White Heat (Lost Kings MC #5) (24 page)

I knew this because the thought of him hurting you made me want to go back to the jail tonight, follow him to his house and shoot him without a hint of remorse.

The only reason I endured his foulness was to see you. The knowledge that either you or the club would punish him when the time was right gave me strength. I fully understand now why you say an insult to one is an insult to the entire club. I think Wrath was as angry as you would have been. I know he feels like he failed me. But he didn’t. He did the right thing.

I love you and need you back where I know you’re safe.

Love,

Hope

I knew something was wrong the minute I saw Hope.

Lizard escorting her into the room brought all the rage I’ve been stuffing down to the surface.

Thank God she hadn’t come to the jail alone.

A different guard, JT, escorts me back to my cell after she leaves. He and I have gotten friendly enough that I’m comfortable asking why Lizard’s here today.

“OT. He always sucks up as much as he can.” JT cocks his head. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“Nah. Just a prick.”

JT doesn’t seem surprised. Nor does he disagree.

It’s not until later that night that I fully understand how much Lizard needs to die.

“Man your ol’ lady’s got some nice fuckin’ tits on her.” His voice wakes me from my half-sleep. He makes some obscene grabby gesture. The urge to destroy him makes me shake.

“Nice and firm. Real too. Figured they’d be plastic.” I keep telling myself he’s bluffing to get me to come at him. But Hope’s flustered face and bright red cheeks flash in my mind from earlier today and I
know
he’s telling the truth.

No wonder Wrath called an emergency meeting today. I knew there was more to it than he let on. And I know the reason he didn’t tell me is so I don’t do something stupid. If I give into my rage, I’ll rip this shithead apart.

Lizard wants it. Wants me to snap—and trust me, inside I’m snapping louder than logs on a motherfuckin’ fire. But outside, I’m calm and quiet.

He opens the cell door and I sit up, placing my back against the wall. “Didn’t you hear me? Your old lady’s got some fantastic tits.”

Whatever he’s about to dish out I’m not in the mood for.

But I’ll take it so I can get back to my girl.

“Five minutes, motherfucker,” I finally answer.

He gets up in my face. “What’s that?”

“Five minutes outside these walls is all I’ll need with you.”

A flicker of fear and uncertainty registers in his eyes. Without the security of his badge and baton, he’s one hundred percent coward.

Then he stands straight and smug, crossing his arms over his chest. “Think next time she comes to visit, I’ll search her twat to make sure she’s not smuggling in contraband.”

To anyone else, his tone might sound full of authority and power. But I’m not easily impressed or scared. No, to me he sounds like a dead man gasping for his last breaths. Because by touching Hope, he’s bought himself a bullet to the brain. Even if it takes me years, this fucker will
not
go unpunished.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I’m so nervous.”

Wrath and Z both reassure me before I push through the heavy doors to the Slater County courtroom where Rock’s bail hearing is being held. “We’ll be right here when you’re done, Hope,” Z calls after me.

Mr. Glassman meets me in the back of the room. “Is Rock here yet?” I ask before he gets any words out.

He steers me into one of the attorney conference rooms and shuts the door. “Not yet. We need to go over your testimony.” So for the next half hour that’s what we do. Fear cripples my lungs when the bailiff bangs on the door to announce we’re up.

My heart jumps at the sight of Rock’s big frame filling up one of the chairs at the defense table. There’s no jury, so he’s wearing his county-issued orange jumpsuit.

Suddenly I can’t swallow over the lump in my throat.

I follow Glassman up the aisle and take the seat on the other side of Rock.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers.

His cuffed hands rest in his lap, and I risk wrapping my fingers around them for a few seconds. Inside my heart’s breaking into a million agonizing pieces. Outside, I try to project calm reassurance to the man I love and professional indifference to everyone else.

When the bailiff announces the judge’s return to the courtroom, I stand and move to one of the seats behind the defense table.

I’m so focused on Rock—or rather the back of Rock’s head—that I barely listen to what I know is an eloquent plea from Glassman. I pull my notes out of my briefcase and shuffle through them. But I already know the words by heart.

When it’s time for me to speak, I stand and approach the podium. The DA nods at me. I’ve gotten the impression even he thinks the judge’s refusal to grant bail is excessive. The fact that he hasn’t opposed anything Glassman said this morning only reinforces that suspicion.

“Your honor, the primary purpose of bail is to ensure that the defendant will be present for all court appearances—”

“Ms. Kendall,” the judge interrupts. He didn’t interrupt anyone else today. “I’m well-aware of the purpose of bail.” I bite back the “are you sure, because it doesn’t seem like it
,
” response that immediately jumps to mind.

There’s no way in hell I’ll let this judge rattle me. “Yes, well, Mr. North is a well-known businessman in the area. He’s lived in the capital area for the majority of his adult life and he has a large number of friends and family in this area.” I outline each of the criteria used to set bail, skipping over the ones unfavorable to Rock.

“Ms. Kendall, the defendant has a criminal record.” I knew he’d bring that up.

“None of those convictions are within the last ten years, Your Honor, and he has no record of flight. Further, the evidence is flimsy at best—”

“Objection,” the DA says without bothering to stand up.

Glassman argues the objection while I wait to continue. I’ve saved my most compelling argument for last.

“Go on, Ms. Kendall.”

“Finally, Your Honor, Mr. North and I are planning to be married in the fall. I also have strong ties to this community. Our wedding will be held in Empire County. There is no reason for him to flee. Thank you.”

On my way back to my seat, Rock catches my eye and he nods at me. I flash a quick smile, which almost turns into a gasp as I take in the dark bruising around his left eye. No wonder he wouldn’t look at me before. Panic claws at me, desperate to get him free. The roaring blood in my ears drowns out some of the judges words. But I tune in enough to hear him say he’s reserving his decision. At least it’s not a flat-out denial like the last two times.

My girl’s something. To complete this full circle of irony trip we seem to be on, here she is in court speaking on my behalf again.

This time it’s a felony that could get me sent away for twenty-five years instead of simple pot possession.

She’s wearing dress pants, a thin, short-sleeved sweater, heels and more makeup than she usually bothers with. Not the skirt I first saw her in. She’s utterly calm and professional as she approaches the bench. But I know my girl. I know by the way she can’t keep her hands still and the panic in her eyes how hard this is for her.

Pride surges through me as I catch the lick of anger brightening her eyes when the judge interrupts her. I admire her strength and courage as she stands there and so beautifully pleads for my release.

She shocks me by using our wedding as one more reason to grant bail. I hadn’t expected that. An attorney admitting in open court that she plans to marry a man being accused of murder? I can hear the screech of tires and smell the burning wreckage of her career crashing and burning all around us.

I’d been trying to keep my head down so she wouldn’t see the present from Lizard’s fist staining my face. I’m fine. But I can’t stand giving her yet another thing to worry over. And I’d take a thousand more hits from that asshole if it means she’s safe.

Of course she notices. Fear and fury flash over her face.

“Rock,” she calls out when the bailiff takes my arm to lead me back downstairs to the van that will take me back to the county jail.

“I’m okay,” I reassure her.

There’s no time or opportunity to say much more before I’m taken away.

There’s nothing more brutal than watching the man you love be taken away in handcuffs over a crime you know he didn’t commit and a judge refusing to grant bail for no reason. I’m convinced of it. Knowing that he’s hurt, that someone hurt him, makes it so much worse.

After Rock leaves, the judge motions for me to sit at the table next to Glassman.

“Off the record,” he says to the stenographer.

His hawkish eyes zero in on me and a zip of fear tears through my chest. “Miss Kendall, I find it deeply disturbing that an educated professional woman, an attorney, would associate with such a disturbing criminal element.”

My palm slaps down on the table so hard, it echoes through the room as I push out my chair to stand. Glassman clamps his hand on my leg to keep me seated.

“Your honor, Miss Kendall’s personal life is not at issue here,” Glassman says.

“She made it my issue by testifying.” His sanctimonious gaze swings back to me. “Young lady, you better think long and hard about your life decisions before you end up in a cell too.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t form a single word. I’m so stunned by the talking-down to, I don’t know what to do. I want to scream at him that he doesn’t know a fucking thing about me or Rock, but the bastard still hasn’t decided on whether he’s granting bail or not. I can’t be the cause of Rock staying in jail another second because I can’t keep my big mouth shut.

Beyond that, the patriarchal bullshit this old man just spewed at me burns like acid. People outside the MC world love to criticize the misogyny and subjugation of the women inside it. But oddly enough, some of the worst sexism I’ve encountered has been in the legal world. Usually from old fuckers like this one who ask me innocuous sounding questions such as, am I old enough to be an attorney, if I’m married, when I plan to have children or what does my husband think of my career. Stupid crap they’d never ask a male attorney. But
this
has to be the worst.