A Good Girl's BIKER Baby_A Forbidden Baby Romance

by Cherise West

  “Scott will wisen up after he sees how right I am about you in court,” I whisper, simpering smugly.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, from what you say, he’s a dick anyway,” Tony states bluntly. “Lucky I don’t march in and knock him out.”

  “He sure is,” I sigh musically, lamenting that Tony can’t do just that. “No punching, though. We’ll punch him verbally. Legally, I guess. Tomorrow. I’m sure the bar association will want to hang me from the highest tree,” I sigh, “but I can deal with them if it means exposing the truth. Recusing myself should count for a lot. It’s the right thing to do, after all.”

  “Everything set up, then?” Tony asks gruffly, throwing his leg over and straddling his bike.

  “Almost,” I respond, starting to mount the bike behind him. “I managed to convince Greg and Renee. Greg says he managed to get confessions, and he’s willing to believe that I’m right about you.”

  “Are you?” he asks.

  “I think I am,” I smile, holding onto his waist.

  “Good. I’m starting to like the honesty thing,” he grudgingly admits. “Is that all?”

  “Not all, but close,” I say, holding tight to Tony’s waist as he prepares to rev his bike to life. “Just waiting for a call from…”

  BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ.

  The vibrations pulsing in my jacket pocket, I hurriedly grasp my phone. I see the name; one I’d normally dread, one that any other day would send my eyes spiraling into an annoyed roll. Today, though, he’s come through for me. Again. I guess I owe him at least one drink, don’t I?

  “Lukas,” I answer cheerily. “Glad you got back to me.”

  “Mara! Girl, I knew eventually you’d give in and call me,” he announces excitedly, that used car salesman sleaze thick as always in his curious sense of charm. “So you wanna get a drink?”

  “Flattering as always, Lukas,” I sigh,” but this call’s about business. Remember the favor I mentioned I wanted you to do for me?”

  “Oh, yeah! Uh, work, right,” I hear shuffling on the other end of the phone. Poor, sweet Lukas, actually thought I was calling to beg him for a date or something. “So, uh, a favor— something about the…” he stops, gulps. Collects himself. “You wanted to get me involved in that Wardogs mess, didn’t you. I told you, boo, you shouldn’t be— god, you didn’t tell them my name did you? Or where I work?!”

  “Calm down, hero, you aren’t sticking your neck out or anything,” I sigh. “I’ll come by for a meeting at your office later today, okay?”

  “Oh, a meeting, huh girl?” he chimes lewdly.

  “I’m bringing my lover with me,” I state nonplussed.

  “You— lover? You have a guy?” he asks.

  “It’s Tony St. James,” I add.

  “Tony St.— you mean the Wardogs— okay. Wait,” he stammers. I snicker into the phone.

  “We’ll be by later.”

  “Mara, pl—” I hang up.

  “You have weird taste in friends,” Tony rolls his eyes, kicking the Harley to life.

  “I’m sure we can convince him to help us,” I reassure Tony.

  “If you say so,” he shrugs.

  “I do,” I smile, kissing him on the neck.

  “I almost forget,” he revs the bike once, “check the saddlebag. There’s something in there for you.”

  “Oh?” my brow perks, and I gleefully unlatch the wide leather case hung near the rear of Tony’s Harley. From within I pull a folded bundle of leather; pulling its sleeves, I realize it’s a leather jacket, smaller than Tony’s, patched with a sun-worn Wardogs MC patch.

  “See if it fits,” he insists; I hurriedly throw the jacket over my shoulders and slip my arms into the sleeves. I smile broadly.

  “It’s snug. Perfect,” I chime. “Did you get this for me?”

  “It’s one of my old jackets. I figured it’d fit,” he teases. “I haven’t worn it since I was fourteen. Probably about your size.”

  “Hey!” I exclaim, hitting him on the shoulder again. “What’re you trying to say?”

  “What? I was right, wasn’t I?” he smirks. “I like it on you. Do you like it?”

  “I do,” I nod.

  “Good. Better be wearing it when we ride,” he commands.

  “Where are we riding?” I ask, curious.

  “Wherever,” he breathes out duskily, kicking up the kickstand for the bike. “Wherever we want. Whenever.”

  Chapter 22

  “So, Mara. I’m going in there, head to head with your boss, lead prosecutor in Jersey City. And I’m going to be reading… this, as defense attorney for the leader of the most notorious biker gang in the city. Okay,” Lukas takes a deep breath, straightening his tie. “…And you think this is going to work, why? I mean, you are trying to get him off, right?” Interns and staffers rush through the hall; lawyers congregate in small piles along the courthouse’s narrow corridors, with media personnel buzzing about in heavy makeup and cheap suits. It’s the busiest I’ve seen the courthouse in a long time, my nerves flitting each time I see a semi-familiar face. Dressed down in black slacks and a blouse, I feel positively naked without a suit jacket, a mug of coffee and bags under my eyes. I smile pleasantly at each lawyer I recognize; I catch the scent of real sleaze, noticing Lisa Marino in a leggy skirt brushing past Lukas with a sneer offered to me as she passes. Lukas watches her, mesmerized.

  “You should be worrying less about wicked witches and more about the case, Lukas,” I snap him out of his trance.

  “I’m— I’m trying! She’s just… you know,” he shakes the cobwebs away. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t want her Lukas,” I smirk. “Actually, on second thought, maybe you do. She might be just your type. But we can worry about that after court, okay? Right now, I need you to tell me you know what’s going to happen. And you’re ready to ask those questions, up on the stand.”

  “Stone’s going to go nuts, though, if we veer off script,” Lukas responds. “Maybe we should—”

  “Lukas, do you care about what Scott Stone wants? I’d be surprised if he even has the stones to do it himself, and not just force Shapiro to give the arguments,” I hiss.

  “Oh, no, I’m here, and I’m quite ready, and excited, about doing exactly what I told you I’d be doing,” I hear Scott’s voice from behind me; Lukas winces sympathetically. “Ms. Lewis! My loyal employee. How’s your maternity leave going?”

  “Maternity leave?” Lukas asks. “Yo, what? Mara, you’re pregnant?”

  “Oh, she didn’t tell you? A wonderful occasion, isn’t it?” Scott walks between Lukas and I, beaming sarcastically. “This wouldn’t happen to be Mr. St. James’s attorney, would it? Lukas… Porter, was it?”

  “I’m still stuck on, ‘Mara’s pregnant’, can we rewind for a sec?” Lukas blinks.

  “I thought Ms. Lewis had recused herself from these proceedings, but I guess not,” Scott scolds.

  “I’m going to be in the gallery, just like you wanted me to be,” I smile facetiously at Scott.

  “Maybe you can interrupt the guilty verdict with screams about your water breaking?” Scott grimaces. “Convenient, right? Almost as convenient as you, meeting with your lover - the leader of a notorious biker gang - his lawyer?”

  “Classy as always Scott. I guess we’ll see you in the courtroom,” I state defiantly.

  “I guess so. Andrew says hi, by the way,” he adds, dragging himself sluglike down the hall.

  “What a creep. That’s your boss?” Lukas asks, before double-taking. “Wait, didn’t he say you were pregnant? I’m still lost. What the hell is going on, boo-boo?”

  “We can talk about it over a drink at Muriel’s with Tony after court’s finished, okay? Just stick to the stuff we agreed to,” I reassure him.

  “A drink, sure— wait, you shouldn’t be drinking if you’re pregnant,” Lukas adds; I sigh, laughing softly.

  “I didn’t say I was going to drink, Lukas, just keep your head clear, okay?” I remind him.

>   “Hey,” I hear the baritone murmur before his arms wrap around my waist and his lips meet my neck. I melt back against him, eyelids fluttering as Tony’s embrace gives me some sense of peace among this chaos. “Hearing’s soon, right?”

  “Of course. I’m glad you got here in time,” I sass him. “Would have a lot of trouble coming our way if you hadn’t.”

  “Smart mouth,” he taunts. “I’ll deal with you later,” he threatens with a dirty grin; I return the gesture. God, I hope he does. He eyes Lukas warily. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “No,” Lukas responds, “not really. I didn’t know she was pregnant,” he gestures to me.

  “Does that change anything?” Tony grunts, almost threatening.

  “Oh, uhh, I-I mean, no, I guess not, not really. You’re still innocent, and all, so I guess— sorry,” Lukas stammers. Sufficiently satisfied his thinly-veiled threat has done its job, Tony shifts from angry back to ambivalent.

  “Good,” Tony snorts. Footsteps loom towards us and I look up to meet the gaze of Bart Savage, the broad-shouldered bailiff. He glares suspiciously at Tony, still holding me from behind, his fists tightening.

  “Hearing begins in ten minutes. Thought you’d want to know, Ms. Lewis,” he booms, still skeptically watching Tony. “Everything okay here?”

  “Hey, Bart. I’m not actually here to work today, funny enough, just to sit in the gallery, and watch,” I smile.

  “You’re here. To watch,” he repeats. “To watch. Isn’t today the boss of the Wardogs’ trial?”

  “That’d be me. Former boss, actually,” Tony answers icily.

  “She’s here. To watch. And you’re. Oh,” Bart blinks. “Ooooh. Okay. I didn’t. Well, I didn’t expect that.”

  “She’s pregnant, too!” Lukas exclaims; I slap him against the shoulder.

  “Jeez, you want to tell all of Jersey City?” I hiss.

  “Well, I mean. Don’t you? Don’t chicks go crazy for that pregnancy stuff?” Lukas shrugs.

  “You’ve got a lot left to learn, Lukas,” I sigh. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

  “I’m ready if you’re ready,” Lukas organizes his mess of papers. “I think, anyway. Maybe I’m not. If I get disbarred over anything, though, I’m coming to you looking for a new job, Mara.”

  “You won’t. You ready?” I glance over my shoulder at Tony.

  “Don’t think anyone’s ever ready for a criminal hearing, Mara. But I’ll try my best.”

  “Remember how you told me you were really enjoying honesty?” I say.

  “It was a joke, Mara. I’m honest most of the time,” he grunts.

  “Well, good. That’s all you need to do here, then, too. And we’ll all get through this.”

  “Prelim hearing for criminal charges against Mr. St. James. You’re up, fellas,” Bart announces, glancing at his watch. Scott brushes past us, a wicked smile on his lips as he disappears into the courtroom behind Bart.

  “That guy’s an ass,” Tony frowns. “Let’s get that smirk off his face.”

  “Agreed,” I nod anxiously.

  “Agreed, too. I think,” Lukas adds, the three of us walking towards the courtroom door.

  Chapter 23

  “Okay, before us then, the case of… the people of the state of New Jersey vs. Anthony St. James. Mr. St. James, you’ve already been arraigned and are aware of the charges against you, correct?” Of course, Tony’s case had to fall into Yance’s hands. If this had happened two months ago, and it had been me sitting at that table, bubbling over with righteous rage at the thought of putting Tony St. James away and watching the Wardogs crumble and rot away, there’s no one in this building I’d rather have on that bench besides Hires Yance.

  Of course, fate saw things go differently. Now, I watch with a nervous, pounding heart from the gallery, half-hidden from the judge’s bench by the gallery wall. Drawn no doubt by the name and his leadership of the Wardogs splashed across every publication from New York City to Cumberland County, a sizable crowd stuffs the rows of benches, quiet chatter curiously contemplating the eventual fate of a man renowned as the heir to a notorious club of hellraisers who’ve spent years terrorizing my home.

  Everything feels wrong. Me, in the gallery; Lukas Porter, of all people, in front of Judge Yance. Scott Stone making the arguments I would’ve been making months ago, against someone I would have considered a mortal enemy.

  It feels so wrong. But sometimes the truth can sting, can’t it?

  “I know the charges, your honor,” Tony responds. I can still sense the defiance in his tone, but at least he took my advice; once I found Yance was running the trial, I made sure to coach Tony on your honor etiquette. We can at least avoid a contempt of court issue, hopefully.

  “Good. Arms and drug trafficking charges pose a significant chance of lengthy jail time. Of course, that also imposes a significant burden on the state to make a case for what evidence, exactly, exists to prove probable cause that your arrest presents grounds for a trial. What have you got for me, state?” Yance’s gaze shifts to the other table. To my surprise, Scott takes the floor, pacing, beginning to bloviate in the manner that Scott so often prefers in the rare instances he actually does work in the courtroom. He makes sure to give me a quick smile, peering through the gallery at me, before he begins to present his case in as grandiose a fashion as he can muster.

  “Your honor, there’s an astounding amount of evidence on the state’s side regarding Mr. St. James’s complicity in a sting operation headed by Jersey City PD detective Greg Valence,” he begins; it’s always Scott’s style to try to play dramatic, though he comes across as a bag of wind. “Most striking, however, are the logs between an account set up specifically to catch Mr. St. James, on Facebook, and the exchange which organized the setup and the sting.”

  “Is Mr. Valence in court today to testify as to the nature of this operation?” Judge Yance asks.

  “I was just about to ask that,” Lukas calls out. “I don’t see any detectives here, much less detectives with a history of harassing men associated with the Roarin’ Wardogs motorcycle club.”

  “Really?” Scott glances back through the gallery towards me.

  “Mr. Stone, the question is a pretty fundamental one. Are you looking to the audience for support? Perhaps someone in the gallery went to law school?” Yance jabs at him, Scott, drawing from the lawyer a furious glare.

  “No, your honor, apologies. Mr. Valence couldn’t make the hearing today, but the evidence, including the logs between an account owned by Mr. St. James and the dummy account set up for the sting, are presented here as convincing evidence that we have questions a jury really ought to be answering.”

  “Explain this sting operation to me,” Yance shifts in his chair as he speaks. “I’m not too familiar with these computer chats. You’ll have to show me why this is convincing evidence.”

  “Your honor if I may,” Lukas exclaims, shooting up from his chair. Fingers folded together, they start to tap nervously as I watch the argument unfold.

  “You may not,” Yance responds with commanding authority.

  “I may… not? Your honor,” Lukas insists.

  “I believe Judge Yance said you may not,” Scott snidely interrupts Lukas. My stomach turns. Come on, Lukas. If that was me, I’d tell anyone - even Yance - to stuff it. Lukas might come off as a smartass and an ineffectual jerk, but I know he’s got it in him to challenge this.

  “Mr. Stone I don’t need you banging my gavel for me,” Yance rumbles. “In fact, perhaps Mr. Porter is right,” Yance bellows; Scott freezes in his tracks, blinking. The schadenfreude of watching Yance eviscerate him the way Yance eviscerated Shapiro and I practically every week brings a pleased sigh to my lips. “Mr. Porter, I changed my mind. You may.”

  “Your honor—” Scott interrupts.

  “Mr. Stone, you’ve already upset me, and you’re going to continue? I’d advise against it,” Yance sternly warns. Scott marches back to his table, giving Andr
ew the face. I know that face; the face contorted in rage, the one that pops up so often when a judge or official is tearing a new hole in Scott, embarrassing him in front of the court. Of course, Scott doesn’t spare me a sneering glance across the gallery. I smile, as innocently as possible.

  “Yes, your honor,” Lukas nods, holding up the sheet of paper he and I had discussed. “While I’m aware this is an evidentiary hearing, your honor, and still far off from an official trial date,” he looks back at the people gathered in the gallery, sounding surprisingly professional for a man more interested in liquor and one-night stands than affidavits or briefs. “I feel that given the sensitive nature of the charge before Mr. St. James and the highly salient public interest in the ongoing investigation of the Roarin’ Wardogs MC, that I might ask Tony a few questions.”

  “I don’t want a circus in my court, Mr. Porter,” Yance groans.

  “No circus, your honor, just a few earnest questions about the supposed evidence the state has against my client. Perfectly acceptable for a prelim hearing, yes?” Lukas asks rhetorically.

  “If I hear anything that displeases me, Mr. Porter; even a hint of a circus act, and we’re going to have a problem.”

  “I understand, your honor, I understand,” Lukas nods vigorously, “I just feel like… well, it’s a criminal court, isn’t it? You, I, Mr. Stone, the public — we all need to know the truth. Mr. St. James,” Lukas turns his gesturing arms towards Tony, “you have—”

  “Your honor, I don’t think this is appropriate for an evidentiary hearing,” Scott protests. “I have here, indisputable proof of probable cause for arrest—”

  “Mr. Stone, your protest is noted, and your voice is irritating,” Yance growls; I fight hard to stifle a giggle. “I don’t want to hear it again until I tell you otherwise. Mr. Porter, please.”

  “Yes, your honor. I’d like to ask Mr. St. James about his time outside of New Jersey. Mr. St. James, you left for the west coast several years ago, did you not?” Lukas asks. I can see Yance’s ire rising.