2. Harper Myers
2
Harper Myers
O ver the last few weeks, during Harper’s first trip home to Oklahoma in two years, she decided it would definitely be her last. There was nothing here for her anymore. Granted, she’d said that when she’d attended her half brother’s high school graduation, but this time she meant it.
This wasn’t the life she wanted. She had worked hard to escape it and accepted a position as an assistant district attorney in North Carolina last year. That meant she prosecuted people who broke the law. She’d taken a seat at the other table—the good one. After growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, she’d clawed her way out. She wasn’t going back.
At least not anymore.
This was the last favor she’d do for her father. At thirty-three years old, it was time she set that boundary. No more fraternizing with people who dabbled in illegal activities. Considering her new position, mingling with criminals would be career suicide. She couldn’t do that after how hard she’d worked to get to this point. Unfortunately, that meant she’d have to cut off most of her family.
Sitting on the bench just outside the courtroom, she blew out a heavy breath. At any minute, they’d be called in for the verdict. It’d taken them three weeks of arguments and two days of jury deliberation to get there. It was finally over.
Glancing up, her gaze followed Dwight as he cracked his knuckles and paced. He looked different without his cut—almost respectable. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him without it.
Navy dockers, a white button-down, and even a tie. He’d combed and tied back his long brown hair into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. Somehow, he’d tamed the bushiness of his beard. If it wasn’t for the tattoos on his neck peeking out above his collar and the ones covering his hands and fingers, he’d look like any other Joe Schmo in traffic court. Harper had to admit her ex-boyfriend cleaned up nicely.
Flexing her own fingers, she smirked. The same could be said of her. She, too, was covered in tattoos. Most were hidden by her formal attire of pantsuits and long-sleeved blouses, but the ones on her hands always gave away her troubled past.
Not that she regretted them. The opposite, really. The lotus flowers, small moons, and even the lettering on her fingers were beautiful. Talented artists had gifted her body with their work. She hated that she had to cover up most of them to be professional, but it was what it was.
The few visible ones were her minor act of rebellion against the man or some shit.
Harper uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Interlacing her fingers, she gripped her knee as Dwight dropped his weight beside her. The old wooden bench groaned.
“Them taking this long is good, right?” he asked as he scratched at the underside of his beard.
“I hope so,” she replied, but didn’t admit that two days in a case like this wasn’t exactly lengthy.
In truth, the case was a long shot. Which was why her father had begged her to come home and take it. The Roughneck Riders’ attorney refused it. The evidence had been that damning.
Her strategy hadn’t been to prove Dwight innocent of the charges—he wasn’t. She had to attack the offense. The cops who arrested him weren’t saints. The prosecution had made several errors. That was her case. It wasn’t her best work, but then again, the other side hadn’t exactly been all aces either. It was all she had when defending an obviously guilty client.
He’d waltzed into that strip club, drunk and stoned, pissed as hell, and caused trouble. He provoked the owners, who were no friends of the motorcycle club. Dwight went in there looking to start shit, and it got out of hand, as things usually did with him.
He was a father now and really needed to cut that shit out. Settle down, be a man, relax, take a less provocative role in the MC. But he wouldn’t listen. He never did.
One of the many reasons their relationship ended all those years ago. Since then, he’d risen to the rank of vice president of the Roughneck Riders. In Harper’s opinion, it was the worst decision her father, and his club, had ever made. Dwight was the loosest of cannons. He’d only bring trouble to his door.
Case in point, the Colombians were now up their ass because of what he’d done.
Leaning forward, resting his forearms on his spread thighs, Dwight turned and sighed. “You did a good job.”
She grinned at his compliment. “We don’t know that yet.”
Shell casings, video evidence, eyewitness testimony. Harper tried every pretrial motion she could think of to suppress what she could. Unfortunately, what remained was still damning, and no matter how many times she tried, Dwight refused to take a plea deal.
“I have faith in you,” he commented. “You went to that fancy-dancey law school. Got a fucking good job putting away people like me. You know how them lawyers think. If you didn’t win this, no one could have.”
“Thanks.” She nodded.
Dwight was crass, dirty, and a criminal, but that didn’t mean he was without a sweet side. Yes, he was capable of the most heinous things, but he was still a human. Actually, he remained that little kid who wanted nothing more than to hear his outlaw dad say he was proud of him. So many stupid decisions and poor life choices led Dwight to that courtroom. It was sad, really, because she could see that cycle repeating itself with his son.
One day, someone in his line would break their generational trauma. At least, she hoped.
The door to the courtroom opened, drawing their attention.
Stepping out, the bailiff glanced around. “You can come in now.”
Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Harper stood.
Dwight did the same but took hold of her hand.
Reflexively, Harper recoiled and stared at him as though he were a cobra who had tried to bite her.
Wearing the softest expression she’d ever seen, Dwight scrubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you.”
“Don’t do that yet.” She brushed off his gratitude and stepped toward the entrance of the courtroom.
“No. Really. You didn’t have to come down here and help, but you did. Especially with our history. I want you to know I appreciate it.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” she reminded him.
He hung his head. “How can you still be mad? It’s been like ten years.”
“Twelve,” she corrected. “Not that I’m counting or anything. It’s just how long I’ve been gone.”
“So, you missed me, too, huh?” He smirked.
Rolling her eyes, Harper shook her head. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
In that moment, she’d noticed that he didn’t stink of cheap whiskey, stale cigarettes, or burned plastic. He’s sober. When was the last time she’d seen him clear-eyed? Being shit-faced off your ass was practically a prerequisite to be a member of the Roughneck Riders. Sober Dwight and biker Dwight were two different people. Truth be told, she kind of missed the clean version. He was a good kid.
Unfortunately, that was the rub. He’d been just a kid. Now he was a grown-up, in the adult world, making the wrong mature decisions that carried harsh consequences. That was life.
Who knew how different things could’ve been had both of them left the life instead of just her. He might not have followed in his father’s footsteps. What kind of man could Dwight have been had he not wanted to get, or gotten, his patch?
The world will never know.
Sitting at the defense table, Harper straightened her spine and waited for the judge and jury. The charges weren’t against her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like she was the one on trial. It’d been her strategy and her arguments which would determine Dwight’s fate.
He may have shot and killed lots of people, done a bunch of drugs, drank too much, and cheated on her, but he wasn’t all bad. She’d still feel bad if he were sentenced to life in prison, or worse. His kids were innocent, and they didn’t deserve to grow up without him.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge William McMunson.”