STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC by Daphne Loveling

Author:Daphne Loveling [Loveling, Daphne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

20

Ember

Monday morning at the office, Margot tells me Benji wouldn’t stop talking about Striker after we left their house yesterday.

“Especially once he found out your friend rides a motorcycle,” Margot says, putting a sarcastic twist on the word. “Benji now wants to know how much motorcycles cost, and how old you have to be to ride one. He also wanted to know whether he could ask Santa for one for Christmas. So yeah, thanks for that.”

“He’ll forget about it, eventually,” I assure her. “In a week or two, some new video game will come out and he’ll start clamoring for that instead.”

“I don’t know about that. He was also asking me whether tattoos hurt.”

“Whoops.”

“Yeah. I think I might have a budding delinquent on my hands, thanks to you,” she sighs.

A flash of irritation shoots through me. Striker’s not a delinquent. I mean okay, yeah, technically he has probably done some less than legal things in his life. But he told me his club is going legit now. Just because he rides a motorcycle and has tattoos…

“Hey, what’s with that outfit, anyway?” Margot asks, interrupting my inner monologue. She eyes me up and down. “You have a hot lunch date or something?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, blushing.

She crosses her arms. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve only ever seen you wear that suit when you’re trying to win a case against a perv. And you don’t even have court today. So what’s the deal?”

Sheepishly, I look down at my attire — a belted plum-colored blazer and pencil skirt cut just above the knee. The blazer shows off my waist, and yes, it does accentuate my figure more than my normal work attire. The last time I wore it was when I was representing a client whose soon-to-be-ex-husband was a cheating scumbag with a roving eye. The female judge saw him leering openly at me, and… well, let’s just say, I don’t know for sure that it had anything to do with our winning a hefty settlement, but I don’t think it hurt, either.

“There’s nothing on your schedule for lunch, though,” Margot continues, still guessing. “You have a date later, don’t you? An after-work drink.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“C’mon, Em. Who is he and where are you meeting him? Is he picking you up here?” Margot glances out the front window to the parking lot. “Hey,” she frowns, “I thought you said your car was in the shop. Wasn’t that why the biker guy drove you over to our place yesterday?”

Oh, shit.

“Wait!” Margot’s eyes widen into an incredulous stare. “Wait just a gosh-darned second. It’s him, isn’t it? It’s the biker!”

“No!” Oh, God. “I just… uh…”

“Who is it, then?” Margot demands, eyes locked on my face.

“I mean, it’s not a date!” I fumble. “I don’t have a date! Striker’s not… it’s not like that!”

“Oh my God!” Margot erupts. “How could I not see it? First, he drives you to my house yesterday. Then today, you show up for work all tarted up like a porn-star version of a lawyer…”

“Okay, that is offensive,” I protest.

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