“Dead Presidents?” she asked, reading the patch on my cut. “Never heard of them. That some sort of gang?”
“No,” I snapped. Then, reminding myself that I needed Emily’s help, I reined in my temper. “Sorry. Gang is an offensive word. We’re a motorcycle club. All ex-military, and we specialize in helping vets get back on their feet after they come home from the service.”
Her expression changed. Softened. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
“Don’t worry about it. Name’s Link. I’m the club president.”
“And you’re in need of legal assistance?”
I nodded. “My sergeant at arms is in jail for attempted murder. Attacked the wrong dumbass... some mayor’s kid.”
Her eyes widened. “Mayor Kinlan’s son? Your friend’s the one who put Noah Kinlan in intensive care?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, not interested.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I was running out of time. I hit the door-close button and turned to face her. “You haven’t heard the full story,” I blurted out. “I came here because people say you’re fearless and persistent and you always ferret out the truth. That true? Or is it bullshit?”
She folded her arms across her chest and said, “You have one minute. Talk.”
I took a deep breath and let it all out, “My club brother, Havoc, stopped off at The Line to have a drink. After his beer, he went out back to light up a smoke and finds this girl screamin’, skirt hiked up around her waist and some asshole plowin’ into her as she’s begging him to stop. We don’t put up with that shit, and Havoc jumped in and beat the punk to a pulp before two of the bar’s regulars came out and interfered. They called the cops and Havoc got thrown in the slammer while this shithead is plastered all over the papers like some goddamn hero.”
“Wait.” Her eyebrows had crept half way up her forehead. “You’re telling me Noah Kinlan was raping someone?”
“That’s exactly what I’m tellin’ you. The papers sure as hell aren’t saying it. It’s like it never happened. Like Havoc snapped and tried to kill him for no good reason, but I’m tellin’ you I know my friend. No doubt in my mind that he lost his shit and tried to kill the asshole, but he wouldn’t make up some story about a girl getting raped.”
Expression still stunned, she shook her head. “But what happened to the girl?”
I shrugged. “No fuckin’ clue. My guess is that the mayor paid her off or made her disappear or something. Havoc said he saw her being loaded into an ambulance, but I haven’t been able to find hide nor hair of her.”
“What about witnesses? The bar regulars?”
I shook my head. “I went back to the bar and asked around, and nobody’s sayin’ shit.”
Emily snorted. “This is crazy. You can’t find the victim, you have no witnesses, sounds like some sort of nonsense you cooked up to get your friend out of jail. You expect me to believe this? Your time’s up.”
She pushed the button to open the doors and stepped out of the elevator.
“No,” I replied, following her as I pulled a sheet of paper out of my pocket. “I don’t expect you to believe anything. If you’re half the lawyer I suspect you are, you’ll figure out the truth for your damn self. Havoc’s real name is Marcus Wilson.” I handed her the paper as I lengthened my stride to keep up with her. For only being about five-and-a-half feet tall, she had a fast gait. “Here’s everything I know about the case. It’s not much, but please, at least look into it.”
A couple passed us, and then Emily paused, looking at me as she stuffed the paper into her purse. “You were in court all day today, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t see any other way to get to you. I’d do it again, too. I promised Havoc I’d help him outrun the demons he picked up while in the service. He was getting his shit together until he saw that girl bein’ raped. He might have gone a little overboard, but he did the right thing—protecting someone who couldn’t protect herself—but because this Noah dickwad has a powerful daddy, Havoc’s rotting in the county jail for it. You seem like a nice woman and I sure as hell don’t want to drag your ass into this mess, but quite frankly, you’re the only lawyer with the balls to do it.”
Lips pursed, the slightest tinge of pink coloring her cheeks, she stared at me for a couple of beats before asking me for a dollar.
“A dollar?”
“Yes. There needs to be a monetary transaction so I can honestly say I’ve been paid to represent Mr. Wilson before I go speak to him.”
She was going to talk to Havoc. Relief threatened to cripple me, making me want to lean against the wall for support. It had been five sleepless nights since Havoc had been locked up and I finally had the barest glimmer of hope. Pulling out my wallet, I handed her two crisp one hundred-dollar bills instead.
She arched an eyebrow at me in question.
“It’s a retainer,” I replied.
“I’m not promising anything. Said I’ll talk to him, not that I’ll take the case.”
Folding her fingers closed around the bills, I nodded.
“I’ve read all about the clients you take on, and no way you’re gonna let some asswipe get away with raping a girl while you can do something about it. My contact info’s also on that paper. I look forward to hearing from you.”
She stared at me for a beat before shaking her head and cracking a smile. “Still not promising I’ll take the case, but after my meeting, I will go talk to him.”
“That’s all I’m askin’,” I said. “Thank you.”
Then I got another eyeful of Emily’s round ass as she turned on her heel and walked way. She glanced over her shoulder at me one last time before turning the corner.
I smiled to myself, knowing I’d see her again.
If you like what you read you can order Link’d Up HERE!
About the Authors!
Photo courtesy of Red Letter Days Photography
Piper Davenport is the alter ego of NY Times Bestselling author, Tracey Jane Jackson. Piper has been happily married and gooey in love with her author husband, Jack Davenport, for over twenty years. They live in the Pacific Northwest with their two sons.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Asher
For information about my other titles, please visit:
www.piperdavenport.com
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Harley Stone writes mafia romance and funny as shit romantic fiction. When she’s not writing, she's busy living out her real adventure in southwest Washington with her husband and their five boys.
For information about my other titles, please visit:
www.harleystoneauthor.com
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