CHAPTER FOUR
Although Hope’s business card only listed a P.O. Box, using her license plate gave me her home address. Before I knew what the hell I was doing, my bike was winding its way out of the city, through suburbia, and down what I quickly noted was a dead end street.
Shit.
It's not like a lot of motorcycles probably ever ventured out here. It would seriously suck if she spotted me. What the hell could I say? I decided to drop by for some legal advice? Oh, and by the way, I hacked into the DMV database to find out where you lived.
Yeah, no creepiness there.
Fortunately, I found her house sat back quite a way off the quiet street. Oddly enough, her street bordered state land, so a small dirt public parking lot rested at the end of the concrete. I did a lazy turn around, trying not to stare up the tree-lined driveway to catch a glimpse of her. I caught a piece of her car, but not much else. I brought the bike to a stop and planted my feet on the ground. Maybe she’d come outside to grab something from her car? I shook my head.
This woman was turning me into a crazy-assed stalker.
Part of me realized I was a little obsessed, but I couldn’t muster up a single give-a-fuck. Although, it would have been awfully embarrassing if she’d caught me. Even worse if one of her neighbors called the cops because some shady dude on a bike was casing the lovely Ms. Kendall’s house.
Common sense finally returned, and I headed back to Crystal Ball. The ride took about thirty minutes but did nothing to clear my head. I couldn’t forget the soft press of her lips against mine. The taste of her mouth. A hint of her fresh, clean scent still clung to me. The memory of how sweet and light she smelled up close. Nothing like the heavy floral or foodie scents I was used to the girls at the club bathing themselves in.
I needed to get a grip. For fuck’s sake, I’m a biker. I shouldn’t be musing about perfume like some lovesick pansy.
Of course, my little excursion hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dex ran out to the parking lot the minute I pulled in.
"Boss, where were you? We got a situation."
Slipping off my helmet, I pasted on my concerned boss face. When wasn’t there a situation here? Couldn’t I take a few minutes to stalk someone in peace?
"What now?"
"Lexi's boyfriend is inside." He jerked his thumb toward the front door. "She's freaking out and won't go onstage."
"Christ, I thought she dumped that asshole?"
Dex shrugged before falling in behind me as I stormed into the club. Fucking hell. I hated this drama bullshit.
"Why didn’t you or Blue kick his ass out?"
Dex shrugged. "He didn't do anything. Paid his cover charge, bought his drinks."
"I don't fucking care. Blue never should've let his ass in the door in the first place." Fucking bouncers were useless if they were too busy paying attention to the naked chicks on stage instead of who was coming in the front door.
Dex pointed the guy out to me. Sitting in the corner, nursing a non-beer, he wasn’t causing any trouble. Yet.
Stalking into the back, I knocked on the dressing room door. "Lex, come on out, babe."
I leaned against the opposite wall and waited for her to poke her head out. Well, at least she wasn’t all red-faced and teary like the last time this happened.
"Is he gone?"
"No. Babe, he’s not doing anything. Can’t just kick him out for no reason."
Slick red lips pushed into a pout. Judging by the pinstripe miniskirt, necktie, and barely-there white blouse she had her assets crammed into, she planned to do her Office Tramp routine tonight. Good thing—it always netted her a lot of cash from the corporate drones who dropped in here on their way home
"Come on. Between Blue, Dex, and me, if he breathes wrong, we’ll haul his ass out."
"Promise you’ll stay?"
Fuck. I really wanted to go home.
"Yeah, I’ll stick around."
She still looked hesitant.
"You don’t have to go to his table or give him a lap dance, sweetie."
"Okay."
"Good girl. Go get side stage. Reagan’s almost done."
She didn’t bother going back in the dressing room, thank fuck. No, she put her game face on and strutted down the hallway. Tight, perfectly round ass cheeks peeked out from under her tiny skirt with each step. Still unbearably wound up from Hope’s kiss, I considered offering Lexi a ride home after her set. Inga still lurked around the club somewhere, but no way did I want to stick my dick in her twice in one day. Might give her the wrong idea.
Lexi’s signature song trickled over the speakers, so I headed out front to keep an eye on her ex. Ginger was busy giving him a lap dance, so either he didn’t give a fuck about Lexi, or he was here to make her jealous.
Dropping my concerned boss face, I pasted on my scary biker mask, which I felt a lot more at home in. One hard pinch of Ginger’s ass later, Blue and I helped the douchebag out the door.
On our way back inside, I pinned Blue to the wall with my finger in his chest. "No more, Blue. You pay fucking attention to who’s coming in the door."
"Gotcha, boss."
After dealing with that nonsense, I took my sorry ass home. Involving myself with Lexi was a complication I didn’t need tonight.
My empty house bothered me for some reason. I should have gone up to the clubhouse instead. Never a quiet moment there, and always the possibility of some eager, uncomplicated pussy.
I still couldn't get Hope out of my head. Was she home thinking about our kiss? Fuck, had she told her husband about that smoking-hot face-suck? Were they fighting about it right now? Or had I fired her up and sent her home to fuck another man?
That last thought depressed the hell out of me. I wondered what her husband looked like. Probably some nerdy dickwad who didn’t dare go to strip clubs and had never ridden a bike. Hope most likely thought of me as nothing more than an exciting way to add a little spice to her dull, suburban life. With a nasty smile, I wondered if the next time she fucked her husband, she’d close her eyes and picture my face.
Eventually I managed to get some sleep. Hope’s pretty eyes and sexy mouth tormenting every single dream.
Over the next few months, I took many more drives down her dead end street. By some miracle, she never spotted me, even though a part of me always wanted her to. I was playing with fire, and it was only a matter of time before one of us got burned.
I never told Clay about the incident at Crystal Ball. That’s how I referred to it in my head. The Incident. It wasn't going to happen again, so I didn't see the point in stirring up trouble. I’d never lied to my husband before. The guilt gnawed through my stomach, but still I kept silent. I knew if I opened that can of worms, there would be uncomfortable questions I couldn't answer.
All of this brewing in my head meant I couldn't forget what it felt like to be pressed up against Rock. His mouth over mine. He was hard where I was used to softer. I had to tip my head up to kiss him, whereas Clay and I were almost the same height.
I hated myself for all of these thoughts and comparisons. Clay was a good man, and he loved me. We had a solid marriage. What was my problem? Boredom? Midlife crisis? Although it was a little early for that. Dissatisfaction with the way my life had turned out? Maybe.
Did I want to have a fling with Rock? Absolutely not. A man like him would only bring me heartache and probably an STD. I didn’t even like him.
If I kept telling myself that, maybe I’d believe it.
Since I’d sworn off ever setting foot in Crystal Ball again, Bricks and I conducted all our future appointments at my friend's office. Each time, he brought me cash in an envelope that I assumed had come from Rock. Eventually we worked out a fair agreement with his ex that allowed him to take on more parenting time with his children. He was very effusive in his thanks, and it helped to feel good about something for a change.
At the oddest times, I heard the roar of an unfamiliar engine, throaty and loud on my street. The rumble reminded me of Rock, even though I realized I’d never even seen his bike. I’d never given much thought to motorcycles in my life, but now I saw and heard them everywhere. I bet he drove something big, dark, and scary looking. Situated far off our little street and shielded by trees and shrubbery, I didn't have a clear view of our road. Some days I'd fantasize about him cruising up to my front door and ordering me to hop on the back of his Harley.
Months went by without a word from Rock. Still, I couldn't erase his image or touch from my mind.
Then he called.
"Another marijuana charge? Rock, really?"
He shrugged at my schoolmarmish tone while I tried to imagine him with a case of the munchies. The only stoners I'd ever known had been in high school, and they'd all been soft, marshmallow-y types. Not hard like Rock. He seemed so in control and disciplined that I found it difficult to picture him glassy-eyed and elbow deep in Doritos.
"How many does this make?"
He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "It's only a matter of time until it's legal here."
"Well, in the meantime, it's not. Take a trip to Colorado if you need to get high."
This pending charge was a little more serious because of the amount he'd been caught with. I got the feeling there was more to the story he wasn't telling me, which ticked me off. There was nothing worse than a client lying to you and getting blindsided in court because of it. At that point in my career, it had already happened to me twice. I honestly think being stripped naked and forced to walk through the courthouse would be less humiliating. Or maybe I was just overly sensitive. Who knew?
Since the day I met Rock at his impromptu arraignment, I'd managed to log a few more hours in criminal court. Mostly minor drug charges. I seemed to have a knack for it, and my buddy Adam had taken to calling me "the pot lawyer" which embarrassed the hell out of me when he introduced me that way to colleagues. An older attorney I knew had sort of taken me under his wing and given me more confidence in handling criminal matters. It still freaked me out because defending people in criminal court meant their liberty was at stake. It terrified me to think that some flaw or weakness of mine could send an innocent person to prison. My mentor told me that once I lost that fear, I should retire.
Rock and I met at Adam’s office. I'd been using the space so much, he’d given me an empty room not much bigger than a closet. I’d even started paying him rent on a semi-regular basis.
Our meeting took place in the conference room, because after a filing cabinet, chair, and desk had been added to my office, I had no room left to conduct a client interview.
Not satisfied I had the whole story, I gave Rock my lawyer-client confidentiality speech—as in nothing he told me would leave this room, so please just tell me the fucking truth. He flashed an indulgent smile at me.
"Don't you trust me?"
"I can do a better job if I have all the facts."
He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug, while I fought the urge to grab my red Swingline stapler and clock him with it.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, I managed to hang onto my professionalism. Just barely. "Fine, let me make some calls and see how hard they want to pursue this. The DA portrays himself as tough on the news, but in court, he's really been backing off these petty drug charges lately."
Rock warmed up to the subject. "It's a waste of time when they could be out there prosecuting real criminals."
"Yes, I think that's his reasoning. But you also have a record, so he might not budge."
"Do what you can. I trust you."
Sure you do, I thought, still convinced he was holding something back. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that I wished I trusted myself around him. My body remembered every second of the kiss Rock and I had shared. My heart kept thumping so hard I feared he could hear it all the way across the table. And I absolutely refused to acknowledge how damp my panties were. My cheeks burned, so I knew I had to be bright red.
He cocked his head and nailed me with one of his smoldering stares. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I answered while tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
"Your hands are shaking."
This was true. A polite person would have ignored it. He knew the reason why. He just wanted to unsettle me.
"You're flushed," he continued.
"I'm fine," I answered in a tone meant to shut him up.
My phone buzzed, and I mentally pumped my fist in the air in relief. Staring at the screen, I realized I needed to get going if I wanted to make it to court on time.
I stood and collected his file. "I have to be in court this afternoon."
He pushed his chair back and got to his feet slowly. I was very aware of the way he watched me as I tucked his file under my arm and exited the conference room. A few quick steps down the hall, and I set the stack of folders on top of my filing cabinet. I unearthed my briefcase from behind my desk and checked to see if I had everything I needed for the afternoon. Whipping myself around, I collided with a wall of muscle.
His warm, heavy hands settled on my shoulders to steady me—the first time we'd touched all afternoon. I wanted to swoon. Did women still swoon? Didn't matter…I wanted to.
"I have to get going," I whispered. Dammit, why did my voice disappear every time he touched me?
I’d avoided his eyes during our whole appointment. Rude, yes. But I couldn’t risk getting sucked into those stormy depths. I made the mistake of looking up. Our gazes locked and held. Studying his irises, I noted hints of blue in a sea of gray. Without thinking, my lips parted. Instead of kissing me, Rock just stared.
"You have the prettiest eyes, Hope."
Jinx! How’d he know I’d been thinking the same thing about him? It unnerved me so much, I broke the spell by wriggling out of his grasp. He sighed and dropped his hands.
Laying my hands on Hope did absolutely nothing to calm the storm that had been brewing in me all afternoon. The second she squirmed away from me, I sighed in defeat. I wanted to respect her marital status. I really did. Or at least I wanted to want to.
"How's your husband?"
That was not the right thing to say. She pinned me with an icy glare.
"We're fine."
"Just checking, doll. I'd never forgive myself if your situation changed and I didn't know about it."
Her jaw clenched and unclenched before she answered. "My situation is not going to change."
I raised an eyebrow. Was her husband some controlling asshole? As shrewd as she was, she caught the shift in my demeanor.
"God, calm down. We're just not the divorcing type. I don't believe in it."
"Religious?"
"No. Just a moral, decent person."
Hmm. Interesting dig.
"Even in abuse or adultery situations?"
"No, of course not. But Clay would never lay a hand on me, and he's not a cheater. Neither am I," she finished with a pointed look.
I got that. I really did. He was a lucky man. Women with her kind of depth and conviction were rare in my experience. It made it hard not to want that for myself.
I consoled myself with the fact that at least her man treated her well. She deserved nothing but the best, and to be brutally honest—as much as I hated to admit it—I wouldn't be good for her. Although she turned me on like no other woman I’d ever known, we moved in different worlds. I bet she liked to get dressed up and go to fancy lawyer functions where she made uppity chit-chat and sipped white wine. I’d rather be caught dead than in a suit. Besides the massive hard-on she gave me whenever I got within three feet of her, we were not compatible. It was time to get that through my thick skull.
I slipped on my shades and patted her back before leaving, wishing I had the right to do more.
After our conversation, you would think I would back off, but my little trips into suburbia actually increased. I couldn't help it. When I thought the bike might garner too much attention, I started taking my SUV. Big and black with tinted windows, it was a bad-guy cliché, but it made spying in privacy a lot easier. That’s how far gone this woman got me.
Of course, all these excursions didn't go unnoticed by my club. Even though I wore the President patch, I still had obligations. Because of the patch, I had an enormous amount of responsibility. I didn't let any of it slip, but I easily could have. Because of the nature of our business, a lot of our deals went down at night. Since I found myself cruising Evergreen Lane on more and more nights, this became a problem.
I got sloppy.
There was no excuse.
It was no secret that our area had a lot of gang activity. Believe it or not, my crew played a part in keeping the worst of it out of our city and the surrounding county. That wasn't to say we weren't criminals, but drive-bys, prostitution, hard drugs—we kept them out. That didn't mean the two nearest cities bordering ours weren't teeming with guys eager to change that. It's not like people in Empire couldn't drive the five miles over the bridge to Ironworks if they needed to buy heroin or meth. Interestingly, it did not work the other way around. Dealers from Ironworks did not drive into our territory to sell the harder drugs. No one within a hundred-mile radius dared to sell weed that didn’t originate in our grow house. Sometimes rival crews tested these rules, and it never ended well for them.
We had an understanding. To the east of us, Ironworks was run by an MC called the Vipers. For some reason, Ironworks was attractive to Hispanic immigrants, so the Vipers had a large portion of brown guys, but I don't think it was a requirement. We had a precarious relationship with them. They mostly dealt in prostitution. This I wanted no part of. If my girls were caught soliciting sex in the club, they were out on their asses. I did not need the hassle of Vice sniffing around.
The Vipers knew this, yet they stirred up shit by attempting to send girls into my club to pick up side action occasionally. Lots of their girls were hooked on crap to keep them compliant, which I found abhorrent.
I ran a clean club. My girls danced because they wanted to. They kept the same percentage of their income dancers in any legitimate club kept. I doubted the Vipers treated their women with the same respect. Crystal Ball was one of two legitimate businesses the Lost Kings operated, so I absolutely did not want anything fucking with that. My girls were clean and healthy, or they got the fuck out. Customers didn’t come into my club and pay top dollar to watch glassy-eyed girls with meth sores lazily work the pole.
This was important for a number of reasons. One, Crystal Ball had a good reputation throughout the dancer community, and let me tell you—those bitches were tight. A club that engaged in questionable practices would not get top talent. The more dancers and porn stars I could rotate through my club, the better it was for business. No matter how hot the girls were, guys got tired of seeing the same thing over and over. Well, most of them. We definitely had our regulars who were attached to one girl or another, but it just kept them guessing. And kept everyone smiling all the way to the bank.
To the west of us, an MC called the Wolf Knights ran Slater City. Historically, their business was in the transportation and distribution of guns—a dangerous business with serious hard time attached to it. The monetary rewards were worth it for some people. Me, I liked my freedom too much to mess with that shit.
For many years we had a good working relationship with the Wolf Knights as we turned to them for any hardware needs. At one point, they tried to push into the drug trade. After a few missteps, they understood the wisdom in steering clear of the nasty shit. The Vipers did not. While I was not privy to all of their internal dealings for obvious reasons, it became widely known that there had been a shake-up in leadership.
New leadership shook up the Vipers from outside. These assholes had no interest in abiding by the strict lines that had been drawn years ago. They assumed my club was small enough to intimidate into giving up territory for their meth, coke, and hooker distribution. While my particular charter was small at this time, it was not an orphan. We had a mother chapter, and we had brother chapters in surrounding areas. All I had to do was pick up the phone, and I could have enough brothers here to deal with any additional shit from the Vipers. The Wolf Knights and my club also formed a tighter alliance when faced with the sheer violent bloodlust of the new Vipers. Rumors of rival gangs' ol' ladies or even the sweetbutts being abducted and gang raped to "send a message" had been swirling for a few weeks. Considering the number of girls in and out of Crystal Ball, this made me very uneasy and I did call in a charter club to help with protection at the strip club. A good portion of the girls had no idea the club they danced at was owned by an MC, so keeping them safe was a priority for me. It never occurred to me that the Vipers would target any female associated with us.
My short-sightedness became clear while on one of my stakeouts on Evergreen Lane. While I sat staring at what I could see of Hope’s house, two bold, brazen Vipers with colors flying cruised down the quiet street.
Motherfucker.
My heart hammered in my chest at seeing their lazy drive by Hope's house. My hand automatically reached for the pistol I kept hidden at the small of my back. I highly doubted they were here to take a nature hike on the state land that bordered the end of the street. No, the unusual attention they paid to her driveway left no doubt why they were here. Either they'd followed me here, or they knew she worked as a lawyer for some of our club members. Didn't matter. This was bad. I’d fucked up big time.
They left, but the fact that they'd even touched their bikes to Hope's street unnerved the fuck outta me. I needed to fix this immediately. First, I had to stay away from here. This was my fault. My obsession with this woman I couldn't even have was going to get her hurt or killed. I needed to end it.
I had to figure out a way to get her out of my system. If she hated me, it might be a lot easier. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, I knew there was a part of her that acknowledged the chemistry between us. That knowledge made it difficult to give her up.
But my inaction had caused me to lose a girl I cared about once before. I wouldn't let it happen again. Especially when now I was in a position to prevent it from happening.
On my way home, I worked out a plan in my head. It would never fly unless I changed my mindset. Hope occupied way too many of my thoughts on a daily basis. I needed to go cold turkey for both our sakes. Implement my own personal Hope Kendall Detox Program. Then I could move on with my life and let her move on with hers. First, there were some safeguards I needed to put in place.
Number one, I couldn’t see her any more. Seeing her made me want to spend more time with her, which made me want to kiss her, which desperately made me want to fuck her. Second, I needed to stop fantasizing about her. Fantasizing led to me wanting to see her, and well, see the first reason. That meant no more envisioning unpinning her hair, wrapping my fist in it, and taking her mouth. No more picturing myself balls deep inside her while she lay writhing and moaning beneath me. For that matter, no more picturing what she would look like naked or imagining her perfect nipples between my lips while I jerked off in the shower.
And most importantly, there could absolutely be no more fantasizing about finding her husband in a dark alley and putting two bullets in his head.
Once I got myself under control, I could put the second part of my plan into motion. The one that would guarantee she would hate my guts and never want to see me again. The one that would solve all my problems—except the problem where I was pretty sure somewhere along the way I’d fallen in love with the woman I needed to destroy.