Tattered on My Sleeve

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I always assumed Z’s story would be next. But I’ve been bombarded with questions about Heidi and Murphy. I’m shocked by how many people are team Murphy. Like, passionately Team Murphy. Don’t get me wrong, I love Murphy too, but wow. Axel has some fans too (Mr. Lake being one of them) but not the way Murphy does. I laughed when people were arguing team Murphy or team Axel while I was writing Tattered, because I knew Murphy was a bit of a dick in this book.

  With some help from my crit partners I have a good idea of what Murphy, Heidi and Axel’s story is. It’s complicated and will take me some time to figure out and get right. I’d like to say expect On the Edge, (Lost Kings MC #6) in early 2016. I have a few other projects I’m working on as well, but the Lost Kings are still my first priority.

  I’m lucky to have some amazing readers who kept after me, very gently nudging me and prodding me about when Wrath’s book would be finished. I hope you know how much I appreciate it. I’m planning to attend at least two signings in 2016, so I hope I get to say hello to some of you in person.

  If I left you with unanswered questions, you know by now I did it on purpose.

  Thank you!

  Autumn

  If you’re curious about how the President of an MC and an attorney got together, here’s an excerpt from Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC #1), the beginning of Rock and Hope’s story.

  Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC, Book 1)

  Copyright © 2014 by Autumn Jones Lake.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9907945-0-9

  Print Book ISBN: 978-0-9907945-1-6

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lake, Autumn Jones

  Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC, Book 1) / Autumn Jones Lake

  PART ONE

  It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy in handcuffs.

  Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don't mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.

  True violence had never touched her life.

  Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.

  She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.

  She was kind. I didn't know any nice women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.

  None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.

  We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.

  She sat in the front row. I didn't hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I'd get bail.

  I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.

  The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, "Your attorney called to say he's running late." I nodded and mumbled a "thanks" without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?

  "Any other message?" I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He'd treated me with respect, hadn't tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I'd dealt with him before.

  My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.

  Holy shit.

  If I'd been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.

  The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.

  "Attorney Kendall?"

  "Yes, your honor." She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn't understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.

  I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn't show up soon, I'd be screwed.

  I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. "Can she represent me?"

  "I don't think she's a criminal attorney."

  "Just for the arraignment. To get me out."

  "I'll ask."

  The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.

  Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I'd been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I'd gotten picked up in a different county, I could have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.

  "Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?" the judge asked off the record.

  Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. "Uh, I'm not a criminal attorney, your honor," she stammered.

  "It's pretty simple. Mr. North's attorney got delayed. Don't make me appoint you," he teased.

  "Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?" she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

  "That's fine."

  The judge waved me over next to her. Her big
eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I'd been sitting there?

  "I can pay you," I whispered down to her.

  She looked startled. "It's okay. What are we dealing with?"

  I liked the way she said "we."

  "Weed."

  She gave me a blank stare.

  "Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts." Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.

  "Oh geez." She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn't sure.

  "Do you have a record?"

  "About a mile long."

  That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.

  "Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?"

  "Yes, yes, and yes."

  She didn't ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.

  "Your honor, I've had a chance to confer with my client."

  "Very well. Let’s call it."

  His clerk stood and read out, "The People of the State of New York versus Rochlan North." Look at that—the old gal even pronounced my first name right.

  My girl looked up at me again. My manners were shit. I’d never bothered to introduce myself, I guess.

  The judge slammed his gavel down. First time I’d heard him do it all morning. The sharp thwack broke the staring contest my pretty lawyer and I were engaged in.

  "Do you wish to hear the reading of the charges, counselor?"

  She hesitated for a minute, and the judge covered the microphone with his hand. "Usually the attorney waives the reading, Miss Kendall."

  "I know, your honor. Thank you. Yes, I'll waive the reading. May I have a copy of the charges for my file, though?"

  "Yes, of course. Do you wish to be heard on bail?"

  "Yes, your honor. My client assures me he can pay a reasonable sum. He's a hard-working family man, so it would be in society's best interest to allow him to continue to work and provide for his family while he waits to address these false charges."

  I'm proud to say I kept a straight face during all of that. She impressed me with her quick thinking, though. Criminal attorney or not, she was clever. I had a fondness for clever. Clever kept you alive.

  Cute and smart. I should get arrested more often.

  "Very well. Bail is set in the amount of five hundred dollars cash. If your client is able to post it now, he can be processed downstairs instead of going back to county."

  She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. I nodded and motioned my crew forward.

  "That's acceptable. Thank you, your honor."

  "Off the record," the judge said to the court reporter. He looked back up at my attorney. "See, that wasn't so hard, Miss Kendall." The judge's face lit up in a wolfish smile I didn't take kindly to. Already in my head, I'd laid claim to this woman whose first name I didn't even know.

  The sheriff came over and gripped my elbow.

  "Can't you remove the restraints, now?" she asked the sheriff with wide, pleading eyes.

  To say her request stunned me would be an understatement. No one had ever given a crap about my discomfort.

  The sheriff did not look surprised. He answered her gently. "No counselor, not till he's posted the bail money. You can meet us downstairs." He nodded toward the guys standing behind the banister. "His posse can show you the way."

  She hesitated, and I read the expression on her face loud and clear. She didn't want to follow my crew anywhere. In fact, she looked like she wanted to run away.

  "Go ahead, I'll be fine." I appreciated that she'd given it a try. Sheriffs wouldn’t break protocol no matter how owl-eyed innocent she acted. It sure turned me on, though. Maybe that was the moment I fell in love with her.

  ***

  I couldn't get my hands to stop shaking. It was just nerves from handling an on-the-spot arraignment for the first time. I could almost fool myself into believing it, but my hands betrayed me. The reaction I had to this guy was ridiculous—not to mention inappropriate.

  A career criminal obviously. Smooth talker. Sexy in the most obscene and dangerous way. The hideous orange jumpsuit did little to conceal the powerful body inside. Still, when my eyes traveled farther up, my breath caught in my throat. I’m not sure I had ever met such an exquisite example of masculinity before.

  Preoccupied with staring, I probably made a huge fool of myself. But I needed to take all of him in. Short, sandy blond hair, sharp cheekbones, a firm angular jaw, and perfectly straight nose. For some reason, I expected a man like him to have a crooked nose that had been broken once or twice in his life. He radiated power and barely controlled violence.

  I was in way over my head here, and not just career-wise.

  Our gazes collided, and I sucked in a deep breath. Deep, slate eyes bored into me. I had never seen anyone with gray eyes before, and I kept staring to see if the color would shift from a different angle. Tearing myself away from studying his unusual irises took some skill.

  I wrapped my fingers around the handle of my briefcase and took a step back. The last thing I wanted to do was follow his scary-looking friends anywhere. Wasn't my job finished now anyway? Since I'd never done this before, I had no idea. I guessed if I wanted to get paid, I needed to follow.

  Instead, Judge Dane signaled me to come with him as he left the bench.

  "I’ll find my way down there in a minute," I told the guys who stood there waiting for me. A nervous smiled tugged at my lips.

  "Ms. Kendall," the judge called.

  I turned and scurried toward the ornate oak door that led to his private chambers. I’d been back here once or twice before for settlement conferences, but never by myself.

  I left the door open.

  "Have a seat." He swept his hand toward the two chairs stationed in front of his wide desk.

  "Uh, I need to go follow Mr…." Crap! What was the guy’s name?

  "North. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You did an excellent job. How would you feel if I appointed some minor criminal matters to you?"

  Like throwing up on a regular basis.

  "That might be okay," I said.

  "I can assign someone for you to shadow for a couple cases, until you get the hang of it."

  I interpreted that as I’d get to do all the work, while my "mentor" collected the fee. As if I needed any more complications in my life.

  ***

  Handcuff-free and back in my street clothes, I looked around for my new attorney. She hadn't followed the guys downstairs, and I wondered where she could possibly be. I didn't even have her card.

  "Prez, why you want to keep this snatch around? Glassman will take care of this," Murphy asked, not realizing how close he was to an ass-kicking.

  I flexed my hands. "That fucker couldn't be bothered to show up. With the amount of money we pay him, that's bullshit. She did a fine job."

  "You want to tap that? She's a fine piece. I get it."

  I did indeed want to tap that, but something about Wrath—probably my oldest and closest friend—speaking about her that way pissed me the hell off.

  "Shut the fuck up."

  His eyes widened, but his mouth snapped shut. Zero and Wrath exchanged glances, and I glared at both of them in response.

  A gentle clicking against the concrete floors sounded a few seconds before she poked her head around the corner. "Sorry, took me a minute. Everything okay?"

  I finished signing the last paper, collected my wallet, and nodded. "I'm good."

  Her gaze roamed over my brothers, a mildly freaked out expression forming.

  "Come 'ere, doll." I motioned her over to the exit. I wanted to get the fuck out of this building and out of downtown Ironworks. I never shoulda been over the bridge an
yway. If I'd stuck to my own damn territory, this bullshit wouldn't have gone down.

  But then I wouldn't have met the pretty counselor.

  I gave the guys my "get the fuck lost" face, and they beat feet ahead of us.

  "Can I have your card?"

  "Oh, of course." She stopped and fumbled with her briefcase for a few seconds. Flustered, she huffed a bit of air up, ruffling her bangs. Cutest damn thing I'd ever seen. Tossing her head side to side, she marched over to a bench and set the briefcase down. Bending over to flip open the bag, I bet she didn't realize I got an eyeful—a nice, straight shot down her cleavage. I'd known a lot of women who did this exact thing looking to get a response like mine. But this chick, she had no idea. Holy hell, this girl was dangerous.

  I shifted my weight from side to side while I contemplated circling around to check out the back view when she straightened up and thrust a bright green and off-white colored card at me. Unique and pretty, just like her.

  "Sorry." She flashed a nervous grin.

  "No problem." I took the card. Hope Kendall, Esq. God. Damn.

  I flipped my wallet out of my cut and fished out five hundred-dollar bills, curled them over, and handed them to her.

  She protested immediately. "Oh my gosh, Mr. North, I can't take that much. One hundred would be fine." She thrust the cash back at me.

  I couldn’t remember if I’d ever heard anyone over the age of five say "gosh" before. It was really fucking cute coming from Hope’s mouth. I also didn't think I had ever known a person to turn down money when offered to them.

  "No. You did an excellent job, considering it was sprung on you at the last minute. You earned it."

  She blushed and looked down at her shoes. "Thank you."

  Damn, she was sweet. She had this bright, wholesome thing going on. Why it got me so fucking hard, I had no idea. I usually didn’t do clean. I liked my hookups nasty and dirty.