Savage Kings MC Box Set 1

by Lane Hart

  What else am I supposed to do with my time, when everything is riding on what some fucking judge who doesn’t know me decides today?

  Even with all the alcohol in my system, I couldn’t sleep much last night, not when I don’t know where my son is sleeping. And how can I eat when there’s a constant churning in my stomach, making me feel nauseous, worrying that a bunch of idiots could decide Ren’s fate and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it?

  My exhausted, frustrated mind is still racing, going a million miles an hour with the various possible outcomes of today, when a tall woman in a black pantsuit comes strolling down the hall. I don’t even know why I give her a second glance, except for the fact that she’s beautiful and my eyes are drawn to her. She looks sophisticated and confident. And also, familiar…

  When her face turns in my direction and her hazel eyes lock with mine, it clicks.

  “Nova?” I ask, since she looks so different from this weekend when she was sexy and playful in a pair of cutoffs and a tank top, with her long auburn hair piled up off her neck.

  Getting to my feet to step right in front of her path, I say, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The fact that she doesn’t look surprised to see me should’ve been my first clue.

  “Hi, War,” she replies with a sad smile. “I’m really sorry you’re having to go through this.”

  Wait, she knows I have a son and that they took him from me? Is that why she came?

  Before I can throw my arms around her in gratitude, my eyes lower to the brown accordion folder she’s clutching to her chest.

  Son of a bitch.

  Without warning, I jerk the folder from her grip and read the printed label on the tab. It says exactly what I suspected—Warren James O’Neil, Junior.

  “You!” I exclaim as I raise the folder up between us. “All of this is you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m sorry—” she starts to say before I fling the file against the hallway wall. The thick cardboard lands with a loud smack in the otherwise silent hallway, making Nova jump.

  “Was last weekend some sort of set-up?” I ask as I take a menacing step closer to her.

  “War, calm down.” Nova puts her palm up in front of her, like that will stop me.

  “Calm down?” I repeat. “How the fuck can I calm down when you’re the one responsible for fucking up my life! You need to mind your own goddamn business!”

  With every slow step I take toward her, she takes two quick retreating steps backward.

  “You need to get ahold of yourself!” Nova hisses. “You won’t get him back by intimidation. If anything, it’ll be the reason you lose him for good.”

  Pointing my finger at the courtroom door, I say, “I swear to god, woman, if you don’t go in there and make this shit right, you’re gonna be fucking sorry.”

  “Great,” she says with a huff, while crossing her arms over her chest. “Now you’re threatening me, like you threatened your ex-wife? I can’t believe that I’m looking at the same man who came to my rescue Friday.”

  “If I had known that you would do this to me, I never would’ve stopped to help you!” I assure her.

  “None of this is my fault!” she shouts. “I was assigned this case on Monday. All I’m doing is my job. Whether or not you get Ren back is up to the judge.”

  “Huh,” I mutter. “I wonder what the judge would say if he knew just how good you are at the job you do on your knees. Hell, maybe he already does—”

  My sentence is interrupted when her palm connects firmly with the side of my face.

  While my cheek is still stinging, and without even thinking about my words, I tell her, “I may not be wearing my cut in here, but I’m still a Savage fucking King. Do you have any idea the type of punishment that’s dealt out for raising a hand to one of us? You don’t know who the hell you’re dealing with, but I promise you’re about to find out.”

  Rather than back down or put more space between us, Nova gets right in my face. “I don’t give a shit what clothes you wear or who you are. You can threaten me all you want, but I refuse to give you any special treatment just because we spent a few nights together. So, tell whoever you want that we fucked or that I’m a slut. If you want to ask for another social worker, fine! I don’t care. No one else can get you your son back. The only way for you to do that is to prove to a social worker and the judge that you’re fit to be a father. From what I can tell so far, you have a lot of work to do.”

  Son of a bitch.

  I sort of hate her after that little speech. But I hate myself more because part of me knows she’s right.

  This, being here and having to fight for my son, isn’t Nova’s fault. Someone else at Social Services took Ren. She wasn’t even there at the scene because she was still in bed with me Sunday morning. No, this is all my fucking ex-wife’s fault for being a piece of shit drug addict.

  And I don’t want to ask for the agency to appoint a different social worker. If anything, our time spent together this weekend means convincing her I’m a good father will be easier than convincing anyone else.

  “Sorry,” I tell her on a heavy exhale. “I’m going through hell, but I want you to keep Ren’s case, so I’ll try to do better…”

  “You can start by picking up my file and putting it all back together. And those documents are confidential, so no peeking!”

  Blowing out another breath, I nod my agreement before I step around her and start gathering up all the pieces of paper that escaped when I tossed the file. Ignoring her warning, I try to read each one, wanting to know as much as I can about their case.

  …

  Nova

  Jesus, he’s angry.

  I didn’t expect War to be in a pleasant mood, but I was completely caught off guard when he came at me, making threats and bringing up what we did together this weekend in such a derogatory way. That’s why, without thinking, I slapped the shit out of him, which was unprofessional and I now regret.

  But yeah, I can see why Marcie O’Neil is so damn scared of War. She thinks he’ll hurt her because it’s her fault the state took Ren. Based on the outburst I just witnessed, that seems very possible.

  War is turning out to be so much different from the kind stranger who helped me out when I was in a bind last Friday. And it’s sort of ironic I wasn’t afraid of him when he was wearing the leather cut on his motorcycle, but I’m now facing this version of an angry War in a suit that has to be custom-made to accommodate his muscular girth.

  “Here,” he says, handing the file folder back to me.

  “Thank you,” I reply. “And Ren wanted me to let you know he’s okay.”

  “You’ve seen him?” War exclaims.

  “Yes, and he really is fine. That’s what I was going to tell you before you started yelling at me,” I explain as I continue to back away from him. “I’ll, ah, see you in the courtroom shortly,” I say when I’m able to make my escape. Going over to the elevator, I push the call button, wanting to just get on it and get out of his war path, since there are no witnesses around.

  When the elevator doors eventually open, I hurry inside, where there’s only one other woman in a pantsuit, and push a random button to get the doors to shut so we can move.

  Once the metal box finally does what I want and starts heading up, I let out a heavy sigh and slump against one of the walls.

  “Rough morning already?” the lady asks.

  “God, yes,” I mutter. Facing War in the courtroom after being so intimate with him this weekend is not going to be easy. Part of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, but doing so now, without all the facts, could bias this case, which isn’t fair to his son.

  “You’re heading up to the DA’s office too?” the woman asks.

  “Am I?” I say when I look over at the lit-up panel and see that the fourth floor is the only one that was hit.

  “Yeah,” she informs me. “We have a Keurig if you’d like to come grab a cup of coffee.�
��

  “Thanks, that sounds great,” I agree. It will give me something to do and somewhere to hide until court starts.

  “I’m Carla, an assistant district attorney in the criminal division,” she says when she holds out her palm.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Nova McQueen, a social worker with Child Protective Services,” I say, tucking the case file folder under my left arm so I can shake her hand with my right.

  “Tough field,” she says as the elevator doors open and we both step out, our heels click-clacking on the hard floors.

  “Yeah, it is,” I agree, following her over to a locked door. Carla holds up her identification card on a square panel on the wall to unlock it for us, and then opens the door for me to go through first.

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “I’m still a little new around here and have only been to the courthouse a few times.”

  “I’ll show you around, and your badge should give you access to everything,” she informs me.

  “Great,” I say.

  Carla stops and introduces me to a few other suited up assistant district attorneys, then the actual District Attorney, before we finally enter the small kitchen with the basic appliances and a small wooden table with four simple chairs.

  “Have a seat and tell me what I can make you,” Carla says to me with a nod toward the table.

  “Anything with lots of caffeine,” I reply, while pulling out one of the chairs that faces her and taking a seat.

  A few minutes later, we’re both holding steaming coffee mugs and engaging in small talk.

  “So, how long have you been an ADA?” I ask her.

  “Not long,” she answers. “I just graduated from law school last May, and left Raleigh to take a job here in January.”

  “Wow, I’ve only been here for a few months too,” I tell her, glad to find someone else who is a transplant. “I’m originally from Rhode Island.”

  “Oh, so you’re a long way from home,” Carla points out.

  “I am,” I agree with a nod. “It hasn’t been easy being on my own so far away from my friends and family.” I withhold the fact that I’m also struggling to get by on my state income and piles of debt.

  “I can understand that,” she agrees. “Even though my family is only a few hours away, moving here is almost like living in another country. The locals are a very tight-knit group.”

  “That’s been my experience too,” I agree, thankful that someone else understands being such an outsider. “Not that I’ve really talked to anyone, other than a guy I met this weekend,” I spill for whatever reason. Maybe just because it’s nice to actually have someone to commiserate with. Carla seems like she could easily become a friend.

  “Ooh, a guy, here?” she asks. “I thought all the men around here were either old and married, or single and in a biker gang.”

  “Well, he wasn’t old and married...”

  Carla’s eyes widen and her jaw gapes. “You were with a member of the Savage Kings?”

  “Sort of,” I agree, not wanting to go into details about War since I did just meet the woman, but I have to admit that the girl talk is a nice change of pace from being ignored by everyone in my office.

  “Spill!” Carla says. “I’ve heard a few rumors that they’re hot but dangerous, not that I actually believe all of them. I mean, how much trouble could they be, if there’s not even a single record of them in the organized crime database? I know because I checked.”

  “I’m not all that surprised,” I tell her. “Especially since the county sheriff is the stepsister of the president and vice president of the MC.”

  “No kidding?” Carla asks with her forehead creased in thought before she lifts her coffee mug to her lips and takes a sip. “The Kings have friends in high places. Guess that explains why they get a free pass with the local court system.”

  “Possibly,” I say. “All I know is that one of them is the father in a case I’ve been assigned, and he is not happy about it at all.”

  “Really? One of the guys in the MC had his kid taken away?” Carla asks, her brow pinched in concern. “Wait, is that what had you all flustered downstairs before you got on the elevator?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “I mean, I know he’s upset about the situation and I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I was caught off guard by how fast he turned his anger on me.”

  “Jeez,” she mutters. “That sounds scary.”

  “He’s a little intimidating,” I admit, while blowing on my coffee so I can try a sip.

  “Be careful. It’s starting to sound like the Savage Kings could literally get away with murder in this town, and nothing would happen to them,” Carla opines.

  “One of the benefits of having family in local law enforcement,” I mutter conversationally.

  “You know, those guys may think that they’re above the local law, but they won’t get any free passes with the federal government,” she says with a smirk. “Come with me,” Carla instructs before she’s on her feet with her mug in her hands and out the door of the kitchen.

  I pick up my coffee mug and follow her to the hallway. “Where are we going?” I ask when I catch up.

  “To my office,” Carla says over her shoulder.

  “Okay, but what time is it? I appreciate the coffee and the friendly chitchat, but I should probably get back downstairs for court,” I tell her.

  Inside her office, she stands at the open door and says, “I promise this will only take a second, and it’s only”—she goes around and sits behind her desk—“eight twenty-two. You still have a few minutes, so take a seat. The judges never start on time here.”

  Since she seems so adamant about me sticking around just a little longer, I sit down in one of the visitor chairs to finish my coffee.

  Carla picks up her cell phone that was lying on the desk and softly tells me, “My uncle works in the U.S. Attorney’s office in Raleigh, and he’s the head of the criminal division.”

  “Oh-kay,” I reply, since I’m not sure why she would bring up something like that so randomly.

  Then, she presses a few buttons on the phone before putting it up to her ear and saying, “Hi, Uncle Stan, it’s Carla! Yeah, the beach life is great. You should definitely come visit one weekend! Uh-huh, there’s just one little problem.” She gestures for me to shut the door, so I do, afraid to hear where this conversation is going but needing to know.

  Once the office door is closed and we have more privacy, she tells her uncle, “There’s this motorcycle gang that’s pretty big around here. I’ve heard some things about them and wanted to run it past you.”

  Oh god.

  I start to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realize exactly what she’s doing.

  “Do you know anything about the Savage Kings?” Carla asks, and then I go completely still as I wait for her uncle’s response. “Really? Yeah. Well, did you know that the sheriff here is related to the president? They’re untouchable, and one has been raising hell with a social worker...”

  Oh shit! Why did I open my stupid mouth? I thought we were just having a little girl talk, making polite conversation since we’re both new residents in the area. I had no idea Carla would take what I said and escalate it to getting the federal government involved!

  “Good to know,” Carla says, her gaze meeting mine. “Thank you so much, Uncle Stan.”

  When she puts the phone down, she informs me quietly, “My uncle said that the U.S. Attorney’s office started a file on the Savage Kings MC last year after the president’s wife was murdered, but the local sheriff assured him that everything was under control.”

  “Yeah, um, it sounds like it,” I quickly agree, hoping that’s the end of it.

  “Now, with your tip about the family connection, Uncle Stan thinks the sheriff’s department may be covering things up for the MC. He’s going to have an agent from the ATF field office in Atlanta brought in to do a full investigation on the Savage Kings,” Carla excitedly informs me, nearly bursting with hap
piness.

  I suddenly wish I could hit rewind on my life, to go back to a few minutes earlier and keep my mouth shut.

  “This is great, right?” she asks when I sit there like a statue and remain speechless. “Maybe they’ll arrest them all and you won’t have to worry about the angry father.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mutter, because what else is there to say?

  Somehow, I thought I was making a new friend this morning, when it turns out I may have just created an even bigger enemy with War and the entire MC.

  Chapter Eighteen

  War

  “All rise,” the bailiff announces in his deep voice that echoes around the courtroom with authority. “Judge Reynolds’ honorable court is now in session.”

  “Don’t speak unless the judge asks you a question directly,” Greg whispers to me when we retake our seats that are next to each other at one of the two counsel tables in front of the courtroom. On our left is the table where Nova just rushed to her seat from wherever she disappeared to, barely making it back on time.

  Was it too much to hope that she wouldn’t show up and they would drop the case? Probably so.

  Greg’s already told me what to expect. Today, the judge’s only job is to hear from both sides about why Ren was taken from his home and decide whether or not it was the right decision. Of course, we’re going to argue it wasn’t, that while Ren has one unfit parent, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be returned to my custody.

  I just wish I knew what Nova will say…

  From the door next to the raised dais, the judge comes sweeping into the room, wearing his black robe and then takes his seat.

  “Are both parties here and ready to begin this morning in the case of Docket Number 43321?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” my attorney says before Nova responds with the same phrase.

  “Good. First, let’s hear from Child Protective Services regarding the details of how the minor came into the custody of Social Services.”