Asher

by Piper Davenport

  Mack grinned, raising his hands in surrender as he stepped away from me. I skittered around the desk and back out in the open, keeping my purse in front of me... for what I’m not sure. I just felt a little protected somehow.

  “Come on. I’ll take you home,” Booker said.

  “No, it’s okay. If you can just call me a cab, it’ll be fine.”

  Booker shook his head. “We’re closed, darlin’, and it’ll take a while for a taxi, so let me just take you home.”

  I swallowed.

  “What?” he asked.

  I glanced at Mack and then back at Booker. “Um... aren’t bikes really dangerous?”

  Booker seemed to share another secret look with Mack before they both burst out laughing.

  I pulled my purse closer. “Well, if you’re going to stand there and laugh at me, then I definitely want to call a cab.”

  Apparently, I’m freaking hilarious when I’m scared out of my ever-blessed mind, because Mack laughed harder.

  “I’ve got my truck,” Booker said, once he’d sobered.

  “With or without a shovel and a tarp in the back?”

  Booker frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” I figured if he was going to murder me there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could do about it at this point. “Yes, a ride home would be much appreciated.”

  Booker nodded and waved his hand toward the roll-up door.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said to Mack, and headed outside.

  “You too, babe,” Mack said to my back.

  Booker led me to his Ford F-150, and I turned to face him. “Can I borrow your phone please?”

  “What?”

  “Your phone. May I borrow it for a second?”

  He reached into his pocket and handed it to me. “Knock yourself out.”

  I stepped in front of the truck and took a photo of it, along with the license plate, texting the photos to Kim so she’d know who was driving me home and when I was leaving. At least if he did murder me, they’d be able to track down my killer.

  “Thanks,” I said, and handed the phone back to him.

  He smiled his sexy smile again and pulled open my door. I wasn’t expecting his gallantry as he waited for me to climb inside, but I covered my surprise. I didn’t realize badass biker men did that kind of thing.

  Booker climbed in beside me and started the engine while I buckled up. He didn’t say anything as he guided the truck away from Arbor Lodge and I took a moment to take in his ride. It was new with all the bells and whistles, so to speak. Leather seats, wood inlay, and a kick-ass stereo system... at least it looked like a kick-ass stereo system. It was currently off.

  About ten minutes passed and I had about all the silence I could handle. “Your real name’s not Booker, is it?” He glanced at me and shook his head before focusing on the road again. “Are you going to tell me your real name?”

  “Austin Carver.”

  “Oh,” I said, unable to hide my surprise.

  He smiled. “Not what you were expecting?”

  “Not really, no. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice name. Sweet sounding, but I guess I expected you to be Maverick or something like that.”

  “Maverick?”

  “What’s wrong with Maverick?”

  “Only a pussy would ever go by Maverick.”

  “What if that’s the name his parents gave him?” I challenged.

  “Then, if he weren’t a pussy, he’d change it.”

  I bit back a smile. “I won’t tell Maverick’s mom you said that.”

  “You know a Maverick?” he asked.

  I nodded. “He’s one of my kids. I teach kindergarten.”

  “Fuck me. Of course you do,” he grumbled, and pulled onto the freeway.

  I gathered my purse close to me again. For some reason, the fact he didn’t seem to like my choice of employment bothered me. It shouldn’t. He didn’t know me and he was probably a criminal for Pete’s sake, but I was the one who felt embarrassed.

  “What’s your group’s name?” I soldiered on, my inability to stay silent when I was nervous working against me.

  “My group?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Your club. Whatever.”

  He studied the road again. “Dogs of Fire.”

  “Why did you pick that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Why did your group... I mean, club, pick that?”

  Booker shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “You don’t know why they picked it?” I studied his profile and saw his jaw lock. “Sorry, not my business.”

  He neither agreed nor disagreed.

  “Do you need my address?” I was unbelievably desperate for conversation, apparently.

  “I have it.”

  “Right,” I mumbled. Of course he did. I’d written it down for him. I studied him again. God, he was beautiful. I licked my lips and focused back on the road. “So, do you work at Big Ernie’s?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So, it’s not your regular job?”

  “No.”

  “You’re obviously not a mechanic,” I mused.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re too clean,” I blurted out. “I mean, your hands aren’t caked with black oil and stuff. Sorry. Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

  He chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “You don’t like silence, do you?”

  “I like silence... just not when I’m nervous. Crap. Never mind. Ignore me.”

  “Babe, I’ve been trying to ignore you since the second I saw your piece of shit car crawling down my street,” he said.

  I gasped, my irritation rising to dance with my nerves. “Well, you didn’t need to come and rescue me. I didn’t ask you to.” He chuckled again and I blinked back tears, feeling both angry and insecure at the same time. “I’m sorry if my talking bugged you. I was just trying to be friendly,” I continued, because, seriously, I was obviously a glutton for punishment. “It’s what nice people do when other people help them. They ask them about their life and find common ground in an effort to make conversation.”

  “Is that what they do?” he asked.

  “Typically, yes,” I whispered, and turned toward the window.

  I managed to keep my thoughts to myself as we drove into Hazel Dell and down the private driveway into my apartment complex. Not the greatest part of town, but also not the worst. It was what I could afford and it worked for me now.

  “This is me,” I said, pointing to the stairway that led to my second-floor unit.

  He nodded. “I’ll walk you up.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I know,” he said, and climbed out of the truck.

  Gathering my purse, I pulled my jacket closer around me and pushed open the door. Booker stood on the other side and, again, waited for me before closing the door and walking me upstairs. I unlocked my apartment door and pushed it open, flipping the light on before stepping inside.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow or Friday about your car.”

  Crap, right. I was going to have to pay for my stupid car to be fixed. “Yes. Um, I forgot to ask. Do you take credit cards?”

  He frowned, but then nodded his head. “Yeah, babe, we take credit cards.”

  I relaxed. “Okay, good. Thank you. Well, it was nice to meet you, Austin. Thanks again for everything.”

  He gave me a chin lift in response and turned and sauntered down the stairs. I know for a fact he sauntered, because I leaned out my front door and watched him leave. His long, muscular legs and perfect butt made me sigh, and I realized he probably heard me, so I ducked back inside and closed and locked my door, leaning against it to catch my breath.

  * * *

  Booker

  I was fucked. Royally fucked. The second I saw the pretty little blonde trying to force her car down the street, I’d know
n I’d help her. Couldn’t really stop myself. She was gorgeous. Petite, curvy, big tits, nice ass, and she smelled incredible, but it was the glasses that sent me over the edge. I could envision her in thigh-highs, pearls, and those glasses while she straddled and rode me.

  When I’d coaxed her out of her car and she’d started talking, her obvious sense of humor showed through even though she was terrified, I’d watched in fascination as every emotion she was feeling showed on her face in real time. I couldn’t remember ever meeting a woman more beautiful... and fucking innocent. Kindergarten teacher and daughter of the chief of police. Shit.

  I dialed Mack’s number and then started my truck.

  “Yo.”

  “You got the car over to Ducky’s?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Mack said. “It’s fucked up. Might need to rebuild the engine.”

  “Shit.” I headed onto the freeway. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I hung up and stared out at the road in front of me trying to figure out how the hell I was gonna get out of this, and whether or not I really wanted to.

  If you like what you read you can order Road to Desire HERE!

  2018 Harley Stone

  Copyright © 2018 by Harley Stone

  All rights reserved.

  President Tyler “Link” Lincoln of the Dead Presidents MC, runs a club dedicated to helping military vets readjust to society. When his sergeant at arms is arrested for the attempted murder of a prominent Seattle figure, Link’s search for a lawyer brave enough to fight for justice leads him to an alluring defense attorney with a bleeding heart and a steel backbone.

  This isn’t the first time Emily Stafford’s commitment to defending the falsely accused has put her in harm’s way. Smart, cautious, and independent, she knows how to defend herself. At least, she did until she joined forces with one sexy, overbearing, tattooed MC president.

  Flames run hot as Link and Emily seek shelter in the club’s converted fire station, working against the clock to uncover the truth and save a somewhat innocent man.

  Link

  I HAD TO hand it to her, the bitch had balls. Wearing some tight-ass navy blue business blazer that put her perky tits on display, a skirt that made her round ass pop, and high heels that begged to be draped over my shoulders, renowned Seattle criminal defense attorney, Emily Stafford, controlled the courtroom. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a bun, accentuating high cheekbones, big blue eyes, and pouty, kissable lips. The photo from her firm’s website—the one I’d spent the past two nights jacking off to—didn’t do her justice. She wore a golden band on her left ring finger, but she wasn’t married. I’d checked. Most likely she wore it to dissuade creeps like me from stalking her fine ass.

  The witness she was currently cross-examining had to be in his mid-thirties with lots of muscle, but no actual strength. Seemed like the kind of pussy who spent half his life in the gym but would piss himself if someone threw so much as an insult his way. He had no clue how to handle the calculated look Emily leveled at him as she asked him to repeat his testimony.

  His eyes flickered around the courtroom like he was waiting for someone to step in and rescue him from her. “On January thirteenth, I dropped my wife off at seven-twenty a.m. for her shift. That’s when I saw Mr. James, the defendant, loitering in front of the Quick Mart.”

  “Loitering?” Emily asked.

  She looked up from the paper in her hands and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose, like some librarian who’d just caught a loud-mouthed trouble maker tearing shit up in her library. Her no-nonsense demeanor was sexy as fuck, causing my jeans to tighten uncomfortably. I shifted and reminded myself why I was here. The thought of my best friend behind bars had the desired effect, calming my member down immediately.

  “That’s a strange word to use. Very legal sounding. What makes you think Mr. James was loitering?”

  “He didn’t have a shopping bag, so he wasn’t buying anything. Just standing there, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed. Looking threatening.”

  Her eyebrows rose as she looked over the witness’s physique before glancing at her much smaller, younger, black client. “You felt threatened by Michael James?”

  “Well, not me, personally.” The witness leaned forward, hands on his knees. No doubt the dumbass realized the corner she’d backed him into and was trying to figure out how to defend his manhood without sounding like a liar. “But I could see where others would find him threatening.”

  Emily nodded, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “You said you dropped your wife off at seven-twenty, but Mrs. Watts’ shift doesn’t begin until eight. Why’d you drop her off so early?”

  “I don’t remember. Probably had to be to work early. Maybe a meeting or something.”

  “You don’t remember the reason, but you remember the exact time you dropped her off? That seems strange, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. I looked at the clock as I dropped her off. I usually do.”

  One perfect eyebrow arched, Emily froze so the jury could see her reaction. “You looked at the clock on January thirteenth and made sure it was exactly seven-twenty a.m.? Are you absolutely certain?”

  “Yes.”

  He was lying. The entire courtroom had to know it, and apparently Emily had the documentation to prove it. She presented some signed statements to the judge that showed he’d clocked in late for work that day.

  “I probably ran errands after I dropped her off,” he protested. “Sometimes I do that. I stop for coffee or a breakfast sandwich. Those drive-thru lines can take a lot longer than they look.” He smiled at the jury. “I’m sure you all know what I mean.”

  Emily broke up his attempt at connection when she approached the bench to provide documents from Mrs. Watts’ boss, claiming that she was also late to work that day.

  “Are you positive you dropped your wife off at seven-twenty, Mr. Watts?”

  His eyes darted to the defendant before landing on the prosecuting attorney. “I-I-I thought I was, but now I realize I could be mistaken. That was more than a month ago. But I know that one of the mornings I dropped her off early and he... the defendant... was loitering.”

  “You’re not sure. Why are you so willing to risk my client’s freedom on something you’re not sure of?”

  The prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet. “Objection!”

  “Withdrawn. But I will remind the court that this is a criminal trial and since we still live in the USA, the law requires proof beyond reasonable doubt. Regardless of the witness’s disdain for the defendant’s race. Isn’t that right, Mr. Watts?”

  “Objection, your honor,” the prosecutor repeated. “Badgering the witness.”

  According to rumors, Emily Stafford didn’t just badger witnesses, she fucking ate them for breakfast, which was exactly what I’d come to see for myself. Enjoying the show, I leaned back, kicking my steel-toed boots onto the pew in front of me to get comfortable.

  I needed a sit-down with Emily, and had no intention of leaving until I said my piece. I’d tried going through the appropriate channels—namely, calling her office to make an appointment—but the dickwad screening her calls wouldn’t patch me through. Time to go over that little piss ant’s head and straight to the top.

  And fuck, I’d love to see Emily on top. Especially wearing those heels. The glasses, too.

  Court ended a little past four p.m. Ass asleep from sitting so long, I moseyed out the door, wandered toward the entrance, leaned against the wall, and waited. A steady stream of suits passed by, giving me a wide berth and sideways glances as they went. The crowd died down and there was still no sign of Emily, so I pushed off the wall and headed back the way I’d come.

  Turning the corner, I caught sight of her sweet ass stepping into the elevator. I kicked up my heels and hustled down the hall, arriving barely in time to shove my hand between the doors before they closed. They sprang open and I hurried in, coming face-to-face with one sexy attorney.

 
; Wisps of hair had come loose from her bun to frame her beautiful face. Perceptive, bright blue eyes gave me a quick once-over before her hand went into her bag and she took a step back. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable, and I can’t say I blamed her. Wearing jeans and my cut over a short-sleeved T-shirt that revealed my fully tatted-up sleeves, most people would take one look at me and assume my time in the courthouse should be spent under guard and within the confines of handcuffs.

  Still, it rankled.

  “Is it the tats or the cut?” I asked.

  “What?”

  She had a nice voice. Not high-pitched and annoying like some of the broads I knew.

  “The reason you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to attack you. Is it the tats or the cut that has you trying and convicting me before I even get the chance to open my mouth, counselor? And what are you reaching for? I know you can’t have weapons in the courthouse.”

  Straightening, she eased her hand out of her purse and pushed the door close button, sending the elevator to the fifth floor. “Habit.” She patted the outside of her bag, as if confirming that it was lacking anything that could protect her from me. “I don’t know you, we’re alone in an elevator, and I’m cautious. And, might I add, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  Damn, she was fine. Confident, intelligent, sassy, sexy-as-fuck, if she knew half the things I wanted to do to her, she’d be wishing for whatever self-defense trick she usually carried so she could hit me with it. Maybe a good pepper spraying, or a few volts of electricity would get my libido under control. No matter how fine she was, my purpose for being here was much more important than a roll in the hay. Or a roll in the elevator, as it may be.

  “I have a case I hope you’ll be willing to take,” I said.

  “Then you should call my office.”

  “I’ve tried. Please. Just hear me out.”

  She looked me over again, as if forcing herself to give me the benefit of the doubt. Something flickered in her eyes. Interest? Attraction? I couldn’t tell, but I sure as hell wanted to find out.