Page 70 of Contracted to the Bikers

They don’t say a word, but their presence is enough. Rook catches my eye first, and he nods once, slow and certain. Boone gives me a small, reassuring smile, his eyes filled with unspoken support, calm and grounded as ever. Cruz flashes a quick thumbs up, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth like he’s already decided how this ends.

Just like that, my doubt disappears.

I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and stride forward. I won’t be intimidated, I won’t let them make me doubt my abilities. I’m here to end him. To end this, once and for all.

When it’s my time to address the jury, I rise slowly, taking my time, giving the impression of total control and confidence. There’s no space for uncertainty. Being a lawyer can sometimes feel like a performance. The jury isn’t just listening to what we say, they’re watching our every move, seeing what our bodies confess that our words try to hide.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—” My voice carries through the mostly silent room, clear and steady, stronger than I feel. The only sound is the occasional cough and the rustling of papers.

“This case is not about a misunderstanding. It is not about coincidence, or unfortunate circumstance.” I pace slowly, deliberately, letting my words settle.

“This is about control. About power. About a man who built an empire on exploitation and believed himself untouchable.”

I don’t look at Briggs, not yet. He tries to throw me off, clicking his pen open and closed. But cheap tricks won’t work on me.

“This trial will show you the structure of that empire. The money that flowed through it. The properties that supported it. The people it destroyed.” Now I look at him. “And the man who thought he would never be held accountable. The man who hid his crimes behind a veneer of respectability. The man who thought he could fool the good people of this county.”

Silence settles, you could hear a pin drop. I can practically hear the jury’s heads turning to look at him, seeing through the respectable façade to the man underneath. His fancy lawyers and expensive watch only alienate him from the small-town jury. They’re thinking, ‘he’s not one of us.’

I hold still for a moment, allowing the weight of my words to really sink in before I sit back down, a small smile on my face as I meet the guys’ eyes above me. They’re grinning like the Cheshire cat, because they know as well as I do that I nailed it.

***

By the time we get home hours later, I’m running on fumes. The first day went well, but Briggs’ team put up a solid fight, and they fought dirty. Today is just the first of a series of long, tough days to come.

The adrenaline I felt earlier is gone, replaced by a deep, bone-level exhaustion that settles into every muscle, every thought. The clubhouse feels warmer tonight, softer, welcoming me home.

The smell of food still lingers in the air. Rook made us dinner, rich, savory, and comforting. Rook is still in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, moving with quiet efficiency as he clears plates and wipes down the counter.

Cruz scoops Jessy up from the couch, where he read her a nighttime story after bathtime. She’s as exhausted as we are, ready for sleep; she doesn’t protest, resting her head against Cruz’s shoulder, her arms looped loosely around his neck. “Got her,” he says to me.

I nod. “Thanks.”

“Say night-night, kiddo,” Cruz tells Jessy.

“Night, Mommy, night Daddies,” she says with a yawn, waving a limp hand as Cruz ambles down the corridor to her bedroom.

“Night, sweetheart,” I reply, watching them walk away, feeling utterly content.

Boone guides me gently toward the couch. “Sit.”

I don’t argue as I sink into the cushions, letting my head fall back for a second. “God, I’m tired,” I mutter to no one in particular.

A moment later, Boone is kneeling in front of me, his hands warm as they wrap around my foot, thumbs pressing into the arch in slow, steady movements.

I exhale. “You don’t—” my protests are silenced by how good it feels on my aching feet, sore from being in heels all day and standing for hours.

“I know, but I want to,” he says quietly.

I close my eyes briefly. “I was sick this morning,” I admit absentmindedly.

His hands pause slightly. “Yeah?”

“In the courthouse,” I say. “Right before we went in. I had to run to the bathroom.”

Rook falls silent in the kitchen. Cruz’s returning footsteps pause.

“First time?” Boone asks.