Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

“I see. Well, I guess I’ll get extra street cred out of your case.”

“Not from me. I’m the Boy Scout, remember?”

“Funny,” Stone deadpanned. “Okay. Here we are.”

Saks didn’t think to ask where they were heading, but he saw the sign for Central Valley Bike Repair from the road, and then they drove into the back lot and Saks spied the lights from the clubhouse blazing.

“What’s this?”

“Not my idea but, apparently, your arrest has ‘far reaching consequences.’ At least that’s what your club president said on the phone.”

Oh shit. The day was going from terrible to hellish. He did not want to face the wrath of club president, Oakland Walker.

“Here’s what you need to know. The trooper said he clocked you at fifty-six which, considering the bend you took in that road, I think is ridiculous. Fortunately, in Connecticut it’s not about how fast you’re going, unless you’re going eighty-five, but what kind of road you’re on.”

“But the speed limit is forty.”

“Yes, because it cuts through the reservoir. But no one goes that speed. Cop saw a biker, and he thought he’d get the easy ticket. But that’s not going to happen. Here.” Matt shoved the ticket and a pen into Saks’ hand.

“Sign it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Plead not guilty.”

“But I am.”

“Look,” Matt said, “it’s not about whether you’re guilty or not. It’s whether or not they can prove it. In cases like this, they go on the word of the officer, but considering how he treated you I bet I can dig up some stuff that will make the prosecution back off. I might even get the charges dismissed.”

“You think so?”

“I make no guarantees. We’re dealing with the legal system here. But I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Thanks,” Saks said. “I appreciate it.”

“You’ll appreciate it more when you get my bill.”

“Do you need a retainer?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Give me your card and I’ll send a check tomorrow. Two thousand good?”

“That’s what I like. A m

an who knows the value of good legal representation.”

Yes, Saks did; another lesson courtesy of his father. “I expect you to earn it,” Saks said. He pushed open the door. Matt just calmly sat at the wheel. “Are you coming?”

“Nope. There are some things I don’t need to know, like what goes on in that clubhouse.”

“I thought you were into bikes.”

“I am. Just not bikers. I’ll start on your case tomorrow.”

“Later,” Saks said.

Matt pulled away and Saks stood staring at the front door of the Hades’ Spawn clubhouse. Luke had built it from a prefab Quonset hut, but it was a fancy modern model, with wood shingles at the left of the door and a large window on the right. The right side was painted a purplish grey, just as the walls inside the club were. He climbed the cement steps and pulled open the door.