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He’d been wrong about her. So had her brother. She might have been raised as a pampered princess, but her spine was pure steel.
She was Deke’s sister, all right. God, he’d have been proud of her tonight. Still, he’d make sure she knew not to involve herself in his shit again.
She sat at the desk, furiously scribbling away on a notepad, probably documenting what had happened with Dante. Fuck, if only he’d arrived sooner, it wouldn’t have gotten as far as it did.
How the fuck did that asshole get on the property? As soon as he got the fuck out of there, Scott would be talking to Curly. This shit with his old club members needed to end. They had to make a statement, or they’d be seen as pussies. Curly’s goal of not drawing attention to the club wasn’t working. It was time to let his enforcer do his job.
It was time to try things Scott’s way.
The door opened and in strode the club’s lawyer with Curly hot on her heels. The prez took one look at Brooke, rolled his eyes, then pulled her to him for a long kiss.
Olivia’s head popped up from her writing. She stood. “You must be Scott’s attorney,” she said with authority.
The lawyer stood an inch or so taller than Olivia and wore a maroon suit that gave her a sharp, competent appearance. Yet she had nothing on Livy’s natural presence.
“That’s right, I am. And you are?”
“Olivia. I’m the one who was being assaulted when Sc… Spec showed up and kicked that fucker’s ass. I want him out of that damn cell in the next few minutes. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs.”
Fuck, she was a bossy little thing. He’d love to see what happened when she channeled all that feisty energy into something a hell of a lot more sexual. He bet something wild and uninhibited lay beneath her polished veneer. Maybe she’d never let that side of herself out to play before, but if he ever got his hands on her, he’d make sure the vixen prevailed. Not that he’d ever be in that position.
She was Deke’s sister, for fuck’s sake.
He should be shot for even going there in his mind.
The lawyer smirked then held out her hand for Livy to shake. They continued speaking in much more hushed tones. Then his attorney pulled out her phone and made a call. She seemed all business, jotting notes and nodding along with whomever she was speaking to.
Office Stache spoke into the phone as well, arguing under his breath. He didn’t wear the same confidence as the attorney. Hopefully, that meant something good for him.
Time slowed, and the cell began to shrink down on him again. Why the fuck did this have to happen now? He wasn’t alone and could see everyone else in the police station. Air flowed freely in and out of the damn jail cell. Yet he might as well have been suffocating in that fucking hot box in the desert. His clothes were drenched in sweat, and his chest tightened until he feared a heart attack.
After a few moments, which felt like hours, his leg bouncing became more of a tremor. The trembling traveled up his calves, through his thighs, into his stomach until he had to clutch the edge of the bench with all his might to keep from shaking right off the damn thing.
Thankfully, no one paid him any fucking attention. No way in hell did he want the cop, his attorney, or any of his brothers to see him being a pussy. He just needed a second to get his body under control. Closing his eyes, he tried a technique the army psychologist he’d had no choice but to work with had taught him.
He listened to the clipped tones of his attorney barking orders into her phone.
He inhaled the musty scent of the jail cell.
He felt the cold, hard bench under his ass and beneath his fingers.
Shitty as this situation was, he wasn’t in the desert. He was in Florida. Safe from torture.
Christ, nothing made him feel weaker than being forced to rely on these head-shrinking games. But they goddamn worked, and if he could pull it off without anyone knowing what the hell was happening inside his brain, he’d do it.
Because a full-blown panic attack would be the height of humiliation.
Once he had some semblance of control over himself, he opened his eyes to find Olivia’s anxious eyes staring at him through the cell bars. She stood right there, her hands wrapped around the metal.
The woman had no idea how sexy she was. Standing there in a T-shirt and sweats, she was hotter than any of the women who came by the clubhouse dressed to entice. If shit was different, if he wasn’t fucked in the head, and if she was the filthy rich half-sister of his dead best friend, he’d have been all over her, right then and there in the fucking police department. All he’d need was a few minutes to slip his hand between those bars and down her pants. He’d work her over until she was soft and breathy, creaming in his hand and pleading to come.
