Beyond Reason: Teller's Story, Part Two (Lost Kings) (Lost Kings MC Book 9)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “What?” Z asks.

  “She couldn’t push it any further, but she went back to school the next semester and changed her concentration.”

  “So?” Wrath asks.

  I shake my head, but the smile stays on my lips. I really have it bad for this woman. “You don’t get it, Charlotte went to law school to be a criminal attorney. She wanted to help her club. Believed the we’re-an-innocent-club-of-Harley-enthusiasts-persecuted-by-the-cops bullshit. That was her way to contribute to the club.”

  “Fuck,” Murphy says.

  “Yeah, so after they betrayed her, she switched from criminal law to family law. Decided she’d rather help children than criminals.”

  I meet Wrath’s stare. “Do you get it now? They weren’t loyal to her, why the fuck should she be loyal to them?”

  “If it’s true, yes.”

  I don’t even get the fuck you out of my mouth before he turns to Rock. “Is that something Hope can confirm for us?”

  “Confirm what?” I snap.

  Again, Z puts his hand on my shoulder, and I love my brother, but he’s in danger of having his fingers broken if he tries to calm me down one more time.

  “Teller,” Z says in a reasonable tone. “All he’s saying is that if she really did switch majors, it would make her story more solid and we’d feel better about trusting her.”

  “Yeah, but you better never piss her off, T, or she’ll be ratting us out,” Ravage says. He’s laughing as he says it, but I don’t find it one bit funny.

  “Don’t be a dick,” Wrath snaps. “What he’s talking about goes way beyond a stupid fight.”

  “Fuck you, Ravage,” I snap, leaning over the table so I can stare him down. “She has plenty of information on the Wolf Knights. Coulda gone to the Slater County DA at any time and dropped that knowledge, but she never has.”

  “Good point,” Wrath says. “If she was vindictive, she could’ve gone to the police or another MC a lot sooner.”

  “Sorry,” Rav mumbles.

  I fall back in my chair. “She split from them. Soon as she got a job, she started paying her uncle back. That fucker had the nerve to take her money after what he did.”

  Rock raises an eyebrow.

  “After she confided this to me, and then with him bugging her phone. I went and paid that debt off,” I explain. “Which made him kick her brother out of the house.”

  “Shit, little brother, you got yourself your very own Jerry Springer show,” Dex jokes.

  “What a fucking dick,” Bricks murmurs.

  Wrath’s fingers drum against the table while he thinks everything through. “Let’s see if Hope can confirm it. Where is she?”

  “Probably right outside. We all know she can’t stand to be away from her man for too long,” Ravage says.

  As wound up as I am, even I laugh.

  “Ask her to come in,” Rock orders Birch since he’s closest to the door.

  “How is she supposed to confirm it?” Stash asks.

  “We’ll see,” Z says.

  “Gee, Prez, feels like we’ve been having the women at the table an awful lot lately,” Bricks jokes.

  Rock’s not in a joking mood. “This isn’t exactly dinner table conversation. Keep in mind, we’ve asked our women to do an awful lot to help us out lately.”

  “I know. I know.” Bricks holds up his hands. “Just kidding.”

  Rock’s harsh expression transforms the second Hope enters the room. Birch holds the door open for her, then follows her inside.

  “Hey, Baby Doll,” Rock greets her.

  Her gaze darts around the table, a shaky smile flickering over her lips. “What’s up?”

  Z stands, pointing to his chair. “Here, take my chair, Hope.”

  Rock nods at him and Hope rounds the table, sitting next to me. Z takes up a position behind Wrath.

  Under the weight of all our attention, Hope fidgets and shifts in her chair. “Is everything okay?”

  Rock covers her hands with one of his own. “Everything’s fine. We need you to help us out with something.”

  “Of course.” Her nervous expression settles into something more fierce and eager. Hope may not have understood the club when she and Rock started dating, but after the things we’ve gone through the last few years, there’s no question of her commitment or loyalty to us.

  It was Wrath who objected the loudest to Hope in the beginning. So, I have faith he’ll come around on Charlotte. Eventually.

  Wrath leans forward. “What was your major in law school?”

  She scrunches up her nose. “You don’t really declare a ‘major’ in law school. At least not at my school.”

  Wrath gives me a pointed look that Hope doesn’t miss. “Is this about Charlotte?” she asks.

  “No,” Wrath answers.

  Hope squints, clearly unconvinced. “You can concentrate in an area of law though. It’s optional.”

  “Like what?” Z asks.

  “Um, estate planning, that’s what Adam’s concentration was,” she says, reminding me of her friend who handled my grandmother’s estate. “I concentrated in family law. There’s criminal law, civil litigation. That’s just the few I can come up with off the top of my head.”

  “Okay.” Z paces behind Wrath’s chair. “Would that be on a transcript?”

  “Yes. There will be a notation and you receive a separate certificate.”

  “What if you switched concentrations?” Wrath asks.

  “I don’t think there would be a notation about the switch.” She seems to consider a few possibilities before continuing. “You could probably tell from the classes the person took. With a few exceptions, second year you can pick most of your course list. So that’s when you might choose your area of concentration.”

  “Okay,” Rock says. “So, if someone was going to, say, concentrate in criminal defense work, they’d start taking those classes second year?”

  “Well, yes. But you’re also required to take evidence and criminal procedure second year because they’re such a big part of the bar exam.”

  “There any other classes you’d take for a criminal—”

  “Sure,” Hope says, cutting him off, her body vibrating with excitement. She rattles off a list of classes. “Then you have to do a clinical for practical experience. Like the P.D.’s office or the D.A. Depending on what experience you wanted.”

  Wrath leans over, snatching a piece of paper from the middle of the table, and scribbles a few notes.

  “What’d you do, Hope?” Z asks.

  Her cheeks flush. “Well, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. My second year I took a wide range of courses. Evidence and criminal procedure were my favorite so I took advanced classes in those. Completed my clinical in family court.”

  “So, the criminal classes were a waste then?” Z asks.

  She wrinkles her nose again like the question offends her. “Not at all. Family and criminal law overlap in some areas and the same rules of evidence still apply.”

  Z nods slowly, taking in her words.

  “I could probably be more helpful if you told me why you’re asking,” she suggests, glancing at me, and then Wrath, Z, and finally Rock.

  Hope’s not stupid. Even though our faces give nothing away, she continues. “Charlotte graduated a few years after me, but—”

  “That’s not necessary, Hope,” Rock says.

  “Well, from the few times Charlotte and I have gone up against each other, I can tell you she’s a skilled negotiator and knows the rules of evidence better than some judges do,” she grumbles the last part which makes Rock chuckle and pat her hand.

  Warmth spreads through my chest. Hope’s not fooled by our blank faces. She knows what’s going down, and she’s sticking up for Charlotte.

  “Thanks, Baby Doll,” Rock says, eye-fucking her as if the entire club isn’t at the table.

  Hope tilts her head, staring at Rock with so much heat the uncomfortable level ratchets up another hundred degrees. “A
m I dismissed now, Mr. President?” she asks in a husky voice.

  “Don’t start,” Wrath warns.

  Rock shoots a glare at him, but Hope’s eyes never leave her husband.

  “We’re good, Hope. Thank you,” Z says.

  Before leaving, she reaches under the table and squeezes my hand. Not out in the open where the guys can see and rib me for it as soon as she’s out the door. A quick reassurance and it means more to me than I even understand.

  “Dick,” Rock says after she leaves, leaning over to punch Wrath’s arm.

  Wrath attempts to dodge the blow, laughing the whole time.

  “What?” Stash asks, which makes Dex and Z crack up.

  “You never noticed?” Wrath asks. “When she calls him ‘Mr. President?’” he forces out a poor imitation of a breathy-voiced Hope. “It’s like her fucking mating call.”

  “Shut up,” Rock snaps.

  “When she calls him, Rochlan, in that voice you better watch out,” Wrath snickers and ducks out of range of Rock’s fist.

  “No one needed to know that,” Murphy moans.

  “Assholes,” Rock mutters. But the corners of his mouth are slightly tilted up, so I don’t think he’s all that mad.

  Sure. If I said something like that about Hope, Rock would have his boot on my neck by now. Wrath says it, and it’s funny.

  “So? Does she pass?” I ask Wrath.

  “Depends. Can we verify any of the stuff Hope said?”

  Z takes his seat again. “Yeah. Easy. I’ll hack into the school records and grab her transcripts. Take a look.” He glances at Rock. “Have Hope look ’em over?”

  Rock’s shoulders lift. “Rather not.”

  At the end of the table, Sparky bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe we’re talking about Charlotte’s transcripts. Like she’s applying for a fucking job or something.”

  Wrath pins me with a stern stare. “She is. Teller’s ol’ lady.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I stuck around after church and drank one too many with my brothers. Our way of patching things up after a heated afternoon at the table.

  “She’s not like any other woman I’ve been with, ya know?” My words slither out slurred. Or maybe my ears are slurring. Don’t know.

  “Let me give you a tip,” Wrath says, leaning in like he’s about to toss some serious knowledge my way. “Don’t say that to her. Ever.”

  “Why? It’s a compliment.”

  “Doesn’t matter. No woman wants to think you’re comparing her to someone else you fucked.”

  “She knows I’ve—”

  Z decides to add his two cents. “Take a few seconds and picture her with someone else.”

  Drunk as I am, my blood shoots to boil. Wrath points a big finger in my face. “See.”

  “Chicks feel the same way,” Dex adds.

  I paste on a cocky smirk. “I’m the best she’s ever had.”

  Wrath snorts. “Yeah, that’s great. Still, I’m warning you. You’re inviting a shit storm of trouble if you say that to her.”

  Murphy’s been quiet through this whole exchange. “Got anything to add, Mr. Perfect?” I ask.

  He seems startled by the question. “Why the hell would you ask me?”

  “Because you were a bigger whore than I ever was.”

  “Fuck you.” He shoves me backward. “That’s not even true.”

  “I think you’re equally whore-iffic,” Sparky says, laughing at his ridiculous joke.

  Talking about Charlotte is making me miss Charlotte.

  Earlier she said she and Carter were watching movies and eating pizza and I figured I should give them some brother-sister time without being in the way.

  Since I’m in no condition to drive anyway, I stumble over to the bar.

  Swan peers up at me, a slight curve to her pink lips.

  “Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “How you been, Swan.” I definitely slur her name.

  Without asking what I want, she plunks a glass in front of me and raises an eyebrow. “Jack and Coke?”

  I nod and signal for her to stop at one finger of Jack. Her smile fades and she meets my eyes. “You seem happier lately.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “You’re taking less Jack in your Coke these days.” She takes in the way I’m slumped over the bar. “Or at least you were.”

  “Yeah.”

  She touches my hand briefly. “Good. Where’s your girl tonight?”

  The fact that Swan doesn’t seem to know about Charlotte and Trinity’s spat, means Trinity hasn’t told anyone. Something I’ll have to thank her for later.

  “Home.”

  I stumble back to the couch, throwing myself down and closing my eyes.

  “Welterweight!” Wrath shouts in my ear. Fucker can outdrink every single one of us.

  Someone—probably Sparky—sparks a lighter near my head and the sweetly distinct scent of marijuana fills my nose. “Wakey-wakey time to bakey.”

  Yup, definitely Sparky.

  “Get that out of my face,” I mumble.

  The couch dips next to me. “You need a ride downtown?” Murphy asks.

  I crack open one eye. “Why’re you still here instead of home with the wifey?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Because you’re here for once. I didn’t think you’d get shitfaced off two beers and pass out like a little bitch.”

  “It was more like ten cocktails,” Sparky adds helpfully.

  “I’m good,” I say to Murphy, ignoring Sparky. “I’m staying.”

  “How’s PT going?”

  “Think I’m as good as I’m gonna get. Before you ask, yes, Violet cleared me to ride again.”

  Murphy wraps his arm around my neck in a light chokehold, pulling me closer. “What the fuck!? Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

  “Brother, if you don’t let go, I’m gonna puke on you.”

  He releases me and shoves me back.

  “Fuck,” I grumble. I wait for my head to stop spinning before continuing. “She said it could help strengthen my knee and thigh more,” I explain, running a hand over my leg.

  “That’s good.” He grins at me. “Tomorrow?”

  “I’ll see how I feel.”

  “Weather’s supposed to be clear the next two days.”

  “Don’t badger me.” I glance around. Sparky’s baked and I doubt any of our conversation penetrated his stoner bubble. “Don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  I must drift out again, because the next time I open my eyes, Wrath’s sitting next to me with Trinity in his lap. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Well, hello sleepyhead,” she says.

  Wrath glances over. “I’m calling you lightweight from now on.”

  I crook my finger at Trinity and she leans down toward me. “What?” she whispers.

  “Thank you for not…saying anything about what happened. With Charlotte.”

  She seems surprised. “It’s done and over with, Teller. Charlotte and I talked it out. We’re fine.”

  “I really like her a lot.”

  “I can tell,” she says in a teasing voice. Her features smooth into a more serious expression. “She really likes you too.”

  “I’m gonna patch her and marry her.”

  Her lips curve up. “Well, she’s certainly got pluck. I’ll be proud to call her a sister.”

  It’s probably just the alcohol tightening my throat, making it impossible to form a response.

  “What, no dicknotizer tonight?” Mercy teases as she sets a box of pizza on my kitchen table.

  “You have got to stop with that.”

  Carter scowls in Mercy’s direction. “Yeah, vulnerable ears in the room, you know.”

  She ruffles his hair. “Don’t be jealous because your sister’s getting it regularly.”

  “Do you actually hear the words that come out of your mouth?” Carter mumbles around
a mouthful of pizza.

  Her phone goes off and she ignores it, plopping into a chair and taking a slice of pizza instead. When it rings a second time, I raise an eyebrow.

  “It’s my dad. He wants me to get to know this big, surly fireman, but every time I try talking to him, I just want to punch him in the mouth.”

  “Sounds like love.” I snicker behind my napkin and she throws a piece of crust at me.

  “Shut up.”

  “Wait, is your dad trying to whore you out for votes?” Carter asks.

  Not offended at all, Mercy shrugs. “Pretty much.”

  Carter wrinkles his nose. “Jeez, and I thought our biker family was fucked up.”

  “Politicians are just a different shade of criminal,” Mercy says.

  This conversation’s making me uncomfortable for reasons I don’t fully understand, so I get up and throw out my paper plate and start cleaning up the table.

  I really miss Marcel.

  Then, I’m mentally kicking my own ass, because dammit, I’m an independent woman who can spend a night with family and friends instead of my boyfriend.

  “Earth to Charlotte. What movie do you want to watch?”

  “Uh, pick out whatever you want. I’ll be right back.”

  Weak. Fuck, I can’t go more than a few hours without hearing his voice. I mentally berate myself the whole time I’m dialing his number and waiting for him to pick up the call.

  He answers by slurring my name as a greeting.

  “’Sup?”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Yesh.”

  I’ve never seen Marcel anything other than in complete control, and it’s cute listening to him slur his way through our conversation.

  “How was your day?”

  “Action-packed,” he says, then laughs.

  “Is that code for club business?”

  “Kinda. Hang on a second, I want to go upstairs so I can hear you better.”

  “Oh. Is there a party?”

  “When isn’t there?”

  A few minutes later, it’s quieter on his end. “That’s better. What are you wearing?”

  I can’t help it, the corny question makes me laugh.

  “Never mind. I’m gonna picture you in that pink-nipple-unicorn tank top.”