The steely eyes in front of him narrowed, the finger pointing squarely in his face a reminder of exactly who and what he was dealing with here. “Don’t fucking put words in my mouth, sunshine,” the president warned. “Twisting shit around might work for you in the courtroom, but try it on me and I’ll be the one doing the twisting.”
For all his seemingly amiable enough nature and that dry humour, Will hadn’t risen to his rank for nothing. He was every bit as dangerous as the men he was trying to defend - maybe more so for his ability to hide behind that front – and, as the president shoved his chair out from the desk and loomed over Michael, the lawyer did his best to look unconcerned.
“They’re trying to see how much rope it takes for us to hang ourselves,” Will mused, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “So you just focus on keeping my boys outta the lock-up and leave the rest to me.”
***
This time no one could say she hadn’t tried.
She’d put in the effort, blown off work without so much as a phone call – god only knew what Sketch was thinking. She’d done everything she could think of to make this work. And for what?
FLASHBACK
The guilt at ignoring the calls from work pushed to the back of her mind, she forced herself to focus on what was suspiciously like butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She had a big night ahead and she was determined to make the most of it. She could call Sketch later. Explain, grovel, make it up to him.
But for a little longer, she wasn’t going to let anything distract her. She had to give this a proper chance instead of playing let’s-pretend. However elaborate the game.
“You’re sure about this, Callie?” Michael asked, making her jump as he walked into her bedroom to watch her set out her shopping bags on the bed. A half-bemused, half-grateful smile crossed his face at her apparent enthusiasm. “You normally avoid these things like the plague, babe.”
“I’m sure,” she nodded, letting him wrap her in his arms and leaning back over her shoulder to accept a kiss. “I want to.”
“Good,” he declared firmly, evidently deciding to accept what had seemed too good to be true. “Because I want the sexiest girl in Nevada there. With me.”
The for everyone to see went unsaid, but nonetheless sent a flicker of doubt coursing through her. A flicker she tried, however implausibly, to tell herself she had imagined.
“Sooo ... do I get to see what’s in the bags?” Michael pressed, a roguish grin on his face. “You should have said you were going shopping. I’d have given you my card – or tagged along. Helped you try things on ...”
Callie smiled and shook her head. “I wanted it to be a surprise. And I had to go out – I’ve never exactly needed the kinda wardrobe for socialising with judges and lawyers before.”
“Oh, I dunno. I was thinking you could wear that little red number I got for you ...”
She raised her eyebrows at that. Said dress barely covered her ass and was slashed practically to the navel. She had no idea how it ever warranted the price tag, given the distinct lack of fabric. “Michael, I want to make a good impression. Not make them think about sentences they’ve handed out for solicitation.”
He frowned, but let both it and her go. Moving to sprawl comfortably on the bed, he folded his hands behind his head and blue eyes trained on her slim curves. “Let’s see it then.”
“Where did I lose you with the whole surprise thing?” she teased. But she gathered her purchases and headed for the bathroom, able to listen to his suggestive running commentary as he waited impatiently for her to change. Smiling despite herself, she quickly did her hair and make-up in the mirror – to give him an idea of the full effect – and then took a deep breath before braving her one-man audience.
Only to be met with a long pause. And a tell-tale crinkling of his nose.
“It’s just not really you, is it, sweetie?”
***
She’d been telling herself not to be so stupid, but the truth was that it wasn’t about the damn dress and she knew it. Just as any romance aficionado could tell you the power held in three simple little words – except for them, those words probably weren’t the damning not really you.
She’d tried and tried to tell herself off for being so melodramatic, for letting something so utterly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things as a dress send her house of cards tumbling down.
But sticks and stones can break bones that heal, while words haunt injured souls forever. And those three seemingly well-intentioned words held the power to sum up what the life she had fought so hard for had become. Just not really her. The dress wasn’t the cause of her distress, merely a symptom.
Angry with herself all over again for her tears, Callie fought them back as she wiped roughly at the mascara smudges below her eyes. Still staring at the girl staring back at her.
So maybe something in the hair and make-up made her look a fraction older – she really couldn’t say for sure. She knew how old she was, but not what others saw when they looked at her. And sure, the lace covered up her tattoos, but they were still there. And that was what Michael just didn’t get.
That she was more than just blonde hair and ink.
Maybe she was supposed to be grateful he wasn’t trying to change her. Mould her into some little doll who’d be more acceptable in his social circles. But in doing the opposite, he could be just as stifling.
He didn’t want some attractive twinset-and-pearls type woman who’d make polite conversation with his legal buddies and their wives – he wanted someone with sex appeal, who’d raise eyebrows and draw lecherous congratulatory remarks from his married peers.
She didn’t want to be something she wasn’t but, unlike him, she didn’t have to show off who she was to the world ...
“Going somewhere?”
Callie turned sharply, startled from her reverie by the voice. Instantly recognisable as it was, its owner was the last person she’d expected to see stood there surveying her with those dark eyes and the realisation left her floundering. “Colton?”
“Door was open ...”
***
Peace and quiet finally having descended on his office, Will tilted his head back as he savoured his freshly lit cigar. Blowing out a slow stream of fragrant smoke, he watched it wind its way towards the ceiling before dispersing.
He reached for the pre-paid on its first ring, expecting the call and confirming it with a glance at the screen. “You got my message then? Yeah, let’s just say our checks balanced when we wrote ‘em, but circumstances may have ... changed and we ain’t got nobody to touch your boy in that department ...”
With a rumble of a laugh despite himself at the response of one of his oldest friends, the president of the club’s mother charter in Reno, he kicked his heels up onto the edge of his desk and took another drag of his cigar. Certain his counterpart was doing almost the same damn thing hundreds of miles away.
“Yeah, yeah, you just tell him to work his geek-boy magic and we’ll see about a reward next time he pays us a visit. Got a sweet little redhead whose touch he might like better than mine ... Soon as he can ... Yeah, that’s the one – Corsada. Michael Corsada. Keep me posted. Later, man.”
Snapping the phone closed, Will balanced his cigar on the edge of the ashtray and stood up to pull on his cut. A finger traced over the small patch sewn right at the bottom of the leather on his right side, the secret sign of just how ruthless he could be.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey …
***
CHAPTER 17
He’d told himself the whole way over that he was only doing Sketch a favour. That if she’d once pulled a bullet out of his side, he could go check she wasn’t dead in a ditch. Even if she had left him high and dry to go cosy up to some douchebag boyfriend she’d never once mentioned.
He’d left it until after all the errands he’d already planned though, determined not to waste his day running after a chick – no matter how big a bunch her boss seemed to have got h
is panties in. And he hadn’t even been sure he’d bother actually speaking to her, half thinking he might catch a glimpse outside her apartment block or parking her car or some shit. Little bitch was probably just bunking off anyway, playing house with whoever the hell this guy was she was apparently seeing ...
But none of that had accounted for this. Somehow finding himself inside her building, then outside the ajar door of her apartment for the few moments it took to decide to march on in. Coming face-to-face with the little blonde, all dolled up in delicate lace and looking like she’d walked straight out of the pages of a magazine.
The perfect blend of innocence and seduction, it was fucking sexy as hell.
“Door was open,” he managed gruffly, in response to his name on her lips. “Any bastard could have walked in.”
He was half hoping for a sharp retort like he knew she’d have given Sketch, but a closer look revealed tearful eyes and a slump to her shoulders that told him he wasn’t going to get it and made him wonder as to the cause.
“W-What are you doing here?” Callie asked faintly, confusion and something close to shame all over her face.
“Sketch was worried,” he shrugged. “Seemed to think I might know where you’d disappeared to. He’d have been here himself, but he’s got a flock of airheads round the studio. Sam is ... helping.”
He got the faintest ghost of a smile at that, but it dropped as quickly as her gaze to her feet. “I heard you two got bailed.”
“How?”
“I ... I called the station,” she admitted softly, still not really looking at him. “I had to know.”
“Why? Ain’t like you were stuck waiting around,” Colton said, his tone hard and uncompromising. More so than even he had intended – he wasn’t big into passive aggressive bullshit, not when plain ole aggressive usually served him so well.
But she didn’t hit back over the jab and instead simply shifted uncomfortably, with a hand tugging self-consciously at her sleeve. “Doesn’t mean I want you in jail. Shit, Colt, I ... I don’t know how to explain. Just ... Just give me a minute, okay? I need to get this fucking dress off,” she said, reaching for the zip even as she headed back towards the bedroom.
But whatever her problem was with the offending article of clothing, he could already see that no amount of contortion was going to let her reach the fastening right in the dead centre of her back. Not in a way that allowed her any purchase to pull it down. Which only left her one option.
“Shit. Could you ... Would you undo this damn thing?” she asked, her cheeks flushed in a mixture of frustration and embarrassment as she turned her back to him and swept her hair up out of the way. “Please, Colton, I just want it off.”
Not understanding why she seemed to be teetering on the verge of a freak-out over a damn dress – not the girl who’d faced lethal enemy fire with barely more than a squeak - he frowned and walked towards her in spite of his resolve not to get sucked in, finding himself following her into her room. “What’s the panic?” he shrugged. “Looks good ...”
The words were out of him before he could stop them and he cursed whatever had loosened his treacherous tongue.
“Maybe on someone else, but not on me,” she snapped. “Now, are you gonna help or do I have to go take a knife to this shit?”
Now, that was more like her. Or was it? Distracted by the tone, the words themselves had taken a second to compute but, when they did, he found his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Not on her, what the hell? She had to know. She might be an infuriating little bitch for the way she had him twisted round, but she had eyes all the same and she had to see ...
But in the instant the flicker of fire she’d shown died away, he realised the girl looked genuinely crushed. Those big eyes were clouded by tears and something like the truth of it all hit him, making his own eyes darken in anger.
But not at her, not this time.
***
Feigning nonchalance, Michael strolled into the glittering - and very exclusive - reception with one hand in a pocket of his sharp Valentino suit, snagging a glass of champagne with the other and downing it in a gulp. He shot the young waiter a sheepish grin as he replaced the empty glass on his tray and accepted another.
He didn’t usually object to these fundraisers. There was nothing like feeling you’d done your bit, when really it was just one big booze-soaked chance to network and bullshit about who could out-do who. Whether it be in the courtroom, the bedroom, or on the golf course. But having thought he was going to have a serious foot-up when it came to bragging rights, thanks to the girl who should have been on his arm, flying solo just wasn’t cutting it this time. And that hurt look in her eyes was still niggling at him.
“Hey, Corsada!” came the sudden booming call from the direction of the bar. “Thought you were finally bringing the other half out to play. What’s the matter – scared one of us might steal her away?”
“Just didn’t want to leave you to go stag alone, Stefan,” he shot back, fixing a cock-sure look in place as he sauntered over to join his usual cohorts. Their customary circle-jerk was always peppered with good-natured jibes at each other’s expense.
“Ahh, not this time, buddy. You’re not the only one with a lady friend, you know. Although, from what I hear, that hot little wildcat of yours isn’t much of a lady ... Am I right, huh, boys?”
So he embellished a tale or two. Like he was going to share all the not-so-sordid details of his cosy nights alone, waiting for his girl to call. He could just hear the responses that would get on the eighteenth fairway. He was dating a twenty-eight-year-old, for Christ’s sake. Who was he to shatter their illusions and reveal that a significantly younger woman didn’t necessarily mean the blowjobs were on tap and you were tying each other up on a nightly basis?”
But Stefan was already steamrollering ahead, as he turned to get the attention of a tall brunette leaning casually on the bar and sipping a martini. “... anyway, as I was saying, Michael Corsada meet my date for the evening – this is Veronica ...”
“Hunt,” the pair finished simultaneously. Michael’s tone fell flat, while Stefan’s rose in surprise.
“Oh, you two know each other?” the criminologist asked, thinking little of it as he reached for the jacket he’d slung over a bar stool. He evidently meant to retrieve his wallet and get another round of drinks in, but was unaware he’d missed the look that passed between his two acquaintances.
“I believe we’ve ... had the pleasure, as they say,” Veronica smiled sweetly.
***
Relenting without a word, Colton reached for the zip of Callie’s dress as she stood facing the full-length mirror by the foot of her bed. Slowly, he eased it downwards and exposed a growing expanse of lightly tan, smooth skin. Skin that just begged to be touched and made his fingertips move unbidden to trace the line of her spine.
It was a move that sent a shiver coursing through her and made her head lift to meet his reflected gaze, surprise and something else in her soft gray eyes.
“Colt--”
But he cut her off with a firm shake of his head and turned her around to look up at him properly. That silky mass of tousled curls tumbled over her shoulders as she clutched her dress to her chest, wide-eyed and unsure. “You could wear a sack and still be fucking beautiful. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different ...”
***
“Now, Michael, I hardly think this is appropriate,” Veronica smirked as – after a night of enduring knowing looks - he finally snapped and trailed her by the arm to a dark corner, making her wince as his fingers bit into her upper arm. “Hey, you’re not manhandling your little tart now, you know!”
But he ignored the attempt to goad him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” she said innocently, as if the answer should have been obvious. “And I have to admit, I’m actually surprised to see you here. I wasn’t sure our dear friend Will would let you off the leash.”
“You come here just f
or that?” Michael scoffed, letting her go with a look of contempt. “Trying to imply my client doesn’t trust me – it’s a bit schoolyard, Vee. Even for you.”
That tinkling laugh had him gritting his teeth, yanking away the arm she laid a hand on as if to reassure him.
“Oh, Michael, as if I’d waste my time following you around like a little lost puppy. Maybe you’ve been dating little girls for too long, sweetie,” Veronica said, feigning concern. The lights reflecting off the nightclub’s elaborate glitterball made her eyes glint dangerously. “No, no, I have much better things to do with my time. Your friend Stefan, for one. He’s really rather good, you know. Maybe you two could compare notes?”
“Nah, I guess I just ain’t interested. Not now I’ve upgraded to a newer model,” he said coolly, the barb aiming for a nerve and evidently striking home judging by the slight, yet unmistakable clenching of her jaw. “So looks like I’m batting two-for-two with the cheap shots. That’s work and my love-life – you wanna take a crack at the suit? Good luck, it’s Italian.”
She just smiled and shook her head, as if he was an unruly child she couldn’t work out what to do with. It bugged the hell out of him almost instantly.
“Those bikers must have an absolute field day with you,” she said, her tone registering mild amusement. “You try so hard, acting the big I Am. And it obviously must work for you in some circles, but not with them. You could bend over backwards, or any way you like actually, for Will and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. They don’t trust you, they don’t respect you, and they sure as hell aren’t ever going to accept you. And that gets to you, doesn’t it? It’s a little crazy, Michael, because you were never that guy. I mean, you know all about staying on the right side of the law and yet there you are. Begging for approval from a bunch of murdering outlaws who wouldn’t give you the time of day if they didn’t need you.”
She knew just when to push, when to pull back. A soft smile graced her glossy red lips as she stepped away, dipping her head as if giving way to him.
“I guess I just don’t get why you’d take such a risk. Do you know how many lawyers that club has gone through in the last three years alone?” she sighed. “And it’s not like you need them. The flash car, the suits, even the girl – all yours before you took this gig. And what have they got? Death-trap bikes, dirty denim and cheap skanks. Will, Sam, Colton ... they could never have what you have and they’ll only ever resent you for it. So maybe you just need to think about it. Whose side you’re on.”
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 11