Copyright © 2020 by Allie Juliette Mousseau.
All Rights Reserved
Published by Allie Juliette Mousseau
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law.
Editing by Nicole Hewitt
Interior Formatting by Allusion Graphics, LLC
Cover photo: Adobe Stock
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Epilogue
Author Links and Books
Author Biography
Sneak Peek
USA Today Bestselling Author Allie Juliette Mousseau delivers a sexy, quick-witted, and sassy enemies-to-lovers second-chance romance featuring one smoldering alpha attorney; a feisty, determined social worker; and three young orphans in trouble…
Saint Sophia the Mother of Orphans, help us!
Connor Callahan, once a North House teen who shed his own blood to become a Brother of Ink and Steel, is now a powerful attorney and the Twin Cities’ most eligible bachelor. He challenges stereotypes and melts panties with his rugged good-looks, colorful tattoos, and brazen piercings. When he’s handed the case of a lifetime with the promise of partnership in the firm he’s dedicated his career to, he knows his destiny is close.
Then he gets a glimpse of the familiar Saint Sophia pendant his opposing council wears, and he finds himself wondering… could it really be her, the girl he met as a teenager? He never thought he’d see the blond whirlwind again after she blew in and out of his life, but she was wholly unforgettable. Like a tattoo over his heart. If only he could get close enough to be sure it’s really her… but she’s never going to let that happen.
Elle Hayes despises the formidable Mr. Callahan and everything he stands for. Though he puts on an immensely charming act—and is hotter than the desert sun—she knows he’s a fake. There’s no way she’s going to let Callahan interfere with her objective: finding a home for the vulnerable orphans his client has torn apart.
Then an unexpected set-up has Connor and Elle playing house together for a week…
As the tension—and heat—revs up between them, they discover that they each have a whole lot more to lose than just a court case. Their hearts are on the line—and so much more.
But to experience the greatest things in life, we have to take the greatest risks.
RISK Brother of Ink and Steel (Book 4) is a standalone novel. There’s no need to read the earlier titles beforehand, but this book features charming cameos by title characters from the Brothers of Ink and Steel and True North Series. You’ll want to go back and read them all.
For the Koala Bear and Captain America.
I know Connor’s tattoos would’ve been yours.
You are most truly a Brother of Ink and Steel—a hero—and your Brothers’ Keeper.
“If you risk nothing, then you risk everything.” – Geena Davis
Connor
(Present Day)
A BEAD OF sweat slides slowly down my bicep through the crevice between the cut of my muscle, creating a channel before it drops from my elbow to the floor. Fifty-pound free weight, preacher curl, rep till muscle failure.
“Hey, man, keep this up and you may make it to Flyweight yet,” Talon quips as he walks by.
“Shut up.” I’d tell him, Fuck you, but there are kids around.
We’re working out at The Core. It’s my favorite place to be other than in court. The Core is the brainchild of Cade North—my foster-father-turned dad. I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen years old when Cade and his wife Debra took me in out of a high security detention center and set me up at North House.
Talon was my house brother back then: one of seven teenage boys that came to North House in 2005 and bonded into brotherhood through blood and ink. Cade and Debra kept us through high school graduation and saw to it each of us attended university.
They even helped foot the bill for law school. A kid like me? I never thought I’d get that chance.
All the brothers still living in Minneapolis come to The Core regularly, we work as volunteers, mentoring kids from North House and low-income, homeless or foster kids from the area.
I watch Brice, the boy copying my reps with a two-pounder. He’s twelve and scared of his own shadow. He’s been in too many bad situations and needs a win. He needs to be reminded that he’s strong and that his strength comes from within, not from outside.
“That muscle is building up nice,” I tell him.
“You think so?” He smiles a little, like he’s not sure if he believes me, but studies the movement he’s making. His smile grows bigger. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right,” I say. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”
“I hate school.”
This is a typical answer. Who the hell can think about school when you don’t even know where your next meal is going to come from?
“Yeah, I hated school too for a while, but then I discovered I really liked math.”
“I suck at math.” He juts out his bottom lip and blows a wayward swath of blond hair away from in front of his right eye.
“If you had to choose one class that you don’t despise, which would it be?”
He chews on that for a second. “I really liked the stories of Greek mythology my teacher told us in social studies. Especially Perseus! He was freaking awesome!” His eyes grow wide.
I switch the weight to my other arm. Brice follows my lead. “Why was he so awesome?”
“He tricked and killed the gorgon Medusa—you know, the monster with snakes all over her head. He saved Andromeda from the kraken and rides a winged pegasus. He’s badass!” Brice tells me excitedly.
And there’s my window.
“You keep lifting weights like this and stay in school, no matter what else happens in your life, and you’re going to be just as badass as Perseus,” I remind him.
It’s all I need to say. His smile gets so big it takes up his entire face. Brice’s been coming here for the past couple months. He’s heard all the stories and met all the brothers. He knows Josh North was a troubled teen who now holds the MMA World Heavyweight Champion title. And that Liam Knight went from a street kid fighting for his life to a retired Middleweight MMA champ who’s now a celebrity tattoo artist with his own shop and TV show. He’s shaken hands with Ryder Axton, who lost his parents when he was just nine yet turned his life around to
become a Navy Seal.
Brice has lifted weights, hit the bags and sparred with each of us. One motto we make sure each kid takes away: Fight hard enough and never give up, and you can do anything.
After our session, I shower and check my text messages.
High priority case. Emergency hearing 1 pm. Need you ASAP to pick up file.
“Christ!” I hiss between my teeth. I have less than two hours before court starts.
My tires screech and the echo bounces off the concrete walls of the parking garage beneath the towering skyscraper. Running around to the front of the building, I take the front steps two-at-a-time, push through the heavy, double glass doors, stride across the vast marble floored foyer and wait with the herd of people at the elevators. My eyes skim over the office building’s directory plaque.
Suite 400: The Law Offices of Harrison and Smith.
I imagine what I do every time I approach this plaque: Harrison, Smith and Callahan. Like my dad teaches: Believe it, apply yourself, and you can make it happen.
“Good morning, Connor.” Mr. Harrison’s secretary smiles. “Mr. Harrison is ready for you.”
“Thank you.”
I straighten my blazer. I’m not your typical-looking lawyer. Most people’s initial reactions to me are shock and disbelief. At first sight, they’re positive I’m on the other side of the law, playing dress up to stand before the judge.
The tattoos I sport peek out from under my suit collar and cuffs as they climb my neck and cover both of my hands. Then there are the piercings: a barbell over my right eyebrow and gauges in the lobes of my ears. I quite enjoy making people rethink their stereotypes. The courthouse judges—and maybe more importantly, security—here in the district know me. I’ve worked hard to make a name for myself and earn respect. I’ve won and settled a record number of cases for someone so young.
“Connor.” Mr. Harrison stands up from behind his desk, reaches over the top of it and grips my hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you. You’re looking well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrison.” Harrison recently crested his sixties. He has a head of gray hair and a serious demeaner that forces him to work harder at being friendly with his clients and colleagues. He keeps trim by playing golf regularly and has a sharp mind. His is one of the most successful law firms in the city.
“Come on, call me Bill.”
“Bill,” I repeat. We go through this every time. He and I both know it won’t stick. Someday, maybe. “What have you got for me today?”
“I need you to ask for an extension and reschedule for eight weeks from now, client’s request. Plus, it’ll give you plenty of time to review the case and make a defense. This is a personal favor for a close friend. I need your A game.”
“I’d never give you anything less, sir.” I’m itching to open the case file. “Do you think it’ll get settled or go to trial?”
“Doesn’t matter. Either way, Connor, win this and the firm will begin grooming you for a partnership.”
I do a double-take. Did I hear him correctly?
Then he says it. “Harrison, Smith and Callahan has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.” I try to remain professional, despite my shock and awe.
“You’re the best man for the job, Connor. Now get it done,” he implores.
“I appreciate the chance.”
I walk out of the office on clouds. I’m so fucking excited I can hardly hold it in! I force my body to be still in the elevator. I can’t wait to tell Cade and my brothers! Every late night and early morning. All the sacrifice, the fucking poring over law books while everyone else’s lives went on around me, has brought me to this moment!
It’s mine! I’m going to fucking own this!
I sidle up to my car and do a victory dance. This is everything I’ve waited for.
On the drive, I envision it. Today I’ll be granted the extension. I’ll prepare the case and win for the firm.
For my life.
My brothers win MMA titles, have their own television shows, win football scholarships and professional league games; this is mine!
My moment of glory.
I reach into the briefcase just to feel the thick file between my fingers.
My future!
After I straighten my tie in the rearview mirror, I step out of my car, briefcase in hand, and click the lock button on my key from over my shoulder. Feeling fucking invincible, I stride through the parking lot and into the Ramsey County Courthouse like I own the place. Moving past the information desk and the Vision of Peace statue towering in the lobby, I reach the docket on the wall and eye it over.
Room number nineteen, family court case 112, Prescott Vs. Prescott.
Too fueled up to sit, I pace across the stone floor to the end of the hall, where a couple of dark antique wooden desks sit in an otherwise nearly empty hallway—save for the benches that line the walls. The desks are reserved for legal reps to speak with their clients.
As I reach them, a woman sitting at one abruptly pushes her chair back and stands up. She straightens a pile of papers by smacking them angrily onto the desk. Muttering a curse, she shoves them into the soft attaché at her hip—the shoulder strap snug across her torso—before she spins around, nearly slamming into me.
When she catches a glimpse of me, a flash of lightning strikes behind her eyes.
Christ, she’s stunningly beautiful. Her long blond hair falls around her shoulders, framing her fair complexion. Two thin braids just above each ear crown her head.
Immediately, she turns on me. Full of contempt, her eyes sear into me as her breath labors in her chest and adrenaline causes her hands to tremble.
Her voice shakes. “About time you showed up.” She quickly peers down the hall, as if to make sure our conversation is private, then hisses, “You know, this may be just another pro-bono case to you, to fatten your resume and make you appear to do humanitarian work, but there are three lives depending on you. Try and be present.”
A quick and powerful assault, straight to the jugular. I’m glad I’m not the one in her crosshairs.
“Ma’am, I’m not who you think I am.”
Her glare crackles with wildfire. “Gregory Parker, esquire.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m definitely not the dumbass who’s standing you up.”
The storm shifts but only slightly. “I apologize,” she says tightly. “That was terribly unprofessional of me. I should’ve inquired after your name.”
“No harm, no foul.” I quickly take her in. She’s wearing a light pink blouse with a sky-blue scarf that matches her eyes. A darker blue skirt flows to her ankles, draping over the top of a pair of Sorrell winter boots. Her wrist and forearm are adorned with a stack of metal bangles.
I feel the edge of my lip curl up and quickly stop it. I like the hippie look. “Are you a lawyer?” I’ve never seen her here before. I would’ve remembered.
“I’m an advocate.” She peers distractedly down the hallway, no doubt looking through the throngs of people waiting for their cases to be heard, for Gregory Parker, Esq.
“If this Parker doesn’t show and you need some legal representation”—I pull a couple business cards from my inner jacket pocket—“I may be able to help.”
She regards me distastefully but takes the card. “Thanks.”
“You don’t like lawyers?” I grin and bait. “Or is it just me?”
“I don’t like lawyers who promise a family they’ll represent them pro-bono then never show up,” she growls, nostrils flaring. “I also don’t like lawyers who can recognize obvious injustices but fight for clients who are clearly guilty.”
“Everyone is entitled to a fair trial.” I want to keep her talking and get her name.
“True, but there’s nothing fair about a scenario where those with the most money get to bury those with the least just because they can’t afford a good, experienced, committed lawyer. Because then it’s no longer a ‘fair’ trial.” S
he makes air quotes. “Then it’s purely economics.”
Beautiful and smart. Before I have a chance to respond, the buzzer rings. All the doors to the courtrooms down the hall open, including courtroom nineteen. The people sitting on the benches or leaning against the walls begin to pour into their designated rooms.
“I’m up.” I point a thumb toward the courtrooms. But running into this ardent hippie-goddess makes this day feel even more lucky. This day just keeps getting better. “I’d really like to continue our conversation sometime. You have my card, call me. I may be able to help.”
She worries her bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll have to.”
I won’t take that personally. The fire in her eyes has clouded over with fear. I wish I could help her now as I wonder what she’s heading into. “Good luck.”
“Thank you. We’re going to need it.”
Courtroom number nineteen doesn’t have an empty seat in it.
Every few minutes my gaze lights over toward the pretty-in-pink-and-blue hippie girl as she sits, back ramrod straight, three rows in front of me on the opposite side of the room. She keeps her eyes on the yellow legal pad in her lap where she keeps jotting notes.
The first hour rolls by and the room begins to thin. I keep watching the door for the advocate’s douchebag help to arrive, but no one new enters.
Maybe she’ll call me. My motives are absolutely only half-selfish.
Shortly, the bailiff stands and announces, “Prescott versus Prescott.”
That’s my cue. Show time! Gripping my briefcase, I rise to my feet.
Off to the right of me, hippie girl stands at the same time.
What the…? My skin prickles with a chill. It must be a coincidence.
She glances back and notices me in an instant. Her brow creases as a scowl crosses her face. We both approach the front of the courtroom and position ourselves at opposing tables.
Fuck.
Plaintiff vs. Defendant. My earlier high is swapped out for an uncomfortable weight in my shoes.
Risk: An Enemies to Lovers, Second Chance Romance Standalone (Brothers of Ink and Steel) Page 1
