Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance (57 page)

CHAPTER TWO

I don’t get why they put on a drinks night on a Thursday. How are you supposed to get up for work the next morning? It’s a good thing it’s Friday. Maybe I can get off early. I’ve got some time owing from working back on Tuesday evening.

“Hi, Cynthia. How come you look so good? Don’t you have a hangover too?”

“Practice, dear,” Cynthia says. She waves me over to her desk, rather excitedly—secretively. She points to a name on her appointments book.

“And what exactly does this Mikey Cole want?” He is certainly down to be interviewed by me. It’s the first I’ve heard of a new client. Since graduating and passing the bar exam, I’ve been defending shoplifters and traffic infringers and the like.

Peter must have heard me. He pokes his head from his office. “Mikey Cole is the younger brother of Brant Cole, president of the Crows Motorcycle Club.”

My mentor approaches beside me and sits on the edge of Cynthia’s desk.

“Brant has been picked up for car theft. I want you to handle the arraignment today.”

“Shit! Today?” I cover my mouth. I didn’t mean to swear.

Peter chuckles. “There’s nothing to it. Show up. Listen to the reading of the charge. Bail should be set at around ten thousand, which the family are good with. Make sure Brant is here in my office Monday morning.”

I scribble that down on Cynthia’s note pad. “Yes, sir.”

“And that’s it. I don’t know what the brother wants this morning, but just put him off. I’ll deal with it next week.”

“Shouldn’t I have a look at the case—see what I can get from the brother?” This is exciting. Brant Cole is definitely newsworthy. It’s usually only bar room brawling, but the police are all over anything the club gets up to. Brant is the known leader. I’ve seen his picture in the paper and on the news plenty of times.

“Just do the arraignment,” Peter commands. “These guys are big-time. They could be into anything. It isn’t safe for you to go poking around in their business, Emily. You let me handle the big bad bikers, okay?”

I nod, chewing my lip. “Okay, Peter.”

He’s leaving now, brushing close. He gives me a protective squeeze, his arm around me, his hand quite low down, doing a kind of hip pat, almost feeling my bottom.
The condescending shit.

I pour a coffee and hide in my cubicle for an hour pretending to work but really just staring at my computer screen and thinking about what to do this weekend. Some girlfriends want to go shopping tomorrow. My mother rang yesterday and complained that I haven’t visited much lately. I could clean the apartment or read my new romance novel. I had a peep already. It looks good.

“Ahem,” Cynthia’s standing there with a frigging giant beside her.

I blink, a couple of times.

“This is Mister Cole,” Cynthia announces, glaring in excited awe.

I stand and offer my hand. “Mister Cole.”

The Adonis grins. “Mikey.”

He’s over six feet tall with a square, unshaven jaw and course brown hair trimmed short. His shoulders are broad and powerful looking, though he is quite lithe. He’s wearing a black leather jacket—open and revealing a grey tee-shirt that is lightly defining his pecs and flat stomach. His jeans are faded and nestling a prominent package.
Did I just look at that?
He has on black leather boots with his jeans untidily tucked in, and he’s holding a black helmet. Along with the announcement of his name, he lifts his sunglasses to reveal grey/green eyes.

“Of course. Mikey. Please?” I motion to the chair on the other side of my desk and roll my eyes at Cynthia’s smile when the guy isn’t looking.

Cynthia leaves us. Mikey leans back in the chair with his sunglasses resting around his neck. There’s a part of a tattoo protruding from the collar of his shirt. I wonder what it is.

“Your brother is being arraigned at one PM, Mikey. I will be representing him on behalf of Turner and Locke. Is there something we can do for you this morning?”

“Are you handling Brant’s case?”

The look is steady. There is no animosity—maybe a hint of fear, or concern at least.

“I’m assisting. Peter Gallagher will be handling the defence—the trial if it comes to that.”

Mikey takes a moment then looks up from rubbing his fist. “I haven’t got a lot of time for Gallagher. Do you share his opinion of guys who ride bikes?”

I’m blushing again. These eyes are making my knees tremble. “Um. No. What opinion is that?”

I know Peter thinks anyone out of a suit during business hours is second class.

No answer is forthcoming. I’m being studied—analysed. This guy is intelligent. I can feel it.

“My brother didn’t steal that car. It was a legitimate repair job. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think it has anything to do with jacking a car.”

“What does it have to do with?”

“He won’t say.”

“So he knows something, but won’t tell you?”

Mikey nods. “Which is strange. I’d say he’s protecting me.”

I’m jotting this down. I look up from my notes. This guy looks awfully scary but I don’t feel threatened by him at all.

“Does Brant ever commit crimes?” I ask flatly. I don’t know what made me ask that. It’s like
bullshit aside…

Those eyes are drilling into me again. Oh, he’s intelligent alright. He’s definitely my match in that department.

“He’s no saint.”

Mikey Cole’s gaze drifts down to my chest then back up to meet mine again. I’ve been looking him over, so fair enough. I wish I had picked something sexier to wear to work this morning. He grins.

“I think you should represent my brother all the way. Can you tell Gallagher we’re all good?”

“I can tell him, but…”

Mikey stands. “Fine then. Do that. And I’ll see you at the courthouse at what time?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

He lifts his sunglasses back into place. “Good. We’ll see Brant this afternoon. Maybe he’ll talk to you…” he glances at the name plate on my desk, “Emily.”

I blush some more. He has a nice deep raspy voice. I like the way he makes my name sound.       

CHAPTER THREE

“Oh my God!” I cry, gawking back at Cynthia when Mikey has left the building.

She hands me the file. “See?”

“See what?”

She giggles. “Never mind. You saw.”

I frown at her.
What’s she going on about?

I flick through the simple caught-in-possession-of-a-stolen-vehicle case summary. It’s already after eleven and I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten yet today, so I grab a quick sandwich at a café on the two-block walk to the courthouse.

There are no bikers in sight when I arrive, just the one big black motorcycle parked out front. Mikey meets me.

“It should be a simple reading of the charge and setting of bail,” I explain to him.

“I know. I’ve been here before,” he explains with a chuckle.

His brother is a bigger man—overweight and unkempt. We have a few minutes before the case is called. He seems disinterested in what I have to say. I guess he’s been here before too.

“Just get me out of here, girlie. I don’t give a fuck about the rest of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

This one looks scary, and feels scary too. My knees are trembling again as I walk toward the courtroom between the two biker brothers. I feel so tiny.

“Bail is set at ten thousand dollars!” the white haired lady judge declares, and brings down her hammer gently to dismiss all parties.

I have to half-jog to keep up with the brothers. They’re talking between themselves. Once outside on the courthouse steps, Brant turns and confronts Mikey. “You fucking deal with her, man. I’m fed up with this shit.”

He is met by another big hairy man who rides right up to the steps on a motorcycle. Brant gets on the back. The shiny black machine roars and disappears up the street with all heads turning to follow it.

I approach beside Mikey. He shrugs and shakes his head. “Come on. We’ll see him at the shop.”

“The shop?” I ask.

“Yeah, his workshop. That’s where he’ll be going.”

“But I can’t just…”
Am I supposed to go with the guy?
He’s getting on the motorcycle I’d seen when I arrived.

“You coming or what?”

Oh shit.
I hurry along, clutching my briefcase to my chest like it’s going to protect me somehow. He hands me a scratched-up white helmet and helps me fix it on my head. He’s looking at my legs as I get on the back of the bike. My grey skirt is to mid-thigh, but it hikes up. I wish I’d worn a prettier blouse. This one is all I had without fishing through the wash basket this morning. It’s kind of square with a frilly neckline. It fits like a sack—not very flattering.

He starts the bike. It thunders beneath me, vibrating through my belly. Mikey grins and looks back over his shoulder, holding his sunglasses down and leering over the top of them—taking a tour of my body. “Wanna go out some time?”

I gulp. “Huh?”

“I mean, after this shit is sorted.”

He eyes me over his glasses again, looking at my face this time. My heart’s pounding.

“Um. I don’t know. Out where?”

“Dinner and a movie. Are you seeing anyone? You’re not wearing a ring.”

I check my left ring finger.
Of course I’m not wearing a ring. I don’t need to check.

“Do you go to movies? I can’t picture you.” I’m yelling over the rumble of the motorcycle.

He revs the thing and smiles. “At least once a week. I like the action flicks on the big screen. 3D.”

“Oh.”

“Do you like action movies? I don’t mind a good thriller or horror.”

“I like action movies.” It’s true. I do like them.

The bike glides off into the traffic. It’s smooth and powerful. I’m still clutching my briefcase to my chest but I hold onto Mikey’s belt loop with my other hand. I feel safe somehow, in spite of the fact we’re weaving between cars and trucks, almost brushing them as we pass.

I haven’t answered the request for a date by the time we pull up in the parking lot of a big open workshop in a small industrial complex. There are six motorcycles lined up and four cars on hoists with men working under them. All eyes follow me as my heels clack on the greasy cement. I stick close to Mikey, still clutching my briefcase to my ugly blouse.

There’s a metal staircase to a mezzanine with a small glassed office. A ginger-bearded man with an eye patch pokes his head from under the stairs and grins as he looks up my skirt. Mikey has stopped to respond to one of the other men having called out to him. I’m stuck behind him on the stairs. Mikey and the other man are talking about a Rottweiler with pups old enough to sell. I tug at my shirt as a skinny, tattoo-laden old guy shoulders in beside the ginger-beard one. I’m not wearing stockings, just a white G-string—again the only choice I had this morning without rummaging through the dirty wash. I have to do my washing first thing in the morning.

Mikey finally moves on. The guys below are both semi-toothless. They’re grinning up at me.

A big hand clutches my side, and I am ushered through a narrow doorway into the office. It feels nice being handled by a biker, I notice. Peter’s hand on my waist felt clammy and limp. This one feels rough and protective.

Brant is behind an untidy desk, on the phone. The man who picked him up from the courthouse is seated across the desk thumbing through a folder of greasy smudged documents.

Brant hangs up the phone. “What do you want?”

“You have to deal with this,” Mikey says to him, motioning to the other man with a glance.

“Ridge is alright,” Brant responds to the implied question. “What about you, girlie?”

“I’m alright too,” I answer quickly. “If I’m going to be able to defend your charge, I need to know what happened.”

“I guess…” Brant concedes. He tosses a pen down and kicks back from his desk on a roller arm-chair.

Mikey pulls a wooden kitchen chair from behind the door for me. The other two men look at my legs as I sit. I cross them, my trusty briefcase on my lap. I’m so glad I have it.

“So, what happened is, one bunch of cops planted a vehicle in my garage at home and sent another bunch of cops around to find it there,” Brant says. “That’s basically it.”

“Why?” I ask, meeting the big man’s eyes. They’re almost black. He doesn’t look much like Mikey at all.

He laughs. “Where’d you find her?”

Mikey chuckles along. “I know. Straight to the point, eh?”

“A good point too,” the third man adds, resting back in his chair.

Brant looks at him. “Not one I’m interested in talking about though.”

“And why is that?” Mickey asks.

“Because there’s no fucking point. You can’t beat the cops, man. This is a warning. I won’t go to prison for a car, but next time it’ll be framed for murder or something.”

“So, you know something the police don’t want known, Mister Cole?” I take out my notebook.

He eyeballs it. “I don’t know squat, lady.”

“Come on, man, that’s bullshit,” Mikey implores of his brother.

“I’m not going to take the cops on, man!”

“So, what are you going to do—plead guilty?”

“Nope. I’m going to disappear.”

“What?” Mikey visibly slumps. “You can’t do that. What about your life here, man? You can just give everything up over some bullshit charge.”

“We can help you,” I toss in as the brothers stare each other down. “I mean, not me. But we have resources at Turner and Locke. My boss is a good lawyer. We have investigators.”

Brant shakes his head. He’s like a bear. He has back hair growing up out of his shirt. I can’t wrap the idea around my head that he’s truly related to Mikey.

He takes a breath and huffs. “I’m not going to involve you in this, Mikey. Best you keep out of it. And, miss, thank you, but I don’t think there’s anything your firm can do.”

Mikey doesn’t give up easily. There is another half an hour of back and forth argument before we are booted out of the office with no change to Brant’s declaration that nothing can be done and he’s leaving the state.

There are four bikers waiting under the stairs to leer up my shirt this time. Mikey is striding ahead, leaving me to climb down the steep rungs alone. It’s barely more than a ladder. I just blush back at their grins and ogling eyes, and hurry to catch up.

Ten minutes later we are parked in front of my apartment building. I’m sitting on the back of the bike, in no hurry to get off. Mikey hasn’t said much since leaving his brother’s office. I wonder if I should invite him up. I never answered his question about a date, and I want to.

“So what about that movie?” he asks, reading my mind it seems.

“Okay. I’d like that… After this thing with your brother?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do about it though. Can I call you if I have any questions?”

I have business cards in my briefcase. I give Mikey one, his fingers brushing and making my skin tingle. Hell, he could kiss me if he wanted to.
Go on, read my mind now!

He’s looking at my card. “Don’t forget to tell that fool Gallagher we only deal with you.”

I step off the bike holding his hand for support and stand clutching my briefcase as he rides away waving and smiling back at me.