Zero Hour (A Prequel to Zero Tolerance)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I lean into her. “We won’t be long. Will you still be here?”

  She turns and presses a quick kiss to my lips. Her fingers trail over my cheek and she looks into my eyes. “I’ll stick around.”

  5

  Epilogue

  A few weeks later…

  Zero

  “How do you feel about taking a vote on Axel today?” Rock asks Wrath and me.

  We’re in the office getting ready to sit down for church with all the brothers in a few minutes.

  “Seriously?” Wrath asks. “Why now?”

  Rock tilts his head and stares at both of us. “Really? You need me to say it?”

  Poor Murphy. The bastard’s so hung up on Heidi, there is no fuckin’ way he’s voting her boyfriend into the club. Best we quit wasting Axel’s time now. As nice as the kid can be, he’s always seemed off. The club’s something for him to do, not who he is or wants to be. I don‘t trust him one-hundred percent. Not that I haven’t felt that way about a brother once or twice in the past before they patched-in but this seems different.

  “We all know how it’s gonna go down,” I say. “Rip it off now like a Band-Aid.”

  “Speaking of pathetic bastards,” Wrath says, looking at me. “Where ya been lately?”

  I don’t feel like admitting that I haven’t seen or heard from Lilly in weeks. Here I thought we’d finally worked things out and were in an actual relationship. Surprise! We’re not. Am I gonna discuss it with Wrath? Nope.

  I run my hand over the back of my neck and look away. “Taking care of things.”

  “What things?”

  “Leave him alone.” Rock punches Wrath’s shoulder. Not that it will stop Wrath. He runs his shrewd gaze over me for a second before leaving the office. As I try to follow him, Rock stops me.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your brother?”

  I shrug. He’s asking about one of my dipwad bio-brothers. “Checked him into a new place. Doubt it’ll do much good.”

  The look Rock gives me is sympathetic but not pitying. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  Church ends up being an epic fucking disaster. Teller almost kills Axel, then mouths off to Rock. By the end of the whole fiasco, I’m done.

  Out.

  And I know just where I’m going.

  She can dodge my phone calls. Ignore my texts. But showing up on her damn doorstep has worked before and it’ll work again.

  I’m not giving up this woman without a fight.

  The ride up to Lake George clears my mind. It’s a crisp, cold fall afternoon. Perfect riding weather. The leaves have all changed to blazing shades of red and gold but haven’t dropped yet. My favorite part of living in upstate New York.

  I’m contemplating whether to break into her house if she’s not home. Maybe surprise her by making dinner or something corny like that.

  The unfamiliar sedan parked out front? I didn’t expect her to have someone over.

  Some dude she’s seeing? Her family? Maybe she got a new car?

  Only one way to find out.

  I pull right up to the house so there’s no way whoever is inside can’t hear me coming. If Lilly’s as smart as I know she is, she’ll realize it’s me and come outside.

  But it’s not Lilly who greets me when I get off my bike.

  It’s a fucking shotgun.

  “Whoa.” I hold up my hands and back up a few steps from the maniac on the porch. “Easy, man.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” The old man shouts. “And what are you doing here?”

  A woman comes out behind him, also carrying a shotgun. I glance around. Did I accidentally show up at the wrong fucking house?

  Remembering Lilly’s story about the shotgun her brother insisted she keep in the house, I wonder if these are relatives of hers.

  “I’m a friend of Lilly’s. Just stopped by to see her.”

  The man lowers his shotgun. The woman doesn’t. Smart lady.

  “There’s no Lilly here,” the woman says. “Just us.”

  “That’s the woman who owns the home,” the guy says to his wife.

  “Oh.” She sets her shotgun down. “Sorry. You’re the first person who’s shown up here unannounced.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. So, is Lilly here?”

  “We’re renting the house from her.”

  Wait, what? We talked about her renting out her house. So she could come live near me. But since she’s not living with me and I haven’t heard from her, I’m not sure what to do with this information.

  “Since when?”

  The couple stares at each other. “Since the first of the month? House wasn’t listed for rent long.”

  “You talk to her?”

  “No, we go through a rental company. Talked to her brother about some issues we had though.”

  Fucking Alex. I’ll be dammed if I’m going to track that asshole down and beg him for information about his sister.

  “We have a number for her,” the woman says.

  “That’s all right.” I have her damn cell phone. She never answers it. “I have her cell.”

  “No, it’s a work number I think. Hang on.” The woman steps inside and returns a few seconds later and hands me a piece of pink paper with a phone number scrawled across the top. 8-1-8 area code.

  “Thanks.” I tuck the paper in my pocket. “Sorry to bother you.”

  I wait until I get down the road before pulling into a gas station parking lot. I shut down my bike and take out my phone and the number.

  Am I really going to just call her when she obviously skipped town?

  What the fuck? We said we would try this relationship thing, and she disappeared on me instead. My pride doesn‘t feel like dialing her new number.

  “Fuck it.” I Google the number first. It’s some generic-sounding health sciences company. In California.

  California?

  This has to be a joke.

  A chipper receptionist answers on the first ring. Not Lilly. I clear my throat before asking to speak with her.

  “Oh, she’s not in today. Can I take a message?”

  “No, thanks.” Before hanging up, I confirm the address of the place and that Lilly works there.

  Am I really considering taking a cross-country trip?

  The more important question?

  What the fuck’s she doing in California?

  Zero Tolerance

  Z’s first full-length novel.

  Zero Tolerance is available February 22nd!

  Pre-order it now, so you don’t miss it on release day!

  As Vice President of the Lost Kings Motorcycle Club, I’ve spent a lot of years as a hit-it-and-quit-it player only seeking a good time. Willing women are never in short supply.

  I never needed any of them for more than one night.

  Until I met her.

  My perfect woman. Like a damn mermaid, she was beautiful, smart, sexy, and slippery as fuck.

  I thought I’d convinced her we’d be good together long-term, but then she disappeared without a word.

  Two years.

  That’s how long it’s been since I saw her.

  Just as I finally moved on, my mythical woman resurfaces.

  She forgot to mention one little thing before she vanished.

  One small secret growing up into a big lie.

  It’s a betrayal too deep to overcome.

  I should hate her.

  Even though she’s heartbreak wrapped in a seductive package.

  I want her more than ever.

  If you’re new to the Lost Kings MC Series, Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC #1) is currently free. Grab it here!

  Excerpt from Slow Burn

  ROCK

  It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy
in handcuffs.

  Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don’t mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.

  True violence had never touched her life.

  Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.

  She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.

  She was kind. I didn’t know any nice women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.

  None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.

  We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.

  She sat in the front row. I didn’t hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I’d get bail.

  I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.

  The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, “Your attorney called to say he’s running late.” I nodded and mumbled a “thanks” without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?

  “Any other message?” I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He’d treated me with respect, hadn’t tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I’d dealt with him before.

  My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.

  Holy shit.

  If I’d been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.

  The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.

  “Attorney Kendall?”

  “Yes, your honor.” She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn’t understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.

  I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn’t show up soon, I’d be screwed.

  I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. “Can she represent me?”

  “I don’t think she’s a criminal attorney.”

  “Just for the arraignment. To get me out.”

  “I’ll ask.”

  The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.

  Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I’d been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I’d gotten picked up in a different county, I could have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.

  “Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?” the judge asked off the record.

  Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. “Uh, I’m not a criminal attorney, your honor,” she stammered.

  “It’s pretty simple. Mr. North’s attorney got delayed. Don’t make me appoint you,” he teased.

  “Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?” she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

  “That’s fine.”

  The judge waved me over next to her. Her big eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I’d been sitting there?

  “I can pay you,” I whispered down to her.

  She looked startled. “It’s okay. What are we dealing with?”

  I liked the way she said “we.”

  “Weed.”

  She gave me a blank stare.

  “Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts.” Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.

  “Oh geez.” She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn’t sure.

  “Do you have a record?”

  “About a mile long.”

  That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.

  “Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  She didn’t ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.

  “Your honor, I’ve had a chance to confer with my client.”

  “Very well. Let’s call it.”

  His clerk stood and read out, “The People of the State of New York versus Rochlan North.” Look at that—the old gal even pronounced my first name right.

  My girl looked up at me again. My manners were shit. I’d never bothered to introduce myself, I guess.

  The judge slammed his gavel down. First time I’d heard him do it all morning. The sharp thwack broke the staring contest my pretty lawyer and I were engaged in.

  “Do you wish to hear the reading of the charges, counselor?”

  She hesitated for a minute, and the judge covered the microphone wit
h his hand. “Usually the attorney waives the reading, Miss Kendall.”

  “I know, your honor. Thank you. Yes, I’ll waive the reading. May I have a copy of the charges for my file, though?”

  “Yes, of course. Do you wish to be heard on bail?”

  “Yes, your honor. My client assures me he can pay a reasonable sum. He’s a hard-working family man, so it would be in society’s best interest to allow him to continue to work and provide for his family while he waits to address these false charges.”

  I’m proud to say I kept a straight face during all of that. She impressed me with her quick thinking, though. Criminal attorney or not, she was clever. I had a fondness for clever. Clever kept you alive.

  Cute and smart. I should get arrested more often.

  “Very well. Bail is set in the amount of five hundred dollars cash. If your client is able to post it now, he can be processed downstairs instead of going back to county.”

  She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. I nodded and motioned my crew forward.

  “That’s acceptable. Thank you, your honor.”

  “Off the record,” the judge said to the court reporter. He looked back up at my attorney. “See, that wasn’t so hard, Miss Kendall.” The judge’s face lit up in a wolfish smile I didn’t take kindly to. Already in my head, I’d laid claim to this woman whose first name I didn’t even know.

  The sheriff came over and gripped my elbow.

  “Can’t you remove the restraints, now?” she asked the sheriff with wide, pleading eyes.

  To say her request stunned me would be an understatement. No one had ever given a crap about my discomfort.

  The sheriff did not look surprised. He answered her gently. “No counselor, not till he’s posted the bail money. You can meet us downstairs.” He nodded toward the guys standing behind the banister. “His posse can show you the way.”

  She hesitated, and I read the expression on her face loud and clear. She didn’t want to follow my crew anywhere. In fact, she looked like she wanted to run away.