Fuck the fucking club.
Those words keep banging around inside my skull. The day I get her voted into the fucking club.
I’ve never been a fan of irony.
When I finally hit the highway, I can breathe again.
I don’t even know where I’m going. The clubhouse is out. There’s no way I could look my brothers in the eye right now.
Fuck the fucking club.
I should have seen this coming. No matter how many fucking talks I have with her, she’s never going to get it. Our relationship was bound to go to shit eventually.
For miles and miles, I drive like a bull out the gate. The memory of Hope’s furious face chases me down the road.
Even after I’ve put a good chunk of highway behind me, I still can’t stop picturing her face. And there’s something else there I can’t quite put my finger on.
Embarrassment. Hurt.
Fuck.
From the day we met, I’ve known how insecure and sensitive my girl is. Since I find everything about her fucking perfect, I’d forgotten about her self-esteem issues.
A seed of doubt weasels its way into my concrete block of self-righteousness. I’d been so infuriated when she rejected my offer to help her I didn’t consider her feelings at all. No. All I thought about was how to fix it. Along with the doubt, I’m pissed because she’s right. I pushed her into doing that case and now she’s going to have a whole lot of bullshit to deal with because of my heavy-handedness.
Slowing down, I take in my surroundings. I’ve managed to put a good ninety miles between us.
Impressive.
Finding a motel to crash in is easy. Our downstate charter would take me in, no questions asked, and find a spot for me. I’m tempted because their clubhouse isn’t far, but I really need to be alone.
What’s not easy is checking my phone and finding no calls or texts from Hope. Not that I expected an apology. But I’d rather have her bitching me out some more than nothing at all.
The ride back the next morning seems to take forever.
I stop at Hope’s house first, but she’s not there.
It’s probably for the best, because I can’t fight with her again. Even with all my realizations last night, that fuck the club thing is still messing with my head.
Z meets up with me in my office, a stupid jolly grin on his face.
A simple, “Hey,” is all I manage before he starts letting me in on why he’s so excited.
“Kiss my ass now, fucker. Hope’s cut should be ready later this week. Patches and everything.”
Fuck me.
“You want to have a party or give it to her in private?” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“Uh, she’s going through some stuff. I may wait on it a little bit.” Christ, wait on it might be putting it mildly.
His face falls. “Seriously?”
I pull him into the conference room and, just my fucking luck, Wrath spots us before I get the door closed.
“Where you been, dick? I’m fucking bored.” He hobbles in and drops his ass in the first chair he sees.
Z’s watching me with an intense expression. “What’s going on with your girl?”
Wrath perks up at that.
“That fucking ex of Winter’s reported Hope to the attorney whatever board. It’s bad. She has to go in and explain herself. It’s all bullshit, but she’s pretty upset.” I leave out our argument.
“Me and Bricks will go take care of the little fuck,” Z says, already pulling out his cell phone.
I hold up a hand between us. Hope was right to reject my offer to take care of it. That became clear to me on my little run downstate.
“No. One of the things he’s accusing her of is covering up ongoing criminal activity for us. Something happens to him, she’s toast.”
I can feel the anger radiating off Wrath, so I turn and face him.
“It’s all bullshit. He’s taking a stab in the dark to get even for losing his case.”
“Don’t get pissed, but what’s our exposure here?” Wrath asks.
His meaning is clear, and it does piss me the fuck off. “Nothing, you fuck. That’s not what it’s about. It’s not the fucking cops she has to talk to. It’s a bunch of stuffed shirts who are going to decide if she gets to keep her license or not.”
Wrath’s immune to my outburst. He nods but doesn’t say anything.
Z taps my shoulder. “Uh, we have another issue. What the fuck has Bricks told Winter, and did she blab any of it to her baby daddy?”
Fuck. In all my fury, I didn’t even consider that possibility.
“Last I knew, she was pretty clueless. He’s met Bricks, though. He saw me at the hearing. I had words with him outside when he attacked Hope. I owe him a fucking beatdown for laying his hands on her.” I seethe with rage at the memory. “I’m sure he took notice of the cuts and decided to make up a story to fuck with Hope. Bricks is fucking solid. You know that.”
“Since we can’t kill this fucker right now, how’s Hope doing? Anything we can do for her?” Wrath offers.
Trying not to show my surprise at his concern, I shake my head. “Uh, she’s a little pissed at me. I kinda pushed her into taking the case when she wasn’t really feeling it…”
Z shakes his head. “That fucking sucks. I’m sorry, brother. You gonna work it out?”
“I think so.”
Wrath’s still watching me with his shrewd enforcer expression. “When’s the hearing?” he finally asks.
I sigh and try to recall what the letter said. “Tomorrow.”
“You gonna go?”
“Fuck no. That’ll just make it worse.”
Wrath looks at me like I’m nuts. “You’re gonna let your woman walk into that shit storm alone?” His tone makes it clear he thinks I’m being a douche.
Z makes a duh face at me. “Just don’t wear your cut, asshole.”
Adam scratches his head and slips into that maddening lawyer mode he does so well. “Hope, you know as well as I do that the most ethics complaints come from family or mat law cases. That’s why I do T&E. All the people I owe a duty to are dead. Can’t report me if I fuck up.”
Leave it to Adam to see it that way. I came here for some guidance because jumping off a bridge seemed like too much work. Now I’m reconsidering. “I didn’t fuck up,” I grumble at him.
“I know you didn’t.”
I jab my finger at the stupid letter. “The one about me representing her current boyfriend I can knock out. That one’s not the problem. I just couldn’t represent either one of them in the future against each other. The other thing he’s accusing me of—ongoing criminal activity based on my association with Rock’s club—that’s a problem.”
He makes a frowny, twisty-lipped face that doesn’t look encouraging. “Hope, from what I remember—and you know I prefer to spend the ethics portion of CLEs napping—you’ve got to have a damn good reasonable basis before you can disclose client confidences to anyone. You represented your man for what? Some weed? And you’re supposed to extrapolate what from that? That he’s going to smoke weed in the future? Who gives a flying fuck?”
He’s right, except I have an inkling the Lost Kings are into other things. Okay, more than an inkling. The illegal underground fighting and betting for one. Crap, I was a spectator at Wrath’s fight, so that makes me an accessory or something. I’m pretty sure Rock and Z murdered or at least attempted to murder the guys who ran us off the road. Although it’s probably a gray area, I don’t think I’m obligated to disclose those things to anyone. Rock told me about those guys after he’d already taken care of it, so I couldn’t report that to anyone.
I feel a little more optimistic about my chances.
“Thanks, buddy. It helped to talk this out.”
A sharp stabbing pain rushes through my side. Ouch. Just what I need. Cramps and my period tomorrow when I have to deal with this interview. My cycle has been weird since getting on the birth control shot.
Heat curls in my belly at the thought of Rock. Shame for how I lashed out at him isn’t far behind.
“You okay, Hope?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re welcome to hang out here if you want and do some research to prepare.”
Actually, I want to pop four Advil and crawl into bed with my heating pad, but he’s right. I need to prepare myself.
I take my time gathering enough cases and information to draft a brief but—in my opinion—eloquent statement.
When I get home, I collapse into tears. Rock hasn’t called. He hasn’t even sent me a text. I’m terrified that I fucked things up beyond repair. And for what? A career I’m pretty sure I don’t even want anymore.