Cutter's Claim: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 2)

by Monique Moreau

  “Good to see you again, Christine. I’ve read over your paperwork, but I’d like to hear, in your own words, what’s happened.” Greta held up her clipboard and pen. “I may take notes, but anything I write is strictly for myself and Sage. Do you remember what I told you before?”

  “Everything I tell you is confidential. You will share it with Ms. Cameron and no one else unless I give you permission.”

  Okaaay, that was a word-for-word recitation.

  “I’m glad to know that you’ve been paying attention, but remember, you may call her Sage.”

  Christine whooshed out a breath, although she had not entirely surrendered her intense grip on the worn purse on her lap. “When it comes to this, I’m always gonna pay attention.”

  Greta gave her a soft smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

  Twitching her skirt into place once more, she crossed her ankles, the tip of her pen poised against the clipped sheet of paper. “Just pretend I don’t know the details of your case and start.”

  “Sage helped my brother, Jackie that is, stay out of the pen after he smashed up my asshole of a husband’s face.” Christine flinched. “Against a brick wall. Messed him up pretty good. I screamed for him to get off and tried pulling him away. I didn’t want the brother I love to get into trouble for my stupid mistake. You see, what my husband did to me, my father did to our mom, and Jackie couldn’t stop himself. I tried hiding it from him, I did.”

  Fury thrummed through Greta’s blood. The part about Christine’s father gutted her. In a previous interview, Jackie told Sage straight-out that if Christine wasn’t taken care of, he’d be back with another assault charge or worse. Without helping his sister, there was no helping Jackie. It led Sage to help Christine, and others like her, free of charge.

  At first, Greta hedged. She wasn’t a trained social worker, but a paralegal, and she didn’t want to get vicariously fucked up by working with a survivor. Like now. Greta paced her breathing to keep her pulse steady.

  Wringing her hands, words tumbled out of Christine. “My husband won’t leave me alone, and if he doesn’t, someone’s going to end up dead. For once, I’m afraid for his safety, because Jackie will kill him. I was stupid enough to fall for a loser, and I’m paying the price. Jackie shouldn’t have to. You know how my brother is.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. A sob slipped out.

  Greta seized her hand. “Christine.” She squeezed hard enough to cause her a twinge of pain. “Take a deep breath.”

  Instead, Christine released a storm of sobs, and her purse toppled off her lap. Greta deftly picked it up and placed it on the table before caressing her back. Tears pricked at the back of Greta’s eyes. After a few minutes, she didn’t know how much more she could take, so she firmly shook Christine’s shoulders.

  “It’s not your fault. Wipe that thought from your mind. Abusers are experts at manipulation and putting the blame on their victims. If you want to save yourself and your brother, it’s going to be a tough fight. But, trust me, it’s winnable.”

  Her professional demeanor almost broke, but she clamped her lips shut to keep from confiding that she’d once been in the same position. Perhaps she hadn’t taken the physical blows, but she’d lived in a world of violence. Hers was a story of escape and survival. Of starting over and building her life from scratch. Of success in creating a new life. Despite her resurrection, fear was imbedded in the marrow of her bones.

  Shaking off her nervousness, she said, “Breathe with me.”

  Nodding weakly, Christine breathed alongside her.

  “Again,” Greta directed. They took the second breath in unison. “Let’s do a one-minute breathing exercise.”

  Greta closed her eyes and concentrated on the center of her forehead. Their inhalations and exhalations overtook the room. Sixty seconds seemed excruciatingly long, but they got through them together. Her heart rate was unsteady, but at least when she opened her eyes, her focus was back.

  “Are you ready?” She didn’t bother to ask Christine if she felt better. That was a ridiculous question. Her long fingernail tapped the papers balanced on her knees.

  “Why don’t we start with going through the legal forms allowing our law firm to represent you? Then, we’ll return to this. Please take out any documents you were told to bring and put them on the table, and I’ll go through them one by one. I understand that you’re out of the house and staying with a co-worker. Great first step. And you’ve changed your cell phone number. If we’re lucky, you won’t see him again until the court date.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen. He’s sworn up and down that he’ll never let me go and he’s already stopped by my workplace once. Made a hell of a scene. It’s only a matter of time before he strikes again.”

  “Let’s get through this paperwork, and then we’ll work on other ideas,” Christine said, blowing out a huge breath.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “We’ve established contacts with organizations who have committed to working with us. I’m going to give you the contact info of a great social worker. Her name is Abby, and she already knows about you. You should call her and set up a meeting within the next few days to create a safety plan for you. You’ll have access to a support group and a therapist. But, Christine? No matter how much support you have, you’re going to want to go back to him a hundred times over.”

  Christine’s eyes widened and her eyebrows touched her hairline “How could you tell?”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  The statistics were dreary. It took survivors several times, sometimes many times, to ride the merry-go-round of hell before they got off for good.

  Boundaries. The stories walking through the door were going to get worse. How would she handle seeing a kid with a busted lip or broken bones? She had to stick to her part of the script, the legal part. That’s the only way she could make a difference.

  “Right then, let’s get to it,” she said.

  Once they were done with their consultation, Greta walked into the reception area and nodded to Sage, who gave her a worried look. Her heart hammered against her breastbone and sweat plastered her shirt to her skin.

  Man, did she need a breather. Good time to get lunch. Knowing Sage, they’d both be starving by the time Christine left.

  ※※※

  Greta joggled a large paper bag of takeout on her knee as she shimmied the front door closed. Whew, no clients. After depositing the bag on her desk in the reception room, she locked the door in case of a wayward client. Implementing a policy to close the office for half an hour for lunch had been a struggle, but otherwise Sage would never take a break to eat. It had the added perk of getting Kingdom out of her hair, because he’d made it a habit to randomly check in on Sage to make sure she took care of herself.

  Greta was setting out the various containers when Sage emerged from her office. Dragging a visitor’s chair across the carpeted floor, she sat down with an oomph. A whiff from an open container drifted up. Shooting Greta a brilliant smile, she said, “Yummy, I’m starving.” Armed with chopsticks in one hand and a spoon in the other, Sage scooped up a spoonful of broth, and blew on it.

  “How’d it go? For you, I mean,” asked Sage.

  Through a mouthful of rice, Greta garbled out, “Alright, I guess.”

  Sage wrangled a serving of pho noodles with her chopsticks and spoon. Between slurps, she asked, “Want to debrief?”

  “I like the way you use rice noodles as a perfect foil to poke around my head without being blatantly intrusive.”

  Sage clutched her string of fake pearls and gave her a look of horror. “How dare you suggest that I use food for anything but nourishment? Getting my favorite dish from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant is a form of obstruction and a low blow. Even for you.”

  “Okay, okay, lawyer lady, I’ll stipulate to that count. Listening to the details was rough. So many details,” her voice ended in
a low whisper. Her head and shoulders drooped. Spine curling inward as if she could coil into a tight ball, the adrenaline in her system crashed, leaving her a little woozy. “I went over her documents and gathered more evidence. Then we covered how to keep her safe. Well, as safe as she’s willing to be.”

  A furrow broke the smooth skin between Sage’s brows.

  Greta assured her, “She’s going to yo-yo. Get back together with him, then leave, come back, leave again. The typical cycle.”

  “It’s true, the process is long and arduous, but at least we’re part of the solution.” Leaning over, she grasped Greta’s hand. “Anytime you need a break, I’ll cover for you. Time we recruit volunteers and train them, because we’ll need help. And to give you space if you need to step away for a while.”

  Sage was amazing. Sophisticated, sharp as a tack, with intuition and empathy in spades.

  “Why don’t you take a break this afternoon,” suggested Sage. “There’s not much going on.”

  Greta stifled a huff. “Yeah, right, you’re overloaded as it is.”

  “You with your savior complex. Take the afternoon off and let me feed my inner monster with work. Anyway, Kingdom’s coming over later to pick me up.”

  “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? It relieves me of playing babysitter.”

  Sage gave Greta a saucy wink and gestured with her chopsticks in the air. “You act as if he has magical powers.”

  Greta snorted out, “He’s a biker, so yeah, I’d say he does. Especially when it comes to you.”

  Sage snatched a carton before Greta could put it away and said, “Just go before I get angry at your assumption that he can rein me in.”

  Greta came around and gave Sage a quick hug. With a peck on her head, she grabbed her purse from under her desk. Shrugging on her biker jacket, she unlocked the front door and said, “Alright, I’m off.”

  “Go to a library or a used bookstore. I’m sure you’ll find a treasure trove to add to your colossal collection at home.”

  Her plan was to go browse alright, but not for books. Window-shopping at the Harley Davidson dealership was on the menu. Some people went to church, some went to yoga. She went to look at bikes to re-charge.

  Chapter Three

  Cutter was late meeting Kingdom. He’d stayed longer than he intended, sparring with Puck at a boxing gym they were checking out as an investment for the club. His thigh muscles screamed from overworking them. A week had passed since his conversation with Puck about Prez’s condition, and he’d been working out harder than usual to burn off the irritation churning in his gut.

  Normally, he wasn’t one to hurry, but he lengthened his strides on his way to his bike. Passing by the Utica Coffeehouse and Bar, he did a double take and screeched to a halt. From the other side of the windowpane, a pair of brilliant green eyes stared out at him on the busy avenue and quickly snapped away. Too late. The instant their eyes connected, a deep burn seized his muscles as if he’d caught a fever. He had to meet her.

  Fuck me.

  She was fucking beautiful. Those lively eyes of hers popped out of a heart-shaped face. Straight black hair cascaded down to her rib cage, pink ends brushing a leather bustier. Better yet, the bustier showed off the tops of plump tits. Which he appreciated since the rest of her was encased in a bulky sweater. Damn, he’d suck and bite those tits of hers for days.

  Her almond-shaped eyes swept his way again, pinning him in place. Cutter broke into a wide grin. This one looked like she was about to spit fire. After a moment’s hesitation, her lips tilted upward slightly, and that small smile of hers cinched his balls like a harness.

  The pretty girl pivoted to speak to the person by her side, and his scalp pricked at her dismissal. At the edge of his vision, her friend waved in his direction, attempting to get his attention.

  Sage. With an excited smile, she urged him to join them. Hell yeah, perfect timing. This was his chance to press Sage into service before Prez left for radiation. He grabbed his cell and sent off a text to postpone his meeting with Kingdom by an hour. Didn’t hurt that he’d get a closer look at the green-eyed woman with tits that made a man quick to sin. And he was a sinner down to his core.

  Once inside, he bent down to smack a kiss on Sage’s upturned cheek. Pulling back, he inspected her.

  “Whattup? You look mighty fine today,” Cutter complimented smoothly.

  “You’re such a flirt,” Sage chided. “We just finished up in court and ate lunch before heading back to the office.”

  Sage’s eyes gleamed with purpose, as if she was giving him the go-ahead with her friend. Interesting. Not that Sage’s approval mattered, because he was on the bitch’s scent, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to be put off by anyone.

  “I don’t think you’ve met Greta. Although, I’m sure you’ve heard of her,” Sage guessed accurately.

  Greta. Sage’s personal warrior bitch.

  His jaws clanked like a steel trap. This was the same woman who’d hidden Sage away in some bumfuck state near Canada when she skipped town on Kingdom.

  Greta eyed him, her plump red lips on the brink of a snarl, daring him to step to her. She stood up to Kingdom, toe to toe, after he’d fucked up with Sage. During their confrontation, Kingdom had come down hard on Greta. Not only did she refuse to give up Sage’s location, but she told him to fuck off along with choice words about his behavior. Truth was, she’d done her job too well, because Cutter’s efforts to find Kingdom’s woman had also failed, and he was a tracker, dammit. Pissed him off that he’d rescued soldiers held hostage in Iraq but couldn’t track down one bitch in his own damn country.

  This, then, was the infamous Greta.

  Cutter jiggled the long keychain attached to the wallet in his back pocket. Like a dog whistle, the jingling put this woman on full alert. Her chest rose and fell like bellows. Coincidence? Not if his life depended on it. His fingers twitched with the desire to redden her ass. He could sniff out a subbie in Times Square on a rowdy New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight.

  She’d caught his knowing smirk and scowled like a pit bull ready to maul him. Little did she know pit bulls were his favorite breed. He had a talent for making them straight-up docile in his hands.

  He braced one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, caging her. Fenced in, her gaze fell on the prominent veins snaking around his forearm, lined with tattoos. Feisty Greta liked what she was seeing. Bending low, until there was but a mere inch separating them, he murmured, “So. You’re Greta.”

  He drew in a breath and her scent hit him like a tsunami. Caramel notes of burnt sugar, mixed with cinnamon and spice. She averted her bright eyes and nonchalantly picked at imaginary lint on her skirt. Biting down on his lower lip, he nudged her. “Aren’t you a pretty little girl?”

  Her body went as taut as a leather restraint. “I’m no one’s ‘girl.’”

  A challenge? He hadn’t had a test in a long-ass time. Game. Fuckin’. On.

  “Do you mind? You’re being rude,” Sage interjected, as she patted the seat beside her.

  “Sure thing, babe.” Cutter dragged the chair Sage motioned to and placed it right up against Greta. He eased back in it and draped his arm around the back of hers. “I’d do anything for you. After all, you’re the Squad’s number one old lady.”

  “Why bikers insist on calling their girlfriends and wives ‘old ladies,’ I will never understand. Either way, we are not having this conversation again.”

  “Sweetheart, make our lives easier and just accept the fact that you’re our savior.”

  “Nothing has changed,” she huffed.

  “See, you’re wrong there. The writing is on the fuckin’ wall. It’s happening.”

  Switching her gaze from one to the other, Greta queried, “What’s going on?”

  Sage bowed her head, intently focused on her empty cappuccino cup, and fiddled with the spoon. “Cutter is leading a campaign to convince Kingdom to become president.”

 
; Greta’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? Why haven’t you mentioned this before? That’s a huge step, you know. It will affect every aspect of your life, including the time you have for your cases.” She held her breath before adding, “And our other project.”

  Sage looked up at her beseechingly. “Exactly. Kingdom hasn’t said much on the subject, so this is a Cutter pipe dream.” Muttering low, she finished, “Hopefully.” Squinting up at Cutter, Sage complained, “Since when do you get riled up about club politics, anyway? That is simply not your MO.”

  Cutter gave her a shit-eating grin. “I saw a need, and I got involved. Time to suck it up, babe.”

  Sage’s mouth fell open. “Who are you? And bring back the Cutter I know.”

  “Times are a changin’. You’ll end up doing it my way.” He added a wink to his smug smile.

  Greta thrust the butt of her palms against Cutter’s chest. His heat clung to her fingers, and she clenched her jaws to keep from curling them over his pecs. “It’s not good for her to get embroiled in the Squad more than necessary. Old lady to the VP is one thing but being the senior female of an entire MC is a completely different scenario.”

  Cutter deadpanned, “This is club business.”

  “Whatever. Sage isn’t getting caught up with criminals. Not on my watch.”

  His eyes bored into hers, and he chastised, “Manners, little girl. Watch them or I’ll take you over my knee. That what you want? Because that’s what you’re in for if you don’t watch the attitude.”

  Clenching her fists, she banged them on the table, her voice unsteady. “You’ll do better to kill me than lift a finger to any part of me.”

  ※※※

  Holy hell.

  The biker staring her down from the street moments ago was looming over her like a grizzly bear. She was so close to blowing up. The only thing holding her back was the disapproval vibrating off him. Nervous tension pulsated in her gut. Sage reached out to place her hand over Greta’s shaking fists.