Eve
NO ONE PRESSES CHARGES. Even though I’ve done absolutely nothing illegal, this still feels downright miraculous. Better yet, my mistaken arrest didn’t happen at a party, so I may be safe business-wise. I want to belt out “Miracle of Miracles” and get my inner Fiddler on the Roof on. Except this particular problem is just the tip of the iceberg, isn’t it? Rocker’s not striding down the hall next to me and the lawyer Rev provided—he’s still locked up somewhere.
There has to be something I can do. “When does my brother get out?”
James hesitates so briefly that I almost don’t catch it. “Mr. Kent has different legal representation.”
“But surely his lawyer can get him bail?”
“I’m not sure if the judge will refuse to set bail or not. In forty-eight to seventy-two hours, the District Attorney will bring charges against him at a hearing. You’ll know then.”
You. Not we.
I’m about to press for more details when I spot Rev leaning against the wall, waiting for me. I don’t know what to say or do—I’m pretty sure today is out of miracles and Rev scares the hell out of me at the same time he comforts me. Right now I don’t know how to work with that.
Rev shoves his hand in my direction. “Let me take you home.”
I’m too tired to protest. We head outside. There’s a brief problem when I realize that riding behind him on his bike in my princess costume is a challenge. We work it out, though, bunching up the fabric between us. It looks ridiculous, but I’m beyond caring. I manage to hold out most of the ride without talking or crying, but then I fold.
“I can’t do this,” I tell his back.
“Why not?” he asks.
“You ride to my rescue, but maybe I wouldn’t need the rescue if you weren’t...”
“If I weren’t what?” His voice is tense.
I wish I had an answer to that question. Rev’s been good to me. I can’t deny it. He ponied up a lawyer and I’ll bet he had bail money ready, too. He’d promised to have my back and he did. Problem is, things happen around him. Illegal, rule-breaking, stressful-as-shit things.
He looks around at me. “Is this about Rocker getting arrested?”
Rev’s plenty of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
“Are you telling me you had nothing to do with that?”
His grip on the bike tightens. “Thought you’d prefer that to the alternative. Usually, when I take care of a problem, the solution’s more permanent.”
That kind of problem-solving approach is why we can’t be together. I use my words—he uses his gun.
He curses loud enough to be heard over the bike’s engine. “Just tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know.” Honestly, there are so many competing wants and needs in my head that by rights I should explode. Rocker walking out of that jail a free man tops the list, however. I’d like him to head off to a glorious future complete with gainful employment, a college degree and a two-story house with a swimming pool. I’d like to know that even if he doesn’t achieve those things, he’ll be happy with whatever he does decide to do. Given the minimum sentencing requirements in the fine state of Nevada, however, all of those plans will be on hold for at least five years.
Way too quickly, Rev pulls into my driveway. It’s not a quiet entrance, thanks to the bike. Plus, the entire neighborhood seems to have a pressing need to take out their trash—and they’re taking their sweet time, eyes fixed on me and Rev. And since their last sight of me was in the back seat of a cop car, getting carted downtown, I can imagine all too easily what they’re thinking.
Samantha comes rushing out to wrap me in an embrace. “Are you okay?”
The short answer? No. No, I’m not. I’ve been arrested. Rocker’s gone and it’s unlikely he’s coming back. I’ve talked to more law enforcement today than I have in my entire life, and I now have a lawyer of my very own. The long answer is still no, but comes with a hundred-point, itemized bullet list of everything that’s gone wrong with my life in the last twenty-four hours.
I pick the most obvious problem. “Rocker got arrested.”
Samantha sighs. “Yeah. I heard about that.”
“I think he’s in trouble for real this time.”
Samantha gives me a no shit look that urges my sorry ass to move out of the land of denial, stat. Rocker’s definitely in trouble, the kind of trouble accompanied by a six-figure bail bond and an urgent, pressing need to find the very best of lawyers.
The neighbors’ stares bore into me, and it’s far too like that last time I left Rocker and came home to find him sitting on the couch with Officer Friendly making plans to take him away from me. I should have done something different, done something more. There had to have been some way to fix this before things ended with Rocker in jail and me accepting legal advice from a lawyer working on retainer for a motorcycle club.
Bottom line?
I failed Rocker.
Again.
Rev stands behind me, his hand on the small of my back. It’s actually quite nice and supportive. Downright polite and civilized, except that I can feel every inch of that touch burning through my dress, making me want to drag him inside and lose myself in him. Hot sex followed by a side of orgasm-induced oblivion is tempting, but I’ve already tried it.
It hasn’t worked out well for me.
Rev
Evie gives me a death glare. “This has been the worst summer ever.” And then she fucking smacks me in the middle of my chest. Hard. “I blame you.”
I’ll take the blame up to a certain point. “Rocker came up with his shit drug-running plan all on his own.”
Her face sort of crumbles and she chews on her lower lip, blinking her eyes like crazy. Screw the plan to stay away from her—I pull her into my arms, ignoring Samantha.
“Sorry, babe,” I whisper against her hair. I am, too. I’d like to kill whoever approached Rocker and talked him into dealing. I either break shit on purpose or I fix it. That’s how I’m wired. My old man was in the business of fixing people’s souls, but I’m more practical.
“Promise me you’ll help him,” she orders.
I run my hand down her back. Avoid her ass, too, because I’m a gentleman like that. “You gotta learn to ask nicely.”
“Maybe you need to learn to do what you’re told.”
Yeah. Not a fucking chance of that.
“I do requests,” I offer.
“This is why we’d never work out.” She sighs.
“Not disagreeing with you.” I ignore the unfamiliar stab of something at her casual dismissal of an us. She’s not wrong, and hooking up with my hostage is downright stupid.
We stand there for way too fucking long. The Colombians could swing by and make a house call and there we’d be. Standing in plain sight. Might as well paint a target on our chests now. Not bad here, though, holding my girl. Evie’s soft and warm against my chest as she leans into me. Parts of her trust me, at least when she’s not talking.
“Please,” she says finally, although she says the words to my shirt and not to my face. Guess she needs some practice, too.
“It’s club business.”
“You guys are crazy,” she announces and I can’t disagree with her. When you ride with the club, you live by a different set of rules. In my world, you figure out who made shit explode and then you go after them. If the cartel came into our territory and stirred shit up, we’ll hit them back hard. Otherwise, they’ll keep pushing and taking until there’s nothing left.
She hates my club. To be fair, I think all MCs are on her shit list at the moment, with the Black Dogs sitting at the top. She doesn’t understand what makes a bunch of men decide to ride together, to band together and pledge their lives to one another and a largely unwritten set of rules. We’re family the same way she and Rocker are, and I’ve just put my family first at the expense of hers. I rub my hand up and down her back, but there’s no way to fix this now. The only way to right the wrong I’ve done her would be to magic her dumbass brother out of jail and back into her life.
I’d like to tell you I’d do it, too. That I’d give her whatever she wants, when she wants it. In bed, that’s true. Hell, pretty much any other time it would be true. But this thing with Rocker is bigger than both of us.
I’d like to give him back to her, but I can’t.
He’s a fucking menace who runs arms and sells drugs, and I can’t let him do that anymore. And don’t tell me it’s not my job to stop him. I may not be an FBI agent, a cop, or a member of the goddamned SWAT team, but I have a responsibility to say something when I see shit that’s not right. You ever see those signs in the airport? “See something, say something”? That applies here, too, and Evie knows it—she’s just not ready to admit it yet.
And so no matter what I tell her, no matter how nicely I rub her back and promise her that everything’s going to be okay and I’ll do what I can to help the dumbass, we both know it’s not entirely true. At some point, I’m going to let him hang himself with the noose he made. I wouldn’t bring him back even if I could, because then he’d just do it all over again.
And that’s not right.
Think she’s got that figured out finally, because she steps away from me and grabs Samantha’s hand. “Thanks for the ride.”
She’s dismissing me.
I grunt something as she heads inside, but fuck if my feet don’t move. It’s like they’re permanently planted in Evie’s driveway, watching her walk away from me. I get that she doesn’t trust me.
Hell, I wouldn’t trust me, either.