“We should…um, go,” I say, chest heaving slightly, combing my fingers through my hair as I turn away from him. “Your friends must be waiting for you.”
“Brothers,” he says with a deep chuckle, stepping closer to me.
“Brothers,” I correct in a soft voice.
I try not to let his close proximity bother me, but he’s so huge it’s hard to ignore him. My attention is briefly pulled from him when a cab glides to the curb in front of us. Trigger steps forward to open the back door for me, and I try to calm my pounding heart as I slip into the car. He follows, his knee brushing mine as he settles in and calls out the address to the driver. He doesn’t seemas affected by the touch as I am, and I sit stiffly, afraid to move, unsure of how to act.
“So, Miss Halloway, how long have you been an attorney?”
“Six months.”
He whistles, seemingly impressed. “I never would have guessed you’re that fresh out of law school. The way you held your own in there, one would think you’ve been doing this all your life.” He’s not entirely wrong, but there’s no need to open a can of worms by telling him that I read law books along with my ABCs. “Very impressive, for someone who doesn’t look old enough to drink.”
“I’m old enough to drink!” I blurt, surprised by the urgent need to affirm that I’m old enough for…whatever. “I’m twenty-four!”
He chuckles and leans back in his seat with ease. I stare at him, confused by his amusement, but I don’t dare push him any further as we settle into a tense silence for the rest of the ride.
Well, the tension is all mine, as the man seated next to me doesn’t seem one bit bothered.
When the car pulls up in front of a massive ten-story building that everyone in the city recognizes as the Steel Rebels’ clubhouse, I open the car door and jump out before I’m reminded that I haven’t paid for the cab fare. I reach into my bag for cash but Trigger has already paid and is climbing out of the taxi. He walks around to my side and turns to stare at the massive building.
“Are you worried about going in there?” he asks, turning to look at me, and I resist the urge to look away from the dark sapphire gleam of his eyes. “Despite our reputation, I promise this is the safest place in town.”
“I’m not scared,” I say firmly, despite the pounding of my heart.
His mouth twitches in what looks like a smirk before he lays a hand on the small of my back and urges me forward. It takes real effort not to visibly react to the hand, and to focus on my steps. The shakiness in my knees has nothing to do with the fact that I’m about to walk into the wolves’ den. Well, not entirely. Most of it is from being so close to this man. Having his hand on me.
A few men are chatting and smoking outside and they all stop when they spot us. Trigger nods in their direction but doesn’t break stride to chat with any of them as he walks me to the massive door. He pulls it open and nudges me inside.
The air tastes like metal and smoke, tinted with something primal. Gasoline, maybe. The music is set on low, and it’s not the bass-heavy rock one would expect to find thundering through the walls in a place like this. My heels click against the floor as I walk deeper into the building, taking in everything at once. I spot the bar, built with what looks like salvaged gear and burnished oak. The moody lighting doesn’t allow me to see much of the walls, but they’re covered with photographs, motorcycle paraphernalia, and tattoo designs.
“This way.”
The hand on my back nudges me forward, guiding me past the bar and down a wide hallway. My gaze sweeps across the walls, taking in the vintage black-and-white photographs of men posed with their bikes. As we near the end of the hallway, I manage to spot a large frame titledCode of Conduct, framed like a scripture and hung high.
“Where are we going?”
I realize I should have asked that question five minutes ago instead of allowing myself to be blindly led into a place everyone in the city knows better than to approach.
“I assume you’ll want to speak to Saint about the case,” Trigger says from behind me when we stop in front of a massive door. He reaches up to knock and waits for a voice to call out before pushing it open.
I start to walk in, but hesitate when I spot the men inside what appears to be an office. Two of these men came to my office this morning, and there’s a third one who’s built just as massively as they are. Their presence makes me nervous in ways Trigger doesn’t. And isn’t that ironic that I would feel more at ease with a man who just left prison?
“Miss Halloway.” Saint’s voice cuts through the room and to me. “I heard…”
His voice trails off when Trigger steps into view and I move aside to let him in. The three men in the room walk to Trigger and clap him on the shoulder, their wide grins miles apart from the scowls I was served this morning. “Son of a bitch, I knew you’d get out!”
“Thanks to the pretty lawyer you hired, and the bail you paid.” Trigger laughs, and all eyes shift to me. I flinch from all the attention, forcing myself not to bolt. “Miss Halloway, come on in. You can tell Saint, Doc, and Hawk all about the boring court stuff.”
My cheeks are practically on fire as I walk into the room and step up beside Trigger. “The court date is already set, so we have three months to build a defense on the charges. Trigger has been charged with a class two felony, which is serious. We’re talking three to seven years in prison. If the state pushes for aggravated factors then you could see up to fourteen—”
“He didn’t do it!” Saint snaps, cutting me off. I flinch at the coldness in his eyes and find myself unconsciously inchingcloser to Trigger. “He’s being framed by that fucking cop. Just like he was ten years ago.”
“Saint—”
“Tell her why that cop has been coming after you like a dog with a bone,” he says, turning his cold eyes to Trigger. “Do you think it was easy for the rest of us? Watching you waste six fucking years in that hellhole with no fucking idea how to get you out?”
“I got out,” Trigger says calmly.
