Torque

by Shauna Allen

  I picked up my cup and drank deeply. Keeping my eyes on the bike parts lined out in front of us instead of on her, I started talking, my words stilted at first. Then they began to flow. “Prison was hell. You lose pretty much all of your independence and privacy. You’re told when to get up, when to go to bed, what to eat . . . comforts and freedoms are minimal. And even those can be ripped from you at the whim of the warden or another inmate with less to lose. It can be brutal. God, some of the ugliness I saw . . .” Now I did face her, dreading the pity I’d see in her eyes. Instead, I was surprised to find her entire body open, not judgmental, and definitely with no pity.

  I glanced down and picked at a string on my jeans. “I’m not complaining. I did the crime, I deserved the time, but having your dignity stripped away like that is . . . humbling.”

  That was more than I’d divulged willingly in . . . well, ever. Instead of making me feel vulnerable, I felt like a bit of the weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

  “Why’d you do it?”

  My head snapped toward her.

  “Beat Joel Mackie like that?” she clarified. “I’ve heard rumors, but it still seems so out of character for you.”

  If only she knew the beast that lurked under my skin sometimes. “I just snapped.” I rose to put some distance between us. “I couldn’t let him . . . he hurt my sister. I went off. End of story.”

  I returned to the bike and knelt down, getting my thoughts back on track. Yes, I’d definitely snapped that day as a million filthy memories, and pain unlike I’d ever known, slammed into me in the perfect storm when I saw Joel Mackie on top of my sister. It was brutal and ugly and this trip down memory lane was over.

  Rachel seemed to sense my need for space as she silently rose and padded back into the house.

  I sighed and glanced over at the cup of ice water, now sweating in the heat. What was I supposed to do with these ugly feelings churning inside me now? I had no fucking clue, so I did what I did best. I plugged my earbuds back in, cranked up the rock, picked up a wrench and got to work.

  The hours passed in a blur of music pulsing in my ears, grease on my fingers, stripped parts, and a lengthening list of things I would need to buy to restore this bad boy. The shell of the bike was beautiful, but looks could be deceiving. The longer I worked, the more I found rotting or rusted or just plain missing. I hope Rachel meant it when she said money wasn’t an issue.

  As if on cue, she swept back into the garage, a vision with her red curls soft and flowing around her shoulders, make-up bringing out her deliciously dark eyes and plump lips, and an outfit that hugged her curves like a lover. Black jeans had never looked so good.

  I stood and popped out my earbuds just as her sweet scent hit me. I wasn’t sure what to say to her. Did she think less of me after my prison time confessions and carrying on like a damn pussy? Her face certainly gave nothing away as she watched me wipe my hands on a rag.

  “What exactly are the rules of your parole?” she asked without preamble.

  Where the hell had that come from? I blinked at her. “No drugs, no alcohol, no firearms, twice monthly visits with my parole officer, random drug tests, and in by ten.” That about covered it. Well, other than toe the line and don’t fuck up, but that seemed obvious.

  “They tracking you?”

  I dumped the rag in my toolbox and lifted my pant leg. “Uh, yeah.”

  Her smoky eyes dipped down to my ankle bracelet then back up. “Do you have restrictions on where you can go?”

  I leaned my weight on one hip, wondering where the hell this was going. “Not really. Unless it’s a gun range, a crime scene, or too far from town.”

  “You can go to the Funky Monkey obviously. I’ve seen you there.”

  “Yes, as long as I don’t partake.”

  Her brows quirked. “And how would they know?”

  A sarcastic laugh bubbled up. “I’m usually called in for a ‘random’ piss test the next day when I go. Believe me, they know.” Sometimes I swore Officer Lopez had eyes all over town. But I guess the convicted felon GPS strapped to my body was all he needed.

  “Huh.” Her eyes narrowed as if she was calculating something.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I should—”

  “Come dancing with me?” she interrupted, her gaze full of mischief now. “I promise not to take advantage of you and to have you home by curfew.”

  I think my mouth sagged open. “You’re asking me out on a date?”

  “I am. You surprised?”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Nothing this woman did surprised me anymore.

  Okay, I lied. Rachel Chaseman was full of surprises.

  She meant an actual date, for starters. After I rode home to shower the sweat and stink off, I found her sitting in front of the apartment leaned against her Audi, grinning at me with a red rose outstretched in her hand. Then she kissed me in front of God and everybody, right there in the parking lot.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this public declaration, but her mouth was hot and inviting, and the way she wrapped herself up in me had the caveman inside pounding his chest. She was mine. At least for tonight.

  She drew back, her fingers still gripping my belt loops, and looked me over appreciatively. “You clean up nice.”

  “Thanks.” Having to buy all new clothes when you’re released from prison will do that for you.

  “So . . .” She moved her hands to toy with the top button on my shirt. “Delilah was dying for a night out so Blake is staying home with the baby and she’s joining us. Jewel, too. Hope that’s okay? You can invite the guys if you want,” she added quickly.

  “No problem.” In fact, I was kinda relieved. Other people would hopefully ease some of this blazing sexual tension.

  Yeah, apparently not.

  At the bar, Rachel took every opportunity to touch me, hug me, kiss me, generally wrap herself around me, much to the obvious delight of her friends.

  Blake and Trace had to stay home on Dad duty, but Micah tagged along. I caught his eye once as I swayed with Rachel to a slow song. He shook his head, his lips curled up into a half-smile as he lifted his beer for a pull.

  At the next table, the two other girls laughed loudly over a pitcher of margaritas. I tensed when a couple of cowboys approached them, obviously looking for some action. I saw Micah sit up taller as well, but luckily, the girls sent them packing.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Rachel asked, bringing my attention back to her.

  “Uncomfortable?”

  “Yeah.” She readjusted her arms around my neck and slid closer so her lips brushed my ear when she spoke. “I’ve not exactly been shy about my . . . displays of affection.”

  I drew back and studied her face. No, she hadn’t, but I hadn’t let myself worry too much about it. We were having a good time. Nothing more.

  “I mean, we’re not a couple or anything,” she continued, her fingers toying with my hair. “Maybe you’re interested in someone else or—”

  “No,” I rumbled.

  “No?”

  “No, I’m not uncomfortable or embarrassed. Any man would be lucky to have you on his arm, Rachel.” My gaze tracked to her mouth when her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “And, no, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

  She melted against me in relief, her smile brighter than the sun. “That’s good. I’m not interested in anyone else either.” The song ended, but she didn’t move to leave my arms as her face grew serious. “It’s only you, Jesse. I think it’s only ever been you.”

  I opened my mouth to reply or kiss her, I didn’t know which, but someone slammed into my back, shoving me into her.

  “Sorry,” came an unapologetic, familiar voice behind me.

  I gritted my teeth and turned.

  Joel Mackie’s maniacal grin had my fists clenching in an automatic reaction. God, I wished I’d killed him sometimes. He held up his hands in mock surrender, his smartass laughing eyes darting between me an
d the girl with him. “Hey, my bad. Don’t get riled up, big boy.”

  I continued to stare him down as couples began to filter onto the dance floor around us.

  “What?” he taunted. “Forget your manners in the pen?”

  I was tense as a bowstring and red was filling my vision. I was gonna snap on his ass. Again. I could feel it.

  “Jesse . . .” Rachel’s soft grip on my arm ripped me back to reality. I glanced at her worried face and everything inside me softened.

  I may be filled with a raging beast, but I would not subject her to one shred of it.

  Rachel

  I knew I had to get Jesse out of there right then or risk him getting himself tossed back in prison for violating parole. I tugged his arm. “Come on.”

  He reluctantly followed, shooting one last glare at Joel. I led him past our table, where I shot the girls and Micah an apologetic look as I grabbed my purse.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed. “Gotta go.”

  I could tell by their faces that they’d all seen it. Micah tipped his head in my direction, indicating it was all good, while Delilah lifted her hand to her face in a ‘call me later’ gesture.

  I nodded and urged Jesse to follow me. Shoving open the bar door, I inhaled the salty night air deeply. I didn’t spare Jesse a glance as I linked our fingers and kept on truckin’ until we were at my Audi. Opening his door, I waited for him to slide in. Once I had the door firmly closed and knew he was out of there for sure, I let my shoulders drop in relief.

  I slid in next to him and fired up the car, letting the engine idle for a moment. The dash clock said it was only 8:49, so he had a little time before he had to be home. I put the car in reverse and spared him a glance. His face was stony, his jaw rigid. But he was still so beautiful, it took my breath away.

  He’d given me a glimpse of his pain today, sharing a part of himself that I was sure he kept locked up most of the time. I was afraid to push for more, even if the barely concealed emotion on his face called to me in the deepest way. So I said nothing.

  I turned on the radio and adjusted the station until soft, soothing instrumentals filled the car. Trying to tame the beast, if you will.

  What else . . . ?

  Ah.

  On impulse, I turned into the Sonic and parked at a back spot. I pressed the red ordering button then glanced at him. “I could use a milkshake. You want one?”

  His sharp glance had me sucking in a breath. I watched as he inhaled, exhaled slowly. “Sure. Large strawberry, please.”

  I nodded as the disembodied voice came over the speaker asking for my order. “Two large strawberry shakes please. Extra whipped cream.” I winked at him and got my first smile.

  As we waited, I let my head loll back on the headrest. I rolled to face him. “You okay?”

  Sigh. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.” I shifted back and relaxed.

  I adjusted the volume as Sonic’s soundtrack of oldies but goodies filtered in my open window. I smiled. “Mustang Sally” was my dad’s favorite.

  “Like that song?” Jesse’s soft voice was barely louder than the music.

  I glanced at him. “Yeah. It reminds me of my dad.”

  His nod was subtle. “Tell me about him?”

  Oh, what to say? Richard Chaseman had been the single most wonderful, loving, caring, special man I’d ever known.

  When I told him so, Jesse smiled, all evidence of tonight’s drama gone. “Wish I could’ve met him. What did he do for a living?”

  “He was a lawyer.”

  “Ah, like father, like daughter.”

  “Yup.” I turned and paid the carhop when she arrived with our shakes. I handed one to Jesse. “He loved his job, loved the law; the idea of justice. I wanted to be just like him.”

  Jesse sipped. “I do believe you are.”

  I took my own sip. “Read any good books lately?”

  He seemed to read my need to change the subject for now. “Just an Indian rebuild manual.”

  We laughed together and it was nice. Really, really nice.

  Jesse came over Sunday afternoon as well and I ended up hanging out with him in the garage while he worked on the bike. Well, tore it down into tiny metal bits, if you asked me. But, still, it was fun just talking to him. He seemed to have let down some of his guard around me, his laugh coming easier, his smiles freer, and he actually talked about himself. His family, his childhood, his favorite books. But what got me was how interested he seemed to be in me. He asked intelligent questions, hanging on my answers. Like I truly mattered to him.

  Even now, bright and early on Monday morning, my heart was still singing with this idea. Oh, and the kiss I’d snagged when he left. That wasn’t half bad either.

  I practically skipped into the office, intent on having a good day. I had a pretrial hearing with Mrs. Casey and I was meeting the girls for drinks tonight.

  The water cooler gang was gathered in the break room. They appeared to be deep in the throes of gossip about our newest addition, Andrew Stripling, and I had no desire to partake.

  I rushed by until I was in the seclusion of my office, where I turned my attention to gathering all the documents I needed to meet the judge with Mrs. Casey. My hope was once we presented our argument that Mr. Casey was a cheating, lying schmuck, the judge would award her temporary custodianship of their children and order mediation for the rest. If I could keep her from a prolonged trial, it would be best for all involved. Especially the kids.

  At a quarter after nine, I collected my things and slipped out to head to the courthouse. I spotted my client easily enough. Hunched on a bench in front, she looked like a stiff wind would blow her away.

  She glanced up at me with sad, pale green eyes. “Good morning, Ms. Chaseman.”

  I heard the nerves rattling her voice. Sitting, I put my hand over hers. “Call me Rachel. How are you today?”

  She attempted a smile. “Nervous.”

  “Nothing to be nervous about. I’ve got all the papers ready and I think we have a strong case. Unless the judge has questions, I don’t think you’ll have to speak at all. Unless you want to . . . ?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No. You understand my case and my side of the story.” Her eyes dipped to her lap. “I just want it over and to get on with my life.”

  “I know you do.” I stood and smiled down at her. “Shall we go then?”

  She nodded as she seemed to mentally steel herself. “Okay.” It was almost a whisper and I wasn’t sure if she meant it for me, but I sent up a silent prayer that today would go our way.

  It did.

  I was grinning from ear to ear as Mrs. Casey and I strolled out of the courtroom with all the documentation giving her temporary custody of the kids and a date for court-ordered mediation. Mr. Schmuck didn’t look too pleased, but I couldn’t care less.

  “Thank you so much, Ms . . . Rachel.” Mrs. Casey smiled her first genuine smile of the day.

  “My pleasure. Now go enjoy those kids while I make a pit stop at the clerk’s office to finalize some details.”

  She nodded and headed out.

  Still smiling, I checked my phone and saw several missed calls. I sat and listened to my voicemail. Two from my assistant, one from Delilah confirming our plans tonight, and one from Angelo. I frowned at the antagonistic vibe of his message.

  “Rachel. I see you’re out on another of your charity cases. We need you back to the office ASAP. We have the congressman’s son coming in and we want him to meet all the partners. We need to make a good impression.”

  He hung up without a goodbye. Dick.

  I cursed him under my breath and turned my phone off.

  “Everything okay?” a sweet voice said next to me.

  Startled, I turned to face the woman to my left. Her long, graying hair was up in a bun and she wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, but she seemed comfortable in her skin. A long, flow
ing, multi-colored Mumu and Birkenstocks completed her hippie-esque vibe.

  “Um, yes. Thank you.” I flushed, knowing she’d heard my very un-lawyerlike language.

  Her broad smile was warming. “If you’re sure.”

  I nodded dumbly, loving every single thing about this woman’s essence.

  “Daisy Williams,” she said, holding out her hand.

  I accepted it. “Rachel Chaseman.”

  She glanced at the briefcase by my feet and the manila folder in my hand. “Things going your way today?”

  “Yes, actually.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “That’s great . . .” Her attention was diverted as a rotund middle-aged man plopped down next to her. A shy little waif of a girl stood next to him, her eyes glued to the ground, her hands knotted in front of her. She couldn’t have been more than seven, but it was hard to tell, she was so tiny. The man’s hair was slightly dirty, and both of their clothes worn, but his proud demeanor said that it was probably the best they had.

  Near them was a CPS caseworker I recognized from a child endangerment case I worked a few years ago. I glanced across the hall and realized we were in front of the juvenile court. My heart dropped in my chest as I looked back at the little girl. Was she abused? If so, who was the man with her?

  Daisy greeted them all and they spoke in hushed tones for a few minutes. Eventually, the man and girl wandered off, hand-in-hand, followed by the caseworker. I really had no call to sit there and be nosy, but I was rooted in place.

  That.

  That was the kind of case I needed to be working. That, and things like what I was doing for Mrs. Casey and her family. I loved the family side of law. Criminal cases, unless it was putting away those monsters that preyed on kids, didn’t really interest me.

  Daisy seemed to sense my hesitation. “You here to represent a plaintiff or defendant?”

  A wry grin lifted my lips. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

  She laughed. “The power suit and briefcase kinda give you away.”

  “I suppose so.” I dipped my head in acknowledgment. This was how I always dressed for work. To win. “And plaintiff. Divorce case with nasty custody issues.”