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  We stood there staring at each other for a few seconds before he removed his hand. Slipping it into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and took out a handful of bills. "I want to give you this now, so I don’t forget later."

  I shook my head. "No. You already gave me a retainer. We're good."

  "Nah, take it. I know you spent more hours on this than you've billed me for."

  This was true. I'd never been the type of lawyer who padded her billing. If anything, I probably short-changed myself on a regular basis. No wonder I had trouble making ends meet.

  Arguing with him would be pointless, so I accepted the money, folding and slipping it in the pocket of my suit jacket. "Thanks."

  "Sure, doll."

  "We should make an appointment for you to come in later this week."

  "Yeah, I'll call you."

  Something sad passed over his face, but then the hard biker mask slipped back into place, erasing any softness.

  I nodded to Gloria as we reentered the courtroom. She called us up immediately.

  "Good morning, Attorney Kendall. I see from the notes you're requesting a one-week adjournment, which the DA has agreed to?"

  "Yes, your honor. He's altered the terms of the plea, and I need time to review it with my client." It was a bit of a bitch move to tattle to the judge, but I wanted the stunt Tony pulled on the record. Hale raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

  "Your Honor, may I speak?" Rock's voice startled me.

  "Say what you need to say through your lawyer, Mr. North."

  "Well, that's the problem, sir. I'd like to fire her and hire another attorney. I don't feel I'm getting the best representation."

  A sharp throb stabbed through the top of my skull. Hot and cold shivered over my skin, turning my fingers numb. My stomach cramped so painfully, I couldn't breathe. Speechless, I could only stand there with my mouth open.

  Judge Hale looked shocked. A hush had fallen over the courtroom. Visions of the tiny practice I'd carved for myself crumbling to nothing, losing my livelihood, foreclosure—every awful possibility passed in front of me. Shame at having to explain to my husband what happened. Would it make the County Bar newsletter if I barfed all over my shoes in open court? Projectile vomiting all over the place was becoming a very real possibility. I'd aim it at Rock, but I couldn't stand to look at him.

  Hale’s voice cut through my freak-out, but I couldn't hear his words over the buzzing in my skull. Finally he and Rock both looked at me.

  "You'll need to sign off on the motion to change attorneys, Attorney Kendall?"

  "Sure, whatever. I'll do it," I answered weakly.

  "I'm going to put this out a month so your new attorney can get up to speed, Mr. North."

  "Thank you, sir."

  I couldn't look at Rock. The judge dismissed us, and I stood there staring down at my briefcase until I was sure he was gone. The bailiff came over and put a hand on my shoulder.

  "You're better off, Hope. You're too good a person to be representing scum like him."

  I nodded dimly at Greg. We'd indulged in many friendly conversations over the last couple years, and it meant a lot that he was trying to cheer me up at what was probably the most humiliating moment of my life.

  Blindsided again. This hurt so much worse because I cared about Rock more than I should. I should have known better. He only wanted to fuck me, and when I wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he decided to screw me over.

  "Wow, prez, that was cold," Zero remarked as we stepped out of the courthouse and onto the sidewalk. This was how he'd gotten his nickname. He had zero tolerance for bullshit and zero tact. It made him a great vice president, but a pain in the ass at times like this. Teller, Murphy, Dex, and Wrath trailed behind us. We'd chosen to take one SUV instead of six bikes considering we were in Wolf Knights territory. Also, the police station was attached to this particular court, and we didn't need the extra hassle.

  "Had to be done," I bit out, expecting him to drop it.

  "This the broad that don't put out?" Teller didn't have any tact either. Hence his nick, as in "tell her shit she don't want to hear."

  I shot a glare at him, and he looked away.

  "She's smokin' hot, but probably means she's a shit lawyer anyway," Murphy offered.

  Dex wisely kept his sparks of wisdom to himself. Shrewd as usual, he would evaluate all angles before opening his mouth.

  I sighed. "I'll explain at church later. Just lay off the comments about her, okay?"

  Everyone nodded and agreed. I handed the keys to an oddly silent Wrath, because the last thing I felt like doing was driving after that brutal scene.

  Fuck.

  Publicly humiliating Hope seemed the best way out of the mess I'd created. If word got out I'd very openly cut ties with her, it should take her off the Vipers' radar. If they figured she was just some random person I had no feelings or interest in, they should turn their attention elsewhere. I couldn't risk them doing any more drive-bys of her place or worse, so this scene, no matter how painful it had been, needed to happen.

  As it was, I'd secured another vehicle to do my own personal stakeouts, which I feared would become a lot more common now that I had no visits with her to look forward to. But fuck me—I couldn't get the look on her face out of my head. The hurt and betrayal spelled out across her features had gutted me. It took a lot of control to keep my arms at my sides instead of wrapping them around her and calling the whole thing off.

  What made the fucking thing worse was I knew damn well how sensitive she was and how little self-esteem she had. With that particular shit show, I’d pretty much reinforced every negative thing she already thought about herself, and I absolutely hated myself for it.

  For the first time I could remember, a small part of me wondered if this life I had chosen was actually worth the pain I inflicted on others. All to keep my little family intact. The Lost Kings was the only real family I’d ever known. I’d do just about anything to protect my brothers and keep them safe, but hurting innocent people like Hope almost seemed like too high a price to pay.

  But the memory of a time when I'd been too oblivious to tell someone about the abuse the little girl next door took from her father convinced me I'd done the right thing.

  Little Cassidy Cain had been eight when her father blew her head off, shot his wife, and then turned the gun on himself. I'd been ten years old, and too enraptured with her long, shiny hair and soft voice to recognize what the bruises she wore to school every day meant.

  Almost every night for the next few years, I'd wake to the sound of gunshots echoing in my dreams. Even though my father didn't let me near the crime scene, images of Cassidy's shattered face and blood-soaked hair tormented me. If only I'd made an effort to understand what her bruises meant, I could have prevented that tragedy.

  Never again.

  The Vipers knowing about Hope was a tragedy waiting to happen.

  Once I got this garbage with the Vipers sorted out and under control, I could explain things to her. Somehow I’d make it right and win back her trust. The chirping of my cell phone interrupted my fantasy of repairing this mess.

  "Hey," I answered.

  "I heard it went down pretty harsh. Glad I missed it," Tony replied.

  "Yeah, thanks for doing that."

  "You know I'm going to end up just dismissing this bullshit, right?"

  My laughter sounded forced and hollow even to my ears. We talked for a few more minutes. I thanked the district attorney again and hung up.

  Calling in this favor was inevitable. Hope really had worked out a decent deal. Any other guy should have taken it, but once I reached out to Tony, I knew it would go away, which in my original plan would have looked really good for Hope. Unfortunately some fucking Vipers had gotten in my goddamn way, fucking up everything—probably beyond repair.

  My fist slammed into the dashboard, but I barely registered the impact.

  Fuck!

  "Prez, what if she works for the Vipers to
o? She could be passing them intel about us, and that's why they were there," Wrath questioned after I'd given the inner circle a carefully crafted version of the story.

  "No." I shut that line of thinking down immediately. While in our world, that type of scenario wasn't uncommon, that was not the case with Hope. I felt it in my bones. She barely knew anything about the criminal underworld. No one could fake that kind of innocence. Wrath was my sergeant-at-arms for a reason. It was his job to protect the club, which meant he would always be the one to bring up questions no one else liked or had the balls to ask. It might not be fair, but I didn’t happen to appreciate those qualities at the moment.

  "No fucking way," Bricks added with a glare at Wrath, then not so surprisingly at me. He'd been giving me dirty looks ever since he heard about what went down in the courtroom. He had a soft spot for Hope after she'd helped him with his kids, which I understood, so I let his attitude slide. For now.

  "This mean I gotta hire a new attorney next time my ex gets a wild hair up her ass about something?"

  I cocked my head in my "What are you—stupid?" way.

  "Fucking Vipers," Bricks muttered. At least his anger was directed in the right location. I hadn’t relished the thought of kicking his fucking ass on top of everything else. Admitting to my brothers that I’d been on Hope’s street left me feeling exposed. From the look on their faces, no one knew what to make of my little obsession with her. Somehow I’d managed to keep to myself the precise amount of time I’d spent on Evergreen Lane. Good thing, because no one had bought my lame "just looking out for an asset" excuse. I’d never set foot on Glassman’s street in the ten or so years he’d been working for us, and everyone in the room knew it.

  No one dared question me out in the open, though. That’s not how things worked.

  "So do we need to put this to a vote?" I asked with the intention of getting our meeting back on track.

  "Fuck, no," Zero answered right away.

  "Let’s do it anyway," Wrath, ever the voice of reason where the by-laws were concerned, stated.

  I looked at each of my men before putting the proposition out in the air. "We take out the two Vipers I saw on Hope’s street and any others who know about her."

  Everyone raised a hand in the affirmative.

  "We need to do it stealthily, so no fucking heat blows back on us, boss," Teller said after everyone had put their hands down.

  "No shit, Einstein," Wrath growled.

  "Fuck you." Teller flipped him the bird.

  "Simmer the fuck down. Both of you," I snapped. "We need a plan."

  "Think you’ll recognize the two again?" Zero asked.

  "Fuck, yeah. I’ll recognize their bikes, at least." I never forgot a bike.

  "Let’s get to work." Zero slammed his hand on the table, and the meeting broke.

  Wrath made his way over to me. I could see the questions written all over his face. He never knew when to keep his damn mouth shut. It was his best and worst quality.

  "I’m a little concerned, prez. What the fuck were you really doing out there by yourself? If you were worried about her safety, you should have had me go with you."

  Yeah, just what I would have needed on my little stalking adventures. "None of your fucking business."

  "You fucking her? Thought you said she was married."

  My jaw clenched so tight, my teeth ached. "She is, and no, I was not fucking her. Let it go."

  There were times when I wished my enforcer wasn’t so damn perceptive. Now was one of those times. Taking rival members to ground was serious business, so I understood his concern. I didn’t hold it against him. Much. He held my gaze for a few more beats before looking at the table.

  "Let’s get it done," he said and walked away.

  Putting Rock out of my mind didn't come easily. I fantasized about storming into Crystal Ball and chewing him out in front of everyone. I imagined visiting him in prison and laughing in his too-sexy-for-words face. I’ll admit there were a few dreams where I got on the back of his bike, wrapped my arms around him, and we rode away from everything. I even dreamed of some sort of angry make-up sex on my conference room table. I’m not proud of that one.

  Telling my husband a quick and dirty version of the story hadn’t earned a lot of sympathy. Not that I expected it to. This kind of thing happened all the time. It was business. Not personal. Except I took everything personally, which Clay knew. He tried to cheer me up. The guilt came in waves because deep down I knew there was a part of me that was upset because I would never see Rochlan North again. I stuffed that shame deep at the bottom of my wounded heart.

  In the end, I packed up his entire file and shipped it off to Glassman as soon as the request came in. I also cut a check for the rest of the retainer I hadn't earned and sent it off to Rock. It came back with a note saying, "You earned it."

  What. An. Asshole.

  Damn fucking right I earned that money. I earned it with my kindness and hard work. I’d earned it with my reputation that he’d nearly destroyed. I cashed that goddamn check and used the money to pay off one of my smaller student loans.

  Fuck Rochlan North.

  I was distressed and enraged.

  That hurt and anger pulled me away from criminal practice and back into my family court work. No way did I want to deal with more assholes like Rock. When I picked up a call from a guy who said Rock had recommended me to him one afternoon, my rage came roaring back to the surface.

  "Must have been a while ago. We have since severed our relationship," I answered with as much ice in my voice as I could muster. I did not want to have anything to do with anyone connected to Rock. "I'm not accepting new clients at this time."

  "Oh, okay. Sorry. Do you know who his attorney is?"

  "Robert Glassman," I gritted out. As if that assclown needed more money.

  "Thanks, chica."

  Another asshole. I’m sure he’ll get along great with Mr. Glassman.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After Rock’s cruel dismissal, eventually I set my outrage aside and moved forward. My practice bounced back. Maybe it had never suffered, and it was only in my head. I stayed away from criminal work. Since I didn't bother to read the paper or watch the news unless I needed to, I had no idea the area had broken out into a gang war. Even when I did finally hear about it, I paid little attention.

  What finally did catch my attention was the shooting of Robert Glassman. The news attributed it to a mugging, but I couldn't help but think about Rock. In the back of my mind, I also wondered about the phone call I had gotten after Rock humiliated me in court. Were the events related? I had no idea. But something told me ending my association with Rock and his motorcycle "club" had probably been best for my health, no matter how much it had hurt at the time.

  The incessant buzzing of my cell phone interrupted my musings. I didn't recognize the number. Hopeful for a new client¸ I picked it up right away.

  "Hello?"

  "Ah, is this Hope?"

  "Yes."

  "Hope. This is Mr. Richter."

  Clay's boss. A trickle of unease crept over my skin. It didn't have to be anything bad, though. Maybe he wanted to buy Clay a gift card for a job well done and wanted some suggestions. Maybe he had a speeding ticket he needed me to help him with.

  "Hi, Mr. Richter. How can I help you?"

  "Hope. Clay had…an accident. Can you come down to Empire Med?"

  Empire Medical Center was the nearest major hospital. All sorts of horrible images assaulted my head. Clay falling off a bridge. Clay getting hit by some inattentive driver.

  "Yes. I'll be there right away. Is he okay?"

  "I'll see you soon, Hope." He hung up without answering my question.

  The trickle of unease detonated into a violent wave of anxiety.

  Something was very, very wrong.

  Clay was only thirty-five. I knew there was a measure of risk in his job, but I also knew how meticulous and careful Clay was. His job was the only risk he took in
his whole life. He never smoked, didn’t drink or do drugs. Hell, we hardly ever ate red meat. His boss was probably overreacting. Afraid Clay's lawyer-wife would sue him.

  That reassured me a little.

  The whole trip to the hospital is still a blank. I drove there on autopilot, convinced that everything was okay. Clay was too young for anything bad to happen to him. We still had a lifetime of things we wanted to do together. A future that included traveling to exotic places, building our dream home. Maybe having children.

  My father died when I was thirteen. It was too cruel to think I could lose someone else I loved and needed before their time.

  The look on Mr. Richter's face told me I was so, so wrong.

  "No," I whispered as soon as I saw him.

  "Hope," he started. His voice held a helpless tone, completely at odds with his imposing stature.

  A ragged sob tore from my throat. My hand fluttered to my chest, rubbing in frantic circles. "Please, don't—"

  "Hope, I'm so sorry," he tried again.

  I rocked backwards, my arms snaked around my middle, trying to ward off the vomit slithering up the back of my throat.

  "No…" I moaned.

  "Hope, is there someone else I can call?"

  My mind completely blanked. For a few minutes, I saw nothing but black squares and circles behind my eyelids.

  "His sister, Lynn," I breathed out. We weren’t particularly close for some reason, but Lynn was his only family. She needed to be here.

  "Okay. Here, sit down, honey." His big hands guided me to a bench, where I dropped down and put my head between my knees.

  This couldn't be happening. It had to be a mistake.

  "Mr. Richter, are you sure?" I mumbled.

  He patted my back. "I'm sure, honey. The doctors will be here in a minute to talk to you. I'll help you make whatever arrangements you want. I know how unexpected…"

  His voice faded out.

  What were my last words to Clay? Why couldn't I remember? In the morning, I'd caught him getting out of the shower. We'd kissed and exchanged our plans for the day. Planned dinner. The normal mundane stuff. Had I told him I loved him?