his mid-forties. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Lynnwood Windsor, the mayor of Kilgore and my newest client, smiled.

  But that smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  I didn’t have to see that to know that he was dangerous.

  More so, he was staring at me as if he could read my thoughts.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Marrin,” he murmured formally as he gestured to the guest seat. “May I sit?”

  I took my seat and nodded. “Go for it.”

  His eyes twinkled at my lack of manners or decorum.

  Well, I wasn’t going to play a game.

  I wasn’t into games.

  Games were for people that cared, and I didn’t care.

  “How can I help you?” I wonderd.

  “Well,” he said, crossing one foot over the opposite knee and then leaning back into his chair. His pants rode up and revealed a bright red pair of socks, which surprised me. Because I wouldn’t have expected something so bright from him. “My fiancée got them for me.”

  I shrugged, not bothering to say anything to that.

  “Anyway, I wanted to speak to you about being on retainer for me. From legal questions to representation. I’d like to make sure that I always have someone…just in case.” he said quietly.

  In case something happened, and he needed a criminal defense attorney. Interesting.

  We spoke about specifics. We spoke about my job. Where I was located. Why I moved from my old location. And then we started speaking about my past. Why I’d decided that becoming a lawyer was my calling in life.

  I wasn’t even sure how we’d gotten on to the subject, but I found myself saying, “My parents were murdered. My stepfather was a criminal defense attorney, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

  In actuality, it was about Trick. How he was treated. How, if the legal system wasn’t so corrupt, things could’ve gone differently for him. But, that was the long answer. I gave him the other, easier, half-answer.

  His eyes seemed knowing as he listened to me speak.

  And he must’ve heard something that he liked because he nodded his head and then stood up, offering me his hand.

  I reached out and took it, surprised by the calluses on his palm.

  For a man dressed so well, who spoke so eloquently, and held himself so regally, I guess I expected his hands to be soft.

  My stepfather, despite his goodness, had had delicate hands. He was always impeccably dressed, and always, and I do mean always, acted refined. He would’ve never been caught dead with calluses on his hands. White-collar men did not do their own dirty work. And if they did, they did it with a pen, not with their own hands.

  Lynn, the sharp-dressed man in front of me, was an enigma.

  At least to me, anyway.

  “It was nice to meet you,” he smiled. “Have your office bill me for your time.” He then dropped my hand and gestured to the bag on my desk. “I’m sorry that I interrupted your breakfast.”

  I looked down at the Murphy’s bag that was on my desk and felt my stomach rumble.

  Lynn’s smile was swift.

  Gesturing toward the door, I led him out of my office and into the small lobby that would lead outside.

  My eyes automatically went to the bar across the street.

  “You remind me of my fiancée,” he joked. “Always hungry, you lot.”

  “Normally I’m better able to control my hunger,” I admitted as I limped toward the door and pushed it open. Hot, humid air practically slapped me in the face. “But I ran today.”

  “Is that why you’re limping?” Lynn asked curiously, not sounding bothered in the least that he was asking for personal information. Then again, he likely didn’t know that my limping was a sore spot. Literally and figuratively.

  I shook my head. “I… an accident.”

  The breath stalled in my lungs when I finally saw what I was looking for outside and across the street.

  There he was.

  He and his friend, along with another ripped, muscular guy, were unloading a truck of kegs.

  Trick was picking them up and walking them just inside the bar door as if they weighed nothing.

  Though, I knew from my grandfather that they weren’t ligh
t. One hundred and sixty-one point five pounds, to be exact.

  They definitely weren’t light like Trick was making them look like they were.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Marrin,” Lynn said, sliding to the side and heading toward a bike that was just down the road from where I’d parked my car. “Hopefully we won’t need you.”

  My lips twitched hard.

  “Same,” I called to his back, practically having to tear my eyes away from Trick and his bulging muscles. “And please, feel free to call me Swayze.”

  Eyes amused, he saluted me and straddled his bike, making me shake my head as I walked back inside.

  My lips were twitching hard at what kind of a contradiction he was.

  Impeccable suit and tie, hair not displaced in the least.

  Callused hands, dangerous vibe about him.

  Oh, and he rides a Harley.

  No, Lynnwood was definitely not your typical businessman.

  When I finally returned my gaze back to the men that were unloading kegs, it was to find Trick’s eyes on me, and a frown on his handsome face.

  He did not like me looking at other men.

  My lips curled up at the corners. Duly noted.

  CHAPTER 8

  I have to be successful because I like expensive shit.

  -Swayze to Trick

  TRICK

  I wasn’t sure what I expected, but seeing her there at some society function in the middle of a group of hoity-toity friends wasn’t it.

  I was delivering beer to the function.

  Apparently, the society function, known as Diamonds and Jeans, the best of the best in deep East Texas, had this function once a year to raise awareness for sex trafficking.

  The men and women there were all the cream of the crop in society or the ‘elite’ and made it perfectly clear that I was not welcome there.

  Well, if they wanted their beer, they better damn well become welcoming.

  I got out of the truck, my eyes on the woman that was currently setting up a tent just off to the side of the driveway in the stuck-up estate that had too much money for their own good.

  A man, seeing my interest in the woman that he was standing next to and trying to act like he was helping, narrowed his eyes and started to stalk my way.

  “You can’t park there,” the man called, causing another man to look up and spot me.

  Apparently, they didn’t see the kegs in the truck.

  “Just dropping off a delivery of kegs, man,” I grumbled as I dropped the tailgate of my truck and hauled myself inside.

  “We have people arriving imminently,” the man continued to complain from the side of my truck. “Deliveries are set up at the back. Where they should be.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There was a line of fucking ten delivery trucks. And just sayin’, but I’m doin’ y’all a favor by selling you my kegs. So you can fuck off.”

  There was a hiss of annoyance from the other guy that’d been watching but not saying anything.

  “Excuse me, but there are women present.” His gaze went over my shoulder, and I knew without turning to look that they were staring at Swayze. “Please tone down your swearing.”

  I rolled my eyes, moved the first keg to the tailgate, and then hopped right back down.

  Picking the keg up, I cursed myself for unloading these at all this morning since I’d had to reload five of the eight that I’d brought inside only two mornings ago.

  Hefting the keg onto my shoulder, I was just taking a step onto the finest grass I’d ever seen when suited guy number one stepped in front of me. “Please, stick to the sidewalks.”

  I looked toward the sidewalk, that would take me way out of the fuckin’ way, and snorted. “Move.”

  He didn’t have any choice when I started walking forward.

  So he did, because otherwise I would’ve made him move, and I highly doubted that he wanted his impeccable suit possibly stained when my dirty jeans and t-shirt touched him.

  “It makes sense now,” the man drawled at my back. “Why you were in prison for murder. You’re reprehensible.”

  I rolled my eyes again.

  Did he think that was the first time that I’d heard that?

  Hell, I was at the damn grocery store this morning when a woman had seen me coming and had all but snatched the kid at her side up and threw him behind her, blocking me with her body.

  At least, she thought she was blocking me.

  I didn’t bother to tell her that her puny little self would be mowed down if I ever wanted to get to that kid. But her attitude was comical, nonetheless.

  The people of this town were definitely not used to having a couple of felons in their midst and seemed to be handling it quite badly.

  Regardless, as I stomped through the immaculately cut grass toward a man with a clipboard, I was pissed all the same.

  I mean, I was a felon. But I hadn’t gone to prison for killing someone in cold blood. I’d gone to prison because I’d been protecting someone.

  There was a difference.

  As I got closer to the man with the clipboard, the angrier I became. Because every single person that I passed, man or woman, would back away as if a murderous rampaging maniac were on the way toward them.

  By the time I got to his side, my face was likely thunderous.

  “Where do you want it?” I asked as I hefted the keg higher onto my shoulder.

  The damn thing wasn’t light, and the man in front of me, the apparent ‘man in charge,’ was floundering.

  “Umm,” he said. “I don’t know. I mean, it needs to go in the refreshment tent, but we don’t have that up just yet, nor do I know where it’s going to be set up. Is there anyway you can come back later?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “No,” I said. “Because if I come back later, it’ll be during the actual function, and I don’t think you’ll want the ‘likes of me’ here.”

  Something that a few of the men at the entrance, already dressed in their black ties and bow ties, said when they saw me pull up in my old pickup truck five minutes earlier.

  I hadn’t been surprised by their actions.

  Nothing surprised me anymore.

  Nothing but the actions of one single woman.

  “Just put it right here,” a soft, husky voice said from behind me. “Set the tent up around them. It’s in the middle of the entire function, and would be perfect to have the drinks tent set up here.”

  “It’s in the middle of the grass,” the man contradicted Swayze. “If we put it here, people will have to get off the walk.”

  “Oh, dear.” Swayze sounded amused. “People will have to walk in the grass. That’ll be awful for them.”

  My lips twitched as I set the kegs directly where I was standing.

  I left with Swayze still talking to the man with the clipboard.

  When I got back to my truck for the next keg, it was to see each man glaring at me.

  “Feel free to grab one,” I suggested. “Then I can move my truck faster.”

  Man number one gritted his teeth, and I gave him a taunting smile.

  “If you can pick it up, that is.” I teased them both, grabbing another keg and carrying it away.

  When I got back to where I’d set up the first keg, it was to find Swayze there on her own, staring at me.

  “Do you need any help?” she asked, her voice hesitant, as if she was afraid to speak to me.

  “No,” I grumbled as I set the next keg down and went back for another.

  I was about a quarter of the way away from the truck when I saw each man struggling with a keg each.

  I ignored them, walked back to the truck, and hefted yet another onto my shoulder before passing each man and setting it down next to Swayze.

  Her eyes were filled with amusement when I showed up with the final keg, beating each of the men with their keg easily.

  It was as I was walking back to my truck that the men finally made it to the other kegs.

  W
hen I gave her one last glance, I allowed my eyes to linger on her attire.

  She was dressed in a long, flowing black gown that swirled around her toes.

  Her hair was pinned up and away from her face, but small tendrils escaped the refined bun despite her best efforts to contain it. And damn, did she look good.

  But as the men smiled at her, I realized that I wasn’t the only one to think so.

  Getting into my truck and slamming the door, I started it up with a dull roar, and all but laughed in glee when a puff of black smoke followed behind me as I moved out of the parking lot.

  Going back to work, I definitely wasn’t in a good mood. My damn mood only got darker the longer that the night went on. And, hours later, as I glanced across the street and saw all the lights off, still, at nearly nine at night.

  “Hey, do you want to go grab some dinner?”

  I looked over at Hunt, who’d been working on his computer in the corner of my bar for the last two hours.

  “Umm,” I glanced at the clock. “There’s nothing open.”

  He grinned. “Get that old man to cover for you for an hour. I have a place that’ll hook us up.”

  Doing just that, I rode out on my bike two blocks away to the corner store that served the best damn burgers I’d ever had.

  Only, when we got into the parking lot, I fully expected nobody to be there since they were usually closed at eight. However, there was one car that was vaguely familiar parked in the front.

  And when we got inside, I knew why it was familiar.

  Because I saw that car parked outside of a certain office right across the street from me.

  Had seen it every day for a week since I’d moved in.

  “Glad that I don’t have to pull any strings,” Hunt murmured as he walked inside.

  Out of all of the men that had joined the MC with me, Hunt was by far the easiest and the hardest to get along with.

  I wasn’t sure how to even explain Hunt McJimpsey.

  He was the resident hacker of the group.

  Tall, muscular, and perpetually pissed off. He was by far the one guy that I wouldn’t call if I was in trouble, because I wasn’t actually sure if he would come.