Rebel Custody

by Sarah Hawthorne

  “Any other business?” Tate asked.

  We all knew there was other business.

  “I have some news from Volk,” Colt announced.

  The room went quiet. Volk was the head of the mother Chapter in San Bernardino, California. Colt lived up here in Tacoma now, but he was originally from that chapter. He and I were friends, but I know some of the other guys kept quiet around him. It’s not that we thought of him as a spy, just no one wanted our business sent down south. It was hard getting used to the idea that we weren’t an independent little club anymore.

  I had come to peace a long time ago with why Tate made the move to join a bigger club. Last year, Bear was tearing us apart, and there were all manner of larger clubs looking to swallow up our territory. We had to join up with someone to protect our position with the Port of Tacoma. While there was no trouble yet, a club our size would be easy pickings if one of the national clubs decided they wanted our territory. So we’d joined up with the Horde on a temporary term—twelve months.

  “It seems our year-long probation is almost over.” Colt took a deep breath. “They want to come up here and do a final inspection and make things official.”

  Russ groaned, and a couple of other guys frowned.

  Tate leaned across the table. “Look, no one likes it when people get up in our business. But we’re all part of one club now—they just want to make sure that we’re making money and turning a profit. That’s it.”

  “I thought we already proved that,” Rip said, crossing his arms. “We gonna have to keep proving we’re worth it for them? When does it stop?”

  Tate puffed on his cigar. “We’re good enough. Our accounts are all in order. It’s all just one last party, okay? Nothing bad is gonna happen. We’ve already proved that we’re good enough the last time they came up here to review our funds. They’re gonna declare our probation over, and we’ll all be full, patched members. It’s just gonna be a formality, guys. Nothing to worry about.”

  He banged the gavel. Church was over.

  Chapter Six

  Miri

  Pete was going to be angry with me for sure. I sat on a stool in the cloakroom catching my breath. I had just run up the huge marble steps because I was late. My train from South Seattle had been delayed, and there was a line a mile long at the taxi stand when I finally got to the downtown station. I was absolutely going to have to sit through another lecture about how I should sit in traffic in my car instead of taking public transportation.

  “Something to drink, miss?” the attendant asked, handing me a bottle of water.

  “Yes, please!” I smiled gratefully and downed half the bottle in one gulp. It wasn’t very ladylike at all, but I couldn’t walk into the ballroom panting like I’d just come from the gym. “Thank you so much.” I stood up from my little stool, digging in my purse for some cash. “I’m gonna need something stronger to get through tonight.” I handed over five dollars for his tip and headed to the event.

  Because I was so late, I had to search everywhere before I found Pete.

  “You’re late.” He gave me a glass of champagne. “Smile.”

  I downed the cold drink in one gulp. I hated these things. I was only here to support my boyfriend and his interest in local politics. Pete was always attending one fund-raiser or another—building his political capital. If I was going to be serious about a future together, I needed to attend.

  Pete glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “I thought you were going to wear the red dress,” he said.

  I shrugged. The red dress made me feel fun and flirty. The cleavage was a little too low, and the skirt swished when I walked. I grabbed another champagne from a passing waiter. “I thought the black was more appropriate.” I knew Pete liked it when I was conservative.

  Pete nodded and took another sip. “Nice to know that you’re finally taking my advice.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

  I smiled. We were off to a good start. I was being as boring as possible and scoring points. I took another swig of champagne. Tonight would be fantastic.

  A well-dressed gentleman walked up to us. He was the city’s comptroller, if I remembered my flash cards correctly. Pete and the comptroller, George, struck up a conversation about the city’s agreement for temporary office labor. I zoned out for a while, but dragged my attention back to the conversation when Pete glared at me.

  “So hard to find good help,” George quipped. “The contractors will have to do until we can find more budget.”

  Pete laughed, and George chuckled at his own joke. I tried not to roll my eyes.

  Pete glanced at me and raised his brow. He’d noticed I wasn’t laughing. Shit.

  “Oh, yes.” I smiled so that every single tooth was on display. “Just lovely.”

  Pete’s eye twitched just a little. Damn. I’d laid it on too thick. “Why don’t you go get a drink at the bar, sweetie?” he asked.

  I escaped with my tail between my legs. He knew I hadn’t liked the joke.

  I pulled myself up onto the stool. The bartender refilled my glass—at least the champagne was free and the seat was comfortable. Pete worked the crowd. He loved this. The politics, the schmoozing, the knowing all the right people. This was where he shined. It was like he saved all of that energy for his career. When we were alone, his charm and sparkling personality just dissipated like flat champagne. His career was always first, and I would always be second. That was me. Ms. Second Place. Just once, I wanted to be the girl a man thought of first.

  “Is this seat taken?” a male voice said from behind me.

  The voice was classy and smooth, with a hint of an accent. South American, maybe? The man certainly matched the voice. He had dark hair, tanned skin, and a suit that probably cost my annual income.

  He ordered a whiskey on the rocks and sat on the stool next to me. “Forgive me.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “But I could not let such a beautiful lady drink alone.”

  As far as pickup lines went, it wasn’t bad. Of course, everything was better after three glasses of champagne.

  “Thank you for joining me.” I smiled. “I am glad to have company.”

  It surprised me that it was true. I wasn’t content to just sit here while Pete did his thing. We’d been to a lot of cocktail parties together, and I usually preferred the background. But tonight I wanted more. Excitement. If I couldn’t have a leather jacket, I would take a finely tailored suit and an accent.

  Paulo and I spent most of the night talking. He was from Argentina and was in Seattle visiting a tech startup that he’d funded. We talked about art and politics and Paulo’s world travels. If Jean Luc, my newest client, had been sitting next to me, what would we have talked about? His face flashed through my mind, along with his crooked grin and shaggy hair.

  “You are quiet. Thinking of someone, perhaps?” Paulo asked.

  “Yes,” I admitted to my new friend. “But maybe not the right person.”

  “There you are,” Pete said from behind me.

  I jumped at the sound of his voice, wondering if he had heard my admission to Paulo.

  “I knew a woman this beautiful must have a good man looking after her,” Paulo said smoothly and offered his hand to Pete.

  “She’s always at my side.” Pete’s words weren’t quite as precise as usual. “Pete Avesbury, Assistant District Attorney.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I smiled at Paulo. Then I noticed Pete. His cheeks were red, and his smile was fast. Interesting. Pete rarely ever got drunk.

  Paulo ignored me after that, and he and Pete chatted about their mutual friend, the mayor. I had another glass of champagne, and another.

  “Nice to meet you, Paulo,” Pete said at the end of the night. “I think it’s time for me to get her home.”

  Paulo said something, and th
ey both laughed. Pete walked me across the now empty ballroom floor, clutched to his side. Figures swam as we walked, all blending into a yellow void. A taxi. I slid into the backseat and found myself against a warm body. I ran my hands across his chest, looking for the vest. But instead I found a wool suit. Had he taken it off?

  I pulled his head toward me, and our lips met. They were warm and tasted like vodka. His mouth was hard against mine. His tongue explored my mouth, the very depths; I tried not to gag. It was not what I had envisioned from Jean Luc, but I tried. Tried to give him what he wanted. I wanted to be First Place.

  His hand closed over my breast and squeezed. Hard. I cried out. I couldn’t believe that Jean Luc would be so rough. I imagined he would be gentle, not at all like this.

  Tearing away from him, I sucked in a breath. The smell was all wrong. He should have smelled like outside and leather, and a little earthy, like dirt after a rainstorm, maybe. But instead he smelled like aftershave and alcohol.

  He pulled me back to finish the kiss. He’d backed off a bit, and I started to kiss just his bottom lip.

  “Jean Luc,” I breathed. Yes, this was how I had imagined it.

  The cabbie banged on the glass dividing the front and backseat. “Knock it off, you two. Wait until you get home.” He sounded disgusted.

  I turned to smile at Jean Luc. I stopped mid-giggle. I wasn’t with Jean Luc, I was with Pete.

  My blood cooled as it ran through my veins. How many drinks did I have?

  “If I’d known all I had to do was get you wasted, I would have done it earlier,” Pete whispered into my ear. His words were slurred; he was just as drunk as me. He massaged my breast under my coat. I tried to pull back, but he held me in place. This wasn’t what I wanted. He wasn’t who I wanted.

  Using my shoulder, I pushed him off and scooted as far away as possible in the backseat. We were winding through the streets of downtown Seattle, then down the street to Pete’s condo.

  The cab slowed and then stopped in front of a high-rise building. Pete’s apartment in downtown Seattle. Pete fumbled with his wallet and gave a handful of cash to the driver. He slid out and held out his hand for me to follow.

  If I left this cab, Pete would want sex. Any time we spent at his apartment led to him trying to have sex with me. In that instant, I knew that I didn’t want to do it. I couldn’t be with Pete, not now, not ever.

  “No. I don’t want to, Pete. It’s over,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “What the hell, Miriam? You were just kissing me. You want me.” He started to crawl inside and reach for my arm. “Now you’re gonna get inside, and we’re going to—”

  The last word disappeared as he was hauled backward. The cabbie slammed the door shut and got back in the driver’s seat.

  “Hey!” Pete shouted from the curb. “Hey! She’s my girlfriend. She’s getting out here too.”

  The cabbie ignored him and took off. We zoomed down the empty highway much faster than we should have. “You, okay?” he asked from the front seat. “I didn’t think you were as into it as he was.”

  “I’m okay.” At least not injured. I rubbed my arms; my skin was crawling where he had touched me. “Hey, thanks. Can you just take me home? South Seattle, please.”

  * * *

  I woke up to my head pounding, but at least my bed was comfortable. I tried to snuggle back under the covers and forget about the awful night with Pete, but Lizzy was banging on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I grumbled.

  “You got a delivery,” Lizzy announced, putting a huge bouquet of roses on my dresser.

  The card read: I’m sorry. I had too much to drink. I love you. Pete

  Lizzy peered at the card and let out a low whistle. “What did he do last night?” she asked.

  “I broke up with him. We were drunk; he wanted sex. He tried to force me out of a cab.” I told Lizzy all the details, including the part where the cab driver had saved me.

  “Holy shit.” She sat on the end of my bed and crossed her legs. “Pete seemed so well mannered. I never would have thought he would attack you. He’s always been the perfect gentleman.”

  “I guess he was just biding his time.” I shrugged. “Well, it’s over between us now. But from the tone of his card, he doesn’t know that yet.”

  “Is he going to accept your decision?” Lizzy looked at the card again. “Seems like he doesn’t know you’re broken up yet. Do you think he’s gonna turn into a scary stalker?”

  “Pete, a stalker?” I looked up at Lizzy sharply. “I hadn’t thought of that. I doubt it, though. He’s a prosecutor—he knows the punishment for that. He would lose his bar affiliation and everything he’s worked for. He’s not going to stalk me. I’m just going to call his office and tell him it’s over. He’ll back off.” I looked around for my phone. “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost eight.” Lizzy stretched. “It’s a teacher in-service day for me. Don’t you have to get going to work?”

  Oh no, I was late. Trying to forget about my hangover, I jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. Under the spray of the hot water, I rehearsed what I would tell Pete.

  It’s not you; it’s me. So cliché, but I just didn’t feel that spark with him. Besides, after the flowers he sent, I needed to be very clear about the status of our relationship—or lack thereof.

  I waited until I got to my office before I called him. The city phones didn’t start to pick up until nine, so I fiddled around on my email. At one minute past nine, I dialed his office. An assistant picked up. “I’m his girlfriend.” I hesitated. “Ex-girlfriend now.”

  “Oh really?” She popped her gum. “I didn’t know Pete was dating anyone. I’ll have him call you when he gets out of court.”

  “I can just leave a message.” I took a deep breath. “Can you tell him that it’s over? Completely.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Yeah, sure. Completely. Got it.”

  We hung up, and I leaned against my chair. It was over.

  Chapter Seven

  Miri

  After lunch, Sheena came in with her laptop and sat in front of my desk. That meant it was time to go over my billing for the week. Our office billed in fifteen-minute increments, so whenever I worked on a case, I had to track my time. Once a week, she and I would determine how much to bill a client. Some associates just billed anytime they thought about a case, but I liked to keep notes.

  “Mr. Anders?” Sheena’s pencil was poised. We always started with the letter A.

  “Anders...” I looked through my notes. One deposition on Tuesday and a review of his case from 10:00 a.m. to noon. “Two hours.”

  We went through a few more clients. “Devaneaux?” she asked, chewing on the end of her pencil.

  His shoulders, his smile. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about him, but not necessarily working on his case.

  “Well, we met his son last week...” I started looking through my notes.

  “Oh yeah.” Sheena handed me a phone message. “He wants a meeting tomorrow. He said he has a custody meeting he wants you to attend. It was weird; he said he would pick you up.”

  “Pick me up?” I said. “Oh, right, we were going to pretend I was his girlfriend.”

  Sheena’s mouth dropped open. “I was talking to Colleen in accounting, and she said he was one of your dad’s cash clients.” She leaned forward. “From a biker gang. Are you really going to pretend to be his girlfriend?”

  I shrugged. “Mr. Devaneaux doesn’t want to tip anyone off that he has retained counsel,” I explained, trying to convince myself that it was all part of the routine. “It’s just a little ruse to prepare for the case.”

  Sheena pursed her lips. I could tell she didn’t buy my explanation. “Is he hot? Are you going to have to kiss him?” she asked, putting down her notepad, and gasp
ed. “Are you gonna be his hot biker mama and ride on the back of his motorcycle?”

  What would it be like to sit behind him and wrap my arms around those abs? Maybe lay my cheek against his powerful back.

  I blinked and looked back to my notes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just going to get information about the man who currently has custody of the child.” It was time to get back to work. “So, Devaneaux—three hours if we include the meeting tomorrow.”

  * * *

  On my way home, I ran to the grocery store and picked up a bottle of wine and frozen pizza. Lizzy didn’t have anything to supervise after school, and it had been a while since we had a good chat. Even though we were roommates, her job as a high school drama teacher kept her busy, and I often worked late nights. I’d minimized Sheena’s concerns about playing Jean Luc’s girlfriend, but in reality I was nervous. Talking to Lizzy might put things in perspective.

  We sat on the couch and ate our dinner. By the time I told Lizzy the story, we were on our second glass of wine.

  “So...is your biker hot?” she asked, picking at her crust.

  I shrugged. Yes. But I wasn’t about to admit that.

  “You’re blushing.” She took another slice. “I’m gonna take that as a yes. So, what are you guys gonna do tomorrow at the meeting? Just talk to the kid?”

  “Mostly. We need do a paternity test first. I’ll bring my usual sports equipment so we can play a game after.” I had a bag full of stuff for parents to do with their kids during monitored visitation. It took the edge off.

  “So have you practiced for the part of his girlfriend?” Lizzy asked. “We should come up with some lines, something you can say to make it seem like you’re really a biker babe.”

  Rolling my eyes, I downed the rest of my wine. “No one is going to notice me. I will just sit in the background.” I would probably camp out on the park bleachers while Jean Luc played with his son. “Pretty tame. Nothing interesting. I swear.”

  I could see Lizzy’s brain working a hundred miles an hour. She was onto something. I groaned.