Chapter 1 #2
Then the Stoneheart MC walked through my door with a cartel problem, and suddenly I was right back in it—the danger, the stakes, the adrenaline rush of fighting for something bigger than myself.
At least the work makes sense. The work I can handle.
It’s the rest of it—the way Stone’s voice drops when he says my name, the heat in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking, the goddamn we can’t that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—that I can’t seem to get a grip on.
You came here for boring, remember? Small-town law. Zoning disputes. Not falling for a motorcycle club president. Get it together, Bright.
I tuck my papers into my brief case and lock up.
Tomorrow. I’ll get over him tomorrow.
Pity I’ve been telling myself that for months.
The night air is warm, carrying the last breath of summer and the faint smell of cut grass.
Crickets chirp somewhere nearby as I lock the office door, checking it twice out of habit, and head for my car—a sensible silver Honda that has seen better days but still gets me from point A to point B without complaint.
My phone buzzes. Not a text this time—a call. The name on the screen makes my stomach flip.
Stone
I consider letting it go to voicemail, but he’s still a client. And I’m still his lawyer.
I answer. “Stone.”
“Josie.” His voice is rough, urgent in a way that makes my chest tighten. “Where are you?”
“Just leaving the office. Why?”
“I have a problem. One of the prospects got into a tangle over at Ole Killa. He’s been arrested.”
My heart rate kicks up. “What are they charging him with?”
“Aggravated assault. He was protecting a woman who was being harassed and only hit when the other guy took a swing. Pity for him, the guy went down hard and happens to be rich.”
I curse softly, clicking the lock on my car door. My whole body aches with exhaustion. I was looking forward to ripping off my bra and finishing my briefs in front of the TV, but I’m already mentally reshuffling my night. The paperwork can wait, that kid can’t. “Okay, I’ll head over and—”
“I’m coming to get you.”
I slide into the car, tossing my briefcase on the passenger seat. “That’s not necessary. I can meet you at—”
“I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes.”
“Stone.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, irritation flaring. This is so typical—him making decisions without consulting anyone, assuming everyone will just fall in line. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”
“Josie.” The way he says my name—low and serious—sends a shiver down my spine that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “It’s after ten. I’m gonna assume you’re running on caffeine and fumes. Let me come get you.”
The man isn’t wrong. My eyes are gritty, my shoulders are screaming, and I can’t remember if I ate lunch or just thought about eating lunch.
I’d love to ignore this, but there’s a kid sitting in a cell right now, scared and alone, and I’ve never been able to turn my back on someone who needs help.
It’s a flaw, honestly. The inability to say no when someone’s in trouble.
It’s going to kill me one of these days.
I blow out a sigh. “Anyone ever tell you, you’re a bossy bastard?”
He chuckles. “You’re the only one brave enough to bust my balls, honey.”
I close my eyes, hating how my body reacts to his endearment.
I should say no. I should insist on meeting him at the station where I can control my exit, where I won’t be trapped in a vehicle with his scent and his voice and the memory of his hands on my skin.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Fine. Fifteen minutes.”
“I’m already on my way.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, heart pounding.
Damn.
Main Street is quiet at this hour, most of the shops dark.
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward my small home.
The roads are empty, streetlights casting pools of orange light on the asphalt.
My mind sifts through the charges, already trying to work up a game plan.
But it drifts—to the DA filing, to tomorrow’s meetings, to the way Stone’s hand felt on my hip—
Stop. Just stop.
I turn onto Oak Street, passing the darkened windows of the hardware store, the closed bakery, the little park where kids play on sunny afternoons. Stoneheart is peaceful. Safe. The kind of place where nothing bad ever happens.
Which is probably why I don’t see the headlights until they’re already on top of me.
They come from nowhere—blazing through the Miller Road intersection. They gas through their stop sign as I hit the halfway of the intersection, aiming directly at me. No braking. No attempts to slow down. Just two bright points of light getting bigger and bigger and—
MOVE—
I yank the wheel, but it’s too late.
Impact.
The world explodes into glass and metal and pain—so much pain, everywhere at once. My body slams sideways, the seatbelt cutting into my chest, my head cracking against hard metal. I hear screaming—is that me?—and the shriek of tearing metal, and then everything is spinning, tumbling, wrong.
I can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t feel anything except the fire in my ribs and the warm wetness running down my face.
Stone.
His name surfaces through the pain like a lifeline. Stupid. So stupid. He doesn’t want me, and I’m dying in a crushed Honda thinking about his goddamn eyes.
I never told him—
Told him what? I don’t even know. Don’t have time to figure it out.
The darkness rushes in, hungry and absolute, and my last coherent thought is almost funny in its absurdity:
Well. This is inconvenient.
Then there is nothing at all.