CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tony motherfucking Cain.
Fuck me.
Of all the times to run into my childhood friend, now is the least appropriate. Hope seems ready to murder my ass, and I am not looking forward to the questions she’s going to fire at me the second we’re alone.
He slaps me on the shoulder. “Call me so we can catch up. Things are good?”
I nod. “Yeah, things are good.” Or they were good until this whole situation happened.
We wrap up our conversation, and as he walks away, Hope starts edging toward her car. Away from me. From where I’m standing, I see she’s shaking.
This time, it’s not from desire. Not even fear.
It’s rage. I see it in her wide green eyes that are drilling into me with a million accusations.
“Hope—”
“Don’t,” she spits out.
I didn’t have the good sense to park my bike in front of her car this time. She’s inside and gunning the engine within seconds. Deciding this isn’t the best place for a scene, I let her go.
But I’m not far behind.
I track her down at her office. Thankfully, it looks like Adam is gone for the day. I don’t have a key for the back entrance, so I jog down the front steps and ring the bell. I end up leaning on it for quite a while before Hope’s furious face appears on the other side of the glass.
The door swings open, and she lets me in.
Well, really, I push my way in. “Let me explain.”
She folds her arms over her chest and takes a step back. “How do you know Tony?” She shoots at me.
“We grew up together. He lived down the street from me.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Her voice zips up a few octaves. “Why was he prosecuting your case?”
I shrug, not quite sure how to explain. I’ve given her a vague outline, that I fired her as my attorney publicly so the Vipers would lose interest in her. I never got into the fact that Tony rigged the case at my request. After everything we’ve gone through since then, it seemed pointless to go into the whole mess.
“Hope—”
“Tell me something. Did Tony renege on the deal because you asked him to?”
“Yes.”
She blows out an irritated breath. “Do you know how many times I used to go over that whole horrible day in my head? Wondering what I did wrong? How I fucked it up so royally bad that you had an excuse to fire me on the spot in front of everyone? You know I stopped practicing criminal law because of that day?”
Shit. “I know, honey. I’m sorry. I told you—”
“Yeah. You told me about the war with your rival and cutting ties with me. I get that part. I didn’t realize you were responsible for tanking the deal, though. I didn’t realize the whole damn situation was a set up. I still doubt myself all the time because of that. Shit.” She focuses her eyes on me, and they’re so full of pain I caused, I can’t stand it.
“Hope. I asked him to help. Originally, I’d asked him to dismiss the whole thing so it would look good for you and give your practice a little boost.”
That was perhaps the very worst thing I could have said, because she goes nuclear. “Do you think my career is some sort of fucking game? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I thought I’d seen every side of Hope by now. I thought I’d seen her angry before. I was dead wrong.
“My God, all this time, I thought I did something wrong. Missed something big. On top of that, I had all that fucking guilt and shame because of my feelings for you. But it was nothing more than some elaborate game of chess for you and Tony. Holy shit, am I stupid. Did you guys have a good laugh when you were done?”
“Hope, it wasn’t like that at all. I hated doing that to you. I—”
“Get out.”
“Hope—”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. I can’t even look at you, let alone listen to any more of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Rock. Get out.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. The last thing I want to do is leave, but she’s only getting more enraged and not willing to listen to reason.
“Okay, we’ll talk later.”
“No. We won’t.”
She slams the door behind me hard enough to rattle the glass.
Fuck.
I’m shaking so hard after I finally get Rock to leave that I stumble. Kicking off my heels and hurling them down the hallway doesn’t make me feel any better. I manage to stagger into my office before I dissolve into a puddle of tears. Deep, ragged sobs tear out of my chest. I’m so damn hurt and confused. I sink onto the floor and replay that day in my head. The bits I haven’t blocked out. Rock giving me shit the day before about the one year of probation. Tony giving me that long lecture about Rock’s motorcycle gang.
All of it gimmicks and lies.
I snort at the irony of Tony Cain being just as much of a crook as Rock. I gotta admit, my faith in the criminal justice system and my entire profession has taken a huge hit today.
Give my practice a boost. More like some scheme to get in my pants. Damn, I’m an idiot.
Christ, were those charges even real to begin with? Or was it more manipulation to “help” my career? I remember the day outside of family court when Winter’s ex assaulted me. One of the cops knew Rock pretty damn well.
Rock has friends everywhere.
After the tears stop, I realize what’s driving my anger is how humiliated and stupid I feel.
That’s going to take some time to get over.
It seems like forever before I finally pick myself up off the floor. A quick step in the hallway and I retrieve my shoes. I sit behind my desk and enter in my CLE credits so I don’t forget about them when the time comes to renew my license. The sound of the front door opening startles me.
I swear to God if it’s fucking Rock, I’m going to choke him out.
Why didn’t I remember to lock the damn door?
I was too busy having my pride stomped on by a pair of size thirteen steel-toed boots, that’s why.
Since I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Rock, I don’t bother slipping my shoes back on. Instead, I tear ass into the hallway.
“Rock, I can’t deal with this now. You need—”
It’s Mr. Greybell.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Greybell. I thought you were someone else.”
He cocks his head, and his eyes roam over me in a distinctly creepy manner I don’t care for. He stops at my bare feet. The intensity of his gaze makes me wiggle my toes into the flat, industrial carpet.
“Uh, Adam isn’t here right now.”
His eyes finally leave my feet, but travel back up my legs before answering.
“That’s okay. I came to see you.”
“Me?”
“I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.”
I bite down on the tip of my tongue to stop the “hell fucking no” from escaping. The guy creeps me out something fierce, but I don’t want to be rude. “Oh, Mr. Greybell, that’s very nice of you to ask, but I think I mentioned I have a boyfriend.”
A boyfriend I am dearly wishing I hadn’t chased away at the moment. Where is his overbearing, caveman ass when I need it?
Hope’s screams of “get the fuck out” keep echoing in my head, yet here I am, still sitting out in the parking lot. Waiting for her. I tell myself it’s only to make sure she gets home okay since she’s so upset. Hell, maybe that’s even the reason. Who knows?
I do know that the flimsy building did a lousy job of concealing the sounds of her crying after I left. Her gut-wrenching sobs nearly tore me apart as I stood with my back against the wall of the building and listened. Everything in me said to go comfort her, but the small part of my brain that actually functions knew it was a bad idea.
So, I wait. She quieted down after a while, and I went and sat on my bike next to her car. The spot gives me a prime view of the back entrance to the building, so I can spot her as soon as she comes out. Maybe we’ll talk when she leaves. Maybe she’ll yell at me some more. Maybe I’ll just end up following her home to make sure she gets there okay. I don’t know.
I should have seen this coming. She’s told me plainly that she wants to hear the truth from me. Many times. There’s a lot of fucking truths I can’t give her. I could have given her this one.
Honestly, it never occurred to me.
Tony and I grew up together, sure. We keep in touch. We have a precise sort of give-and-take relationship. Sometimes we reminisce about the old days. Although we’ve got history, we’re polite, distant friends. He’s not someone I’d ever call “brother.” That title is reserved for my fellow Kings. When I need to call in a favor with Tony, it definitely costs me.
I don’t trust him with my life.
The fact that Hope still wrestles with that day burns me. I had no damn clue. That she’s still suffering some guilt and grief about our relationship and her husband’s death doesn’t surprise me. That she connects all of it together does.
My explanations for my behavior apparently only went so far. I’m really not sure how to fix this.
A short, sharp scream interrupts my thoughts, and my head snaps up. My eyes focus on the building, as if that’s going to help me hear what’s going on inside any better. A crash and another short scream. Definitely Hope.
The fuck?
I tear ass to the front of the building, where there’s a sedan parked right in front, blocking the entire driveway. No fucking way for me to see it from where I’d been waiting. Rushing down the stairs, I muscle through the door, then pause.
“Mr. Greybell? Did you hear me? I appreciate your invitation, but I have a boyfriend. I actually need to meet him in a few minutes.” Somehow my fear makes that lie come out very smooth.
Greybell is freaking me out with his blank stare and stiff posture. He seems to be contemplating something. I’m not sure what. Most likely I’d rather not know. Without tipping him off, I glance at my desk, trying to spot my cell phone. Not there. Did I leave it in my briefcase? I don’t have a phone at my desk, and I can’t easily make it into Adam’s office.
After staring at me for much too long, he slips his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a folded up piece of paper.
“I wanted to give you this,” he says with a slightly unhinged laugh.
“What is it?”
He holds it out to me, but I don’t really want to get any closer to him. Instead, I edge back into my office. My briefcase is on the floor, propped up against the side of my desk. I’m almost positive that’s where my phone is.
Holding up one finger, I say, “Give me one second, David.”
I dash into my office, plunging my hand into the outside pocket of my briefcase. Just as my fingers curl around my phone, David wraps his hand around my arm, yanking me to my feet.
“Ow! Get off me!” I screech at the top of my lungs. For once, I’m grateful for the shitty soundproofing in this old building. Someone upstairs should be able to hear me screaming.
“Shh. Shh. I just want to talk to you. I wrote this for you.”
Why did I have to be so damn nice to this asshole? I should have thrown him out.
For a slender guy, he’s got an iron grip on my arm. He yanks me and then slams me into my desk. The front of my thighs dig painfully into the lip of my desk. My breasts and face are mashed into the hard wooden surface. I wish I kept my desk neater. There is definitely a ballpoint pen poking into my boob. I just know it’s going to leave a mark, ruining my shirt.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Greybell slides a piece of paper next to my face. My cheek is pressed so tight against the desk it’s hard to form words.
“It’s kind of hard to read from this position, Mr. Greybell.”
He doesn’t seem bothered by my sarcasm.
“It’s a poem I wrote for you.”
Oh geezus.
I’m not sure what he plans to do with me. I’m not even sure if he has a plan. Despite the obscene position he’s forced me into, he hasn’t touched me inappropriately.
Who am I kidding? Appropriate left the building a couple minutes ago.
This guy needs psychiatric help. Like, locked up away from society kind of help. Locked up far away from me type of help.
Harmless my ass. I’m going to kill Adam when I see him.
I realize I’m making a whining noise. “Please stop, you’re hurting me.” The begging quality to my voice really ticks me off.
He bends over me, pressing me even more painfully into the desk. I don’t even want to contemplate what is prodding my ass. If I ignore it, maybe it will go away.
God dammit. Haven’t I been bitching to Rock repeatedly that I can take care of myself? Why am I letting this skinny little wacko do this to me? He doesn’t seem to have a weapon. Didn’t I take a self defense class once upon a time? The memory of which body parts to hit is fuzzy. Maybe that’s lack of oxygen.
Foot stomp—yeah, that was definitely one of the spots.
Damn, if only I had my shoes on.
I make an attempt to stomp on his instep, but it’s futile. I can’t get enough leverage to raise my foot and end up banging my knee into the metal side of the desk and hurting my foot. For all my trouble, I don’t even think he even noticed.
A noise reaches my ear. Someone’s in the office.
Please let it be Rock.
I’m so, so sorry for yelling at him. I hate that if I never see him again, that’s how we left things.
No!
“Get off me!” I scream with renewed purpose. At the same time, I throw my elbow back and connect with his soft gut. He jumps back enough for me to wriggle free.
Then Rock is there, throwing Greybell to the floor.
“Rock! Thank God!”
I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.
Pulling the pistol out of the holster at my back takes a second. I flip off the safety and hold the gun at my side.
A thump. Sounds like a struggle.
Hope’s voice. “Please stop, you’re hurting me.”
I see motherfucking red.
It takes every ounce of control I possess not to storm down the hallway and murder whoever made my girl say that.
All sorts of thoughts go through me.
Viper? How’d they connect me to Hope? Why here? Why now?
One of the guys from the fight?
Fuck.
Does she have a tarp I can wrap the body in? Because there is no way this motherfucker is walking out of here alive. All these things race through my head as I inch down the hallway. Adam’s office is dark, but light pours into the hall from Hope’s office. Shadows waver over the carpet.
Whispering that I can’t make out reaches my ears. Hope whines.
Fuck caution.
Inside her office, a guy I don’t recognize has her bent over and pinned to her desk. White-hot fucking rage slams through me at the sight. Only concern that I’ll accidentally shoot Hope makes me tuck the gun back in my pants. From this angle, I can’t tell if he has a weapon. I’m worried if I startle the fuck, he’ll end up seriously injuring her.
“Get off me!” she screams, throwing an elbow back into the guy’s gut. He jumps back enough for me to tell he’s unarmed, and I hurl myself at him, grabbing him around the neck. Hope shakes free just in time, because the motherfucker is on the floor with my knee in his chest within seconds.
“Rock! Thank God,” she gasps.
She’s reaching for her cell phone. To call the police, I assume.
“Wait.” I glance down at the scrawny fuck beneath me. “Who’re you with?”
“What?” he gasps out.
Leaning over so my knee grinds into his chest a little harder, I yank his shirt up to check his ink.
No ink on his front. I push up his sleeves. No ink on his arms. I’m about to turn the sniveling fuck over when Hope’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, pulling me back.
“He’s one of Adam’s clients, Rock. Don’t hurt him. I don’t think he’s well.”
No fucking shit he’s not well. He’s about to be really fucking unwell in a minute.
The guy is sobbing under me now, chanting “I’m sorry” over and over again.
Christ.
I ease up my hold on the little fuck, then stand. “Move and I’ll shoot you,” I growl down at him.
With my heart hammering away, blood thundering through my ears, I almost don’t hear Rock threaten to shoot poor David.
Poor David, my ass.
My cell phone is still clutched in my hand, and I uncurl my fingers to hand it over to Rock. I’m shaking way too much to make any sense on the phone.
He gives me a tortured look, as if calling the cops offends him on some basic level. A complex mish-mash of emotions forces me into hysterical giggles. Oh boy. He hates when his friends look at me in a way he thinks is inappropriate.
“You okay, baby?” Rock asks as he curves his arm around my waist, pulling me tight to his side.
I bury my face in his shoulder and nod. He shifts his body a bit. “Don’t test me, motherfucker,” he snarls. Then I hear the distinct sounds of him dialing 911. He gives them a brief, clipped version of the story, the address, and hangs up. I’m sure they loved that.
After a few minutes, he squeezes me a little tighter. “You got any zip ties here?”
“Huh?” I shake myself out of his arms, meeting his questioning eyes. Dropping my gaze, I take in Rock’s big-booted foot, pinning David to the floor. The corners of my mouth turn down.
“Don’t,” he warns.
“Is that really necessary?”
His jaw clenches. “Yes. But my leg’s getting tired, so, you got any zip ties?”
I shake my head because I’m not even sure what the hell he’s asking for.
It’s moot anyway, because the banging at the front door signals Empire’s finest has arrived. Rock jerks his chin in the direction of the commotion.
“Let them in.”
Scurrying down the hall, I smooth my hands over my clothes, wincing at all the sore spots along my body. I take a few deep breaths and pray I won’t burst into tears and make a fool of myself in front of the cops.
Dealing with the bastards in blue wears down my last bit of patience for this entire day. The fucker questioning Hope at the moment is dangerously close to having my fist rammed down his throat. Especially if he insinuates one more time that she and that whimpering pile of shit were somehow “involved.”
“Miss Kendall, maybe we should speak privately,” he suggests while throwing me a glance.
Yeah, ‘cause I’m the problem.
I honestly don’t care if I get carted off to county when I jab my finger in his chest, knocking him back a few steps. “You got a woman?”
Fucker has the nerve to sneer at me. “Yeah, a fiancée.”
“What would you have done if you walked in on her bent over a fucking desk, begging some creepy asshole to let her go, ‘cause he was hurtin’ her?”
The cocky smirk slips off his face, replaced by something a little darker that I recognize and actually respect.
“Thought so. Be fucking grateful my girl calmed me down. The way I wanted to handle this was very different.”
He knocks my hand away from his chest. “I’m sure it was, Mr. North.”
I can’t tell if he thinks he’s intimidating me or he actually agrees.
Hope’s soft hand against my chest breaks my focus. “Rock, it’s okay,” she says softly.
It is most certainly not okay. Nothing about this is okay.
She turns her head, and in a stronger voice says, “Officer, I’ve told you everything I know. I only met Mr. Greybell once before. He’s attorney Braydon’s client. Adam assured me the guy was a little weird but not dangerous. I have no idea why he attacked me.”
A prison psychologist once taught me these breathing exercises to calm myself down when the need to kill someone struck me. I’d never admit it, but they worked well enough to keep me from acting irrationally more than once in my life. I’m employing one of those techniques right this second, because Adam just walked in and I’m pretty sure if I kill Adam, Hope’s going to be pissed with me.
“What the fuck is going on?” the cocky shit asks.
Since I’m still busy counting to ten in my head, I let Officer Might-have-some-balls answer Adam’s question.
Hope shakes herself free from my hold and storms over to Adam. She’s still not wearing shoes so Adam’s got a good six inches on her, but it doesn’t stop her from smacking his arm. Or yelling at him. “Your harmless client fucking attacked me, that’s what going on!”
The look of worry, alarm, regret, whatever it is that passes over his face is probably the only thing that keeps him off my “people I need to kill” list.
“Jesus Christ, are you okay, Hope?” He pulls her in for a quick hug, then pushes her away to look her over. Officer Dickface quirks an eyebrow at me, and I shrug.
Adam’s gaze lands on me, and he groans. “Fuck, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”
“Not today.”
Hope glares at both of us.
The officers who were in the back with Greybell walk him to the front door. They nod to Officer Dickwad. “Taking him in to process.”
“Officer, is jail really appropriate? Maybe he should be sent to a hospital or something?” Hope asks.
Good fucking God, what am I going to do with her?
“Let his lawyer worry about that, Miss Kendall,” the officer says gently, then glances at Adam. “That you?”
“No, sir, I’m an estate attorney. David, is there someone you want me to call?” Adam asks the piece of shit who attacked my woman.
Okay, the fucker just earned himself an engraved spot on my list.
The guy must be in shock, because he doesn’t answer or even acknowledge Adam. The cops shrug and lead him out the door, steering clear of me for some reason.
“I’m taking her home,” I tell Officer Donutdick.
He opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it.
One look at Hope, and it’s clear why. Although she was ready to pound the crap out of Adam a minute ago, she’s pale everywhere except her cheeks, which are an unhealthy shade of red. There is some slight discoloration forming on her cheek and around her neck, which sends me into rage-y caveman mode all over again. Her glassy eyes meet mine, and she visibly shivers.
“Can you give me a number in case we need to reach her?” Officer Working-my-last-nerve asks.
After wrapping Hope in my arms, I rattle off my number and address to the cop. Hope, thank fuck, doesn’t contradict me. I’m sure soon she’ll remember we were in the middle of a huge fight, but right now she’s not doing so well. Fight or not, she’s coming home with me, because I’m not letting her out of my sight.
When I finally get her outside, she sucks in the cool night air in greedy gulps. The sun has long since set.
“I don’t feel well,” she whispers.
My girl is proud, so she must be feeling pretty damn bad to admit that.
“When’s the last time you ate something?”
The fact that she has to stop and think about it is all I need to know. I’ve got fuck all in the way of food at my house, so once I get her settled in her car, I tap out a few texts to remedy that situation.
I get Hope inside my house and settled on the couch before she conks out. After covering her with a blanket, I walk back into the kitchen. I’m not waiting long before Hoot shows up with a bag of Chinese takeout.
“Axel should be by in a few with groceries,” he huffs out after setting the bag on the counter.
“Good. I need one of you to go down to Hope’s office, grab my bike, and bring it here.” Hoot seems a little shocked I’m willing to let either of them near my bike, but it’s the last thing I’m worried about.
“No problem.”
Like a good little prospect, he goes outside to wait for Axel.
Kicking off my boots, I contemplate the wisdom of waking Hope. She needs her rest, but she also needs to eat something. As I pad back into the living room, I’m struck by how fucking tiny and fragile she looks burrowed into my couch. All the awful possibilities of what could have happened had I not been there tear through my brain. The irony of the attack having nothing to do with me or the club is something I set aside to examine later.
Hope looks so peaceful, I don’t want to startle her. Gently, I brush my fingers over her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Hope, baby, dinner’s here.”
“Hmmm,” she mumbles. She blinks a few times before looking up at me. A soft smile is the first expression she has when she meets my gaze, and my heart jumps.
I’m almost too choked up to speak. “You want to eat here or in the kitchen?” I ask while nodding at the coffee table.
She throws back the blanket and sits up. “Kitchen. Let me run to the bathroom, and I’ll meet you in there.” She stands and winces, then rolls her shoulders. “I hurt everywhere.”
I’m itching to run my hands over her, but I don’t want to add to any of her aches.
She glances down at her rumpled clothes. “Do you have something I can change into?”
“Yeah, of course. Give me a sec.”
She runs down to the bathroom, and I dig through some clean laundry in the mudroom. I tap on the bathroom door, and she answers in her underwear. Normally I’d be primed to jump her, but the bruising over the delicate skin of her stomach, thighs and upper arms has me knotted into such a murderous fit I can’t even think straight.
“Christ, I’m going to kill that fucker.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “It looks worse than it feels.”
I know she’s lying because she told me not five minutes ago how bad she was hurting.
I hand over the clothes and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Hurry, dinner’s getting cold,” I croak out.
“Okay.” She doesn’t bother closing the door, just slips into the long T-shirt and shorts I gave her.
She curls her fingers around my hand and tugs me to the kitchen. “I’m so far past hungry, I feel sick. But I know I need to eat something,” she says over her shoulder.
Right. Food.
Feed my girl now.
Murder guy later.