Page 2 of Not Mine to Rescue

He held his hands up and retreated.

“And you…”

Busted. “What?” Honey Ryder as in Ride-her…? Well, duh. I’d love to do just that.

She composed herself and set a wall of mental steel between us. “Go ahead, say what you’re going to say.”

“Your first name is beautiful.” I repeated it carefully, focusing on the correct emphasis.

She blinked. “Thank you.”

Even the way she sat was gracefully elegant. Without thinking, I blurted, “You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m also your lawyer.” Her smile wasn’t as sweet this time.

Which meant, off-limits, dumbass. “Right. What’s your read on the charges? And, can you get my bail posted today?” I needed to be out of here an hour ago. Shit was flying around and piling up.

She studied me for a moment. Her gaze landed on the black eye I’d gotten before booking. Or maybe the cut on my forehead that had swollen up to the size of an egg. That was courtesy of a billy club. Yes, the cops still used those. The matching bruises on my neck and the slight rasp of my voice were another reminder of that.

“Did you receive medical attention?”

Shaking my head would hurt, so I didn’t. “No.”

Her glare shifted to the guard.

He held up his hands. “He came in that way. That wasn’t done here.”

Slight color rose in her cheeks. She had pale skin. Not olive, not peachy, not even ivory. It was a shade I’d not explored before. Somewhere between cream and pink. It looked softer than her hands. “I’ll note that and see if you can get transferred to medical. Are you dizzy at all?”

If I told her yes, I’d be out of holding and put in medical. That wouldn’t fly. I needed to be back on the streets. “I’m good. It’s just bruise or two. When is my bail hearing?”

She smiled. “You’re lucky, we got you on the docket for ten.”

Hot damn. I’d be out and on the streets by noon. Except— “My bike’s in impound.” I could move faster on the Husky than my touring bike.

Honoria looked me straight in the eye. “You’re not going to be driving that motorcycle any time soon. It’s in police hold.”

Fuck. That meant Monday earliest. Or a court date, which may mean never. And they charged for storage by the day.

She pulled out my paperwork. “On Monday, I’ll be working with the DA to get the charges on record for the reckless driving only. Seeing as your arrest was recorded on body cam and the bruising you suffered was due to unnecessary force, I will push them hard to drop the resisting and assault charges.”

Cool. “What about the public endangerment charge?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your vehicle shows no damage. Which means you did not hit the second vehicle in the incident.”

Yay. Except, I had put my boot on the fender. That minimal contact should have warranted the charges to stick. “The woman was pretty adamant I hit her,” I prompted because if it went to trial, her word would be the first, last, and only thing the jury remembered. I’d been railroaded enough to know that.

“The only damage to that vehicle is directly attributed to her attempt to avoid hitting you. Hardly your fault considering she was taking a left turn into your lane which was oncoming traffic.”

I tried to remember that part. I’d been so focused on making a scene in front of the cops, I’d hardly avoided her car in time. And yeah, that boot print on her front fender was right after I dropped the front tire to avoid getting wiped out by that bitch.

Here I thought she ran the red light. Huh. “Will my license be suspended?”

“The typical sentence is three months and two points.”

Ouch. That would mess with everything. You had to ride to be in the club. If I couldn’t, then I was useless. “No points?” I tried.

“This is your third traffic violation in two years.”