Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC 1)

"Prez, why you want to keep this snatch around? Glassman will take care of this," Murphy asked, not realizing how close he was to an ass-kicking.

I flexed my hands. "That fucker couldn't be bothered to show up. With the amount of money we pay him, that's bullshit. She did a fine job."

"You want to tap that? She's a fine piece. I get it."

I did indeed want to tap that, but something about Wrath—probably my oldest and closest friend—speaking about her that way pissed me the hell off.

"Shut the fuck up."

His eyes widened, but his mouth snapped shut. Zero and Wrath exchanged glances, and I glared at both of them in response.

A gentle clicking against the concrete floors sounded a few seconds before she poked her head around the corner. "Sorry, took me a minute. Everything okay?"

I finished signing the last paper, collected my wallet, and nodded. "I'm good."

Her gaze roamed over my brothers, a mildly freaked out expression forming.

"Come 'ere, doll." I motioned her over to the exit. I wanted to get the fuck out of this building and out of downtown Ironworks. I never shoulda been over the bridge anyway. If I'd stuck to my own damn territory, this bullshit wouldn't have gone down.

But then I wouldn't have met the pretty counselor.

I gave the guys my "get the fuck lost" face, and they beat feet ahead of us.

"Can I have your card?"

"Oh, of course." She stopped and fumbled with her briefcase for a few seconds. Flustered, she huffed a bit of air up, ruffling her bangs. Cutest damn thing I'd ever seen. Tossing her head side to side, she marched over to a bench and set the briefcase down. Bending over to flip open the bag, I bet she didn't realize I got an eyeful—a nice, straight shot down her cleavage. I'd known a lot of women who did this exact thing looking to get a response like mine. But this chick, she had no idea. Holy hell, this girl was dangerous.

I shifted my weight from side to side while I contemplated circling around to check out the back view when she straightened up and thrust a bright green and off-white colored card at me. Unique and pretty, just like her.

"Sorry." She flashed a nervous grin.

"No problem." I took the card. Hope Kendall, Esq. God. Damn.

I flipped my wallet out of my cut and fished out five hundred-dollar bills, curled them over, and handed them to her.

She protested immediately. "Oh my gosh, Mr. North, I can't take that much. One hundred would be fine." She thrust the cash back at me.

I couldn’t remember if I’d ever heard anyone over the age of five say "gosh" before. It was really fucking cute coming from Hope’s mouth. I also didn't think I had ever known a person to turn down money when offered to them.

"No. You did an excellent job, considering it was sprung on you at the last minute. You earned it."

She blushed and looked down at her shoes. "Thank you."

Damn, she was sweet. She had this bright, wholesome thing going on. Why it got me so fucking hard, I had no idea. I usually didn’t do clean. I liked my hookups nasty and dirty.

"No problem," I said. "Now, I’m starving. Let's go grab some lunch."

She hesitated, which was why I hadn't asked her to lunch.

"I should really…"

"You have to be in court somewhere else?"

"No."

"So let's go eat."

"Don't you want to join your friends?" She gestured to the corner where Zero, Wrath, and Murphy had stopped for a smoke.

I wasn't used to girls trying to get away from me. Usually they jumped at the chance to, well, jump me. This one was twitching to ditch me. It made me want to pursue her even harder.

"Nah, they can come back and grab me later."

"I'm married," she squeaked out.

Well, fuck me.

CHAPTER TWO

Desperate to get away from this man, I blurted out the only thing that I thought would draw in his horns. Not that I was conceited, but the vibe I picked up from him sent my nerves fluttering. Somewhere between the courtroom and the sidewalk, we'd shifted from business tone to something less…business-y.

It made me uncomfortable.

I realized I was staring. Upstairs, the man had been vibrant and intense, even in his orange jumpsuit.

Now, without the distraction of the courtroom, the man in front of me really commanded all of my attention. Tall enough that I had to look up if I wanted another glimpse of those spectacular eyes, and I'm not a short woman myself. The straight, stiff posture indicated I'd been right earlier—a hard, muscular body lurked under his innocuous T-shirt, leather vest, and jeans. Outside, the sun picked up highlights in his thick, blond hair. Short enough to run my nails through, but not grab onto.

Stubble covered a strong, angular jaw. I wondered if he always wore the beard scruff or if it was just from spending the night in jail. Decided it didn’t matter either way.

Jail. Right. I was a lawyer. He was my client. Assessing him this way was completely inappropriate.

So I blurted out my marital status. I'd never done that before. Usually I just tried to work in my husband this or my husband that to chase away unwanted attention.

The problem with that strategy was that secretly, deep down in a place I had a hard time acknowledging, I really liked the attention from Rochlan North. My words also served the purpose of reminding me that I was not available. Rochlan. I rolled the name through my head. Imagined whispering it in the dark as he…

No. No!

While we stood there, her cheeks turned an interesting shade of crimson. That small bit of flushed skin taunted me until I wanted to strip her out of her sweet little suit and see where else her skin turned pink when she was embarrassed. The awkward silence continued while I searched for something to say.

"Where's your ring?"

She flipped me off.

Before I got pissed, I noticed the plain gold band encircling her middle finger and tiny diamond ring stacked on top.

My eyebrows shot up inquisitively.

She shrugged. "I lost a little weight and haven't had time to get them resized."

I used that as an invitation to take my time looking her body up and down. "Don't lose any more."

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"It would be a crime if you lost any more." I spoke each word with a deliberate tone that would be hard to ignore.

Her eyebrows squeezed together and her lips pursed in what I figured was an irritated pout, but I found it cute. And fucking hot. Jesus Christ, this chick was giving me a hard-on standing on the sidewalk in front of the least arousing place in the world—the police station.

"Come on, Mrs. Kendall. Let's go have lunch. I can use the business expense."

"It's Ms. Kendall."

Ms. Kendall was exasperating.

Against my better judgment, I followed Rochlan, or Rock as he insisted I call him, across the street to Vintage Diner. I hadn't been to Vintage in years. Too many lawyers, cops, and court personnel hung out there for obvious reasons. Except for my best friends Sophia and Mara and a handful of other people, I didn't like to associate with other lawyers. Quite frankly, they bored the shit out of me. My husband was an engineer. We were a perfect blend of right brain and left brain. Yin and Yang. We complemented each other well. No competition between us because our careers had absolutely nothing to do with one another. I contemplated how I would tell Clay about this lunch. He was very protective of me, and when he heard some scary criminal had bullied me into lunch, he would freak. And probably be a little jealous. We'd been together for twelve years, and we still shared everything with each other. We still got jealous. I liked that about us. We still cared. I'd known at least two of our friends who'd already grown apart and divorced. I didn't believe in divorce. I didn’t believe in infidelity. I took my vows seriously. I took every oath seriously.

Rock set my nerves jangling.

Not that in twelve years I had never ever found another man attractive. There was that profe

ssor in college, one in law school, the partner who hired me at my first job, and a handful of other guys here and there. I wasn't oblivious to the opposite sex, and I had no delusions that my husband was either. But Rock affected me deep down. A bunch of drunk butterflies fluttered in my belly when I looked in his eyes. It—no, he— scared the shit out of me for a thousand reasons.

Then there was his voice. I expected it to be rough or crude. Instead, it was smooth with a gravelly rasp that made my stomach tap dance as he asked the waitress for a private booth in the back.

"So what kind of law do you practice?"

Hope looked up from her vigorous study of the menu. "Landlord tenant, family law, estate stuff some times," she rattled off each area quickly then ducked her head back down to the menu.

Not one who liked to be ignored, I persisted. "Family law. Like custody and stuff?"

"Yes," she answered without looking up.

"I know a few guys who could probably use your help."

Finally, I had her full attention.

She focused her bright green eyes on me and quirked an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Are you one of them?"

"Hell, no. Thank God I wasn't dumb enough to have any kids with my ex."

"So you're divorced?"

"Yeah. She's making some other poor bastard miserable now."

Her glossy pink lips curled into a tight smile. "I'm sure."

I got the impression I offended her. Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck. But I found myself wanting her to like me. Why, I couldn’t guess.

"What can I get you guys?" The bored waitress tapped her pencil against the small green pad in her hand.

"Go ahead, doll." The endearment tripped off my tongue before I had a chance to think about it. I didn't normally give girls I didn't know nicknames. Or if I did, they were generic: mama or sweetie. "Bitch" if they pissed me off. She’s so damn sweet and innocent, though. I guess she reminded me of a living doll.

I got a scowl in response.

"Half a turkey sandwich and an order of sweet potato fries."

"She'll have a whole sandwich, and I'll have the double bacon cheeseburger and another order of sweet potato fries."

Hope's eyes pretty much bugged out of her head when I changed her order, but she held her tongue. I liked a smart girl who knew when to pick her battles. Once the waitress left, I continued as if nothing had happened. Hope, surprisingly, followed my lead.

"So what do you charge for a consultation?"

"Free hour consultation. One-fifty an hour after that."

"Seems awfully cheap."

She snorted. "First time I've ever heard that. Assigned counsel work only pays seventy-five an hour. One-fifty seems downright greedy."

I raised an eyebrow, indicating she should elaborate.

"Not everyone can afford a lawyer. Court appoints them off a list in certain situations. The county only pays seventy-five an hour."

I nodded.

"Who usually does your work?"

"Robert Glassman."

"White shoe. No wonder my rates seem cheap to you. His firm doesn't do family court stuff?"

"Nope."

"I'm sure he can give you a name."

"I'm sure he can. But I like you. If you're half as good as you were in there today, I'll pay you double your regular fee."

"Look, Mr. North—"

"Rock."

She drew up her shoulders as she took in a deep, irritated breath before continuing as if I hadn't spoken. "I really didn't do anything special today. I appreciate that you think I did. But you're not off the hook yet. I'd hate for you to have some inflated opinion of me, then be disappointed later."

I considered her words carefully before answering. This girl had self-esteem issues that went pretty deep, and I couldn't figure out how that was possible. She was fucking gorgeous as hell. Obviously smart.

"What does your husband do?"

The change in conversation seemed to startle Hope. She sat back and narrowed her eyes at me. "He's an engineer."

"Like on the railroad?"

That didn't get a laugh out of her. Instead, she scowled deeper. "No, as in building bridges—civil engineering."

"So, not a lawyer?"

"God, no."

"How long you been married?"

More scowling, some fidgeting. "We've been together for twelve years. Married six."

"Kids?"

An adorable snort. "No."

"How come?"

"Are you this nosy with Glassman?"

"Yes."

"Bullshit."

"Know he's got two kids. Both boys. His ol’ lady stays home with them."

She shook her head, but I wasn't sure which part annoyed her more—that I knew about Glassman's personal life, or that I referred to his wife as ol’ lady. Probably both.

Still, I couldn’t help finding out more about her. "Did you grow up around here?"

"No."

I waited for her to keep talking, but she didn’t.

"Got any other family in the area?"

"My mother and her husband live about an hour north of here."

From the way she said it, I guessed her mother remarried later in life, or Hope straight up didn’t like her stepfather.

"Your dad remarried too?"

A flash of pain crossed her face. Rapid blinking. Her fist clenched around the napkin. "He died when I was thirteen."

Oh fuck. Could I be a bigger asshole?

"Here ya go." The waitress settled our food on the table, yanking us out of the awkward moment. Hope jerked the ketchup bottle off the table and began liberally dousing her plate of fries. I watched her push half the turkey sandwich to the side. The other half she took the top slice of bread off and set some of the meat aside. Then she scraped off all but a trace of mayo, put it back together, and began eating. I loved all her adorable pickiness.

"What are you into, Rock?" she asked after the first swallow.

"Motorcycles, movies, long walks on the beach."

Instead of smiling, she glared at me. "Glassman is big-time criminal defense."

I lifted my shoulders. "We've known each other a long time."

"I bet you have."

"I own Crystal Ball over in Empire."

"Ah."

"You know it?"

"I know of it. Who doesn't around here?"

This was true. It wasn't an accident that Crystal Ball was the last strip club left in a fifty-mile radius. Believe it or not, we ran a clean house. As clean as a club can be that stores weapons in the basement and launders money. But hard drugs, prostitution—the things you normally found at strip clubs—did not exist in mine. That was also not an accident.

"You ever been?"

"God, no. What would I do there?"

"You could probably make a lot of money as a dancer."

Instead of getting angry, she threw back her head and laughed. "I’m flattered, but I'm a little old for that."

"You can't be more than what, twenty-five, twenty-six?"

"I'm thirty-one. Not that it's any of your business." She cocked her head and stared at me through narrowed eyes. "You think I've been with my husband since junior high?"

Well, yeah—that's exactly what I thought, which is why it shocked me that she didn’t have kids by now. Realizing she was older than I first guessed made me reexamine her more closely. She didn’t just act tough. She was tough.

"Are you going to eat the rest of that?" I jerked my chin toward her plate.

She rolled her eyes, then glanced down at the half turkey sandwich and pile of meat. "No," she said evenly.

I pushed my plate out of the way and slid hers in front of me.

What the ever loving hell? I was so far in over my head it wasn't even funny. I watched Rock pile the extra turkey onto the sandwich and take a huge bite. Wow, this guy was pure sex on wheels. Well, sex on a motorcycle, to be more precise.

Over the years, I'd heard the same rumors everyone else in the Capital Region had heard.

Some clandestine organization supposedly ran Crystal Ball. That's why when all the other clubs in the area folded under pressure from town boards, eminent domain, and zoning regulations, Crystal Ball continued to thrive as if nothing happened. The last competition, Club Salvatore, had been eminent domained until the building sat on a postage-stamp-sized piece of land with no parking lot or way for people to get into or out of the building. The empty shell of what remained of Club Salvatore rested less than a mile from Crystal Ball's front door.

If Rock owned Crystal Ball, this solved an interesting mystery. To my admittedly limited knowledge, no one knew who owned the upscale strip club. The local papers always reported it was run by an overseas company. Since one of the patches on his leather vest read "President," I assumed that meant Crystal Ball was actually owned by the Lost Kings Motorcycle Club. And he wanted me to work for him. Something I had to admit, I kind of wanted to do.

While I sat there, I told myself it was about the money. Even one custody case at three hundred dollars an hour could be enough to start digging myself out of the very deep financial hole I was in. Even though my practice kept me busy, between the high-interest mortgage my husband and I could not seem to get out from under, and my insanely high student loan payments, making ends meet was a struggle. It’s not like we spent money unwisely either. Having grown up with nothing, Clay was very financially prudent. If I could just get ahead, even a little bit, I'd sleep a hell of a lot easier at night. Rock seemed to be offering me a way to do that. I’d be crazy to say no, right?

"You're wrong about Glassman. He handles our business stuff too. Zoning, permits, licenses—that sort of thing." Rock’s low voice pulled me out of my paying-off-some-debt daydreams.

I nodded but kept my mouth shut. I knew Glassman's fancy-pants firm had a department to cover probably everything. I'd bet my thirteen-year-old Honda Civic they had an attorney who did family court work too, so Rock didn't really need my help.

Which meant he wanted me for some other reason.

I'm not going to lie—that tempted me even more than the money.