Hunted By Trigger (Steel Rebels MC #10)

Chapter One

Maeve

I stare up at the two giant, tattooed men who practically fill all the space in my tiny little law office.

“How can I help you, gentlemen?” I’m proud that my voice comes out calm and composed, even though I feel anything but.

For the first time in my career as a criminal prosecutor, I feel a little unprepared. The permanent scowls of the men before me make it clear they’re not here to socialize. Still, underneath my unease, there’s a tiny thrill of hope.

Sure, these men look like they could snap me in half without breaking a sweat, but they also look like the kind of men who might need a really good criminal prosecutor—and maybe this case will be big enough.

Big enough to prove to myself, my father, and anyone else who’s watching, that I have what it takes.

“Please, have a seat.” I gesture to the two mismatched leather chairs on the opposite side of my desk.

The giant with blond hair—who I imagine is in charge judging from how he carries himself—nods at his companion, and they both sit down, though even that still doesn’t put them on eye level with me. Christ, they’re both so tall and broad, with eyes so dark they scare the living hell out of me.

“Miss Halloway, we’d like to hire you for a case that involves a friend of mine,” the leader says, leaning back in his seat. I resist the urge to fidget when he fixes those cold eyes on me. “My name is Saint. I’m the president of the Steel Rebels, and this here is Hawk, my friend’s parole officer.”

The Steel Rebels.

Deep breath, Maeve.

I knew at some point I would have to face some scary clients, but I thought that when it happened, I would have a secretary, a partner, or a guard outside my door who would hear me if I screamed bloody murder.

The parole officer hands over a file, and I start to read through it.

Looks like an ex-con violated his parole conditions by getting himself arrested for drug charges.

And that’s bad enough, but it’s not the worst part.

The person I’m supposed to represent isn’t just an ex-con but a member of the Steel Rebels MC.

Okay, a case involving a member of the most notorious motorcycle club in the state is honestly a little more high-profile than I was expecting.

Christ, I’m so fresh out of law school that these two can probably still smell the textbooks on me. This early in my career, I’ve mostly been dealing with first-time DUIs, traffic violations, and a few simple assault cases.

But I want more. And I want to be the best. This could be a real step forward for me.

My father’s words echo through my mind.

“Maeve, honey, you know I’d like to support you no matter what you do—you’ve got the brains to go far—but I just don’t think being a criminal prosecutor is good fit for you.”

“You mean you don’t think I can do it?”

“I mean I’ve seen what it’s like out there—it’s not safe! Certainly not a job for a nice girl like you.”

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted follow in my father’s footsteps and go into law. And he supported me through law school, even encouraged me, until it became clear that I wanted to practice criminal defense.

He’s the district attorney for the state of Illinois—I can’t be blamed for the kind of work that captures my interest. It’s in my blood. But of course, the career I’ve chosen isn’t “safe enough.”

I know that’s just code for the fact that he thinks a woman can’t make it in his world.

So, I graduated top of my class and beat all the boys just to show him that I was better than any son he could have ever hoped for. I became valedictorian just to prove to him that I could.

And then I started my own firm. Sure, it’s just a tiny office, barely bigger than my old bedroom, but the idea of climbing the corporate ladder by playing politics, or by using my dad’s name, has never appealed to me.

The furniture is a mismatched collection of thrift store finds and hand-me-downs, but I’m proud of the work I’ve done here so far. The people I’ve helped. Away from the shadow of my father’s influence, I’ve begun to make a name for myself.

Enough that notorious criminals are seeking out my services, apparently.

“You’re here for your member’s bail hearing.” I flip through the file just so I have something to do with my fingers. “Cole Maddox was arrested on drug possession—”

“It’s bogus,” Saint interrupts, his eyes firing up. “Trigger doesn’t use any fucking drugs, let alone ride around the goddamn city with them.”

Oh, this is a song I’ve heard many times before.

I don’t fault them for thinking their friend is innocent. Most people don’t believe the person they know is capable of committing the crime they’re accused of, even after a confession.

Here’s what I know: Ten years ago, Cole Maddox was arrested for possession of an illegal firearm and received a maximum sentence of ten years.

He spent six years in prison and the other four on parole.

Is it a coincidence that he’d get arrested for another felony ten years later, right as his parole is almost up?

It’s not my place to judge the man or his friends. Guilty or not, he deserves legal representation.

“Let’s focus on the matter at hand and we’ll work on proving his innocence later,” I say, shifting my gaze between the two men. “Mr. Maddox—”

“Trigger,” Saint says firmly, the tightness in his voice sending my heart into a nervous gallop.

“I beg your pardon?”

“His name is Trigger,” he says. “Surely, Miss Halloway, you’re not one of those people who scoff at the names men like us choose to use.” Before I can respond, he shrugs and explains, “Cole Maddox is the name he was given by the parents he doesn’t even remember. Trigger is his real name.”

Deep breath, Maeve. Slow and deep!

“Right,” I whisper, questioning for a moment why I’m agreeing to take this job.

“As I was saying, this isn’t a routine charge.

Mr. Mad— Excuse me, Trigger, is on parole, which means the system sees him as someone who has a strike against him.

Now he’s been caught with illegal substances, so that’s a double strike. ”

“What does that mean?”

“The judge won’t be looking just at the new charge when it comes to deciding on the bail, but will also weigh whether he’s a danger to the community, whether he’ll show up to court, and whether he’s likely to re-offend.

” Saint’s eyes fire up and he starts to say something, but Hawk stops him by laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Right now, the odds are not in his favor.”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?” Saint challenges. “If so, then we’re wasting our time here.”

I lift my chin. “Of course I can do it,” I say firmly, doing my best to stare down two of the most dangerous men in the city.

My father’s voice slips into my mind again, challenging me as he always does.

Are you sure, honey? No shame in changing your mind if you want to go into a different area of study…

He paid my way through law school, but whenever things got tough, he was always quick to tell me I could change my mind if I wanted. That I could choose a different path.

I could tell he wanted me to do something nicer. More feminine. My father loves me, but he’s old-fashioned.

And he should have known better. I got my stubbornness from him, so whenever he told me it was okay to give up I always just dug in my heels a little more.

It’s a sickness, really. The constant need to prove myself.

But these men are not my father, and there’s no backing out if I take this case.

I’m not taking this job for the money, even though I desperately need to pay the rent for this office space. I’m taking it for the challenge.

Getting bail for a Steel Rebel on parole is as exciting as it is challenging, but I’ll be the one to do it. This is the path I choose.

“I’m not saying I can’t do it, but it’s not going to be easy,” I offer, trying to hide my excitement.

When Saint shoots up to his feet, I quickly add, “The judge will have to weigh whether holding him is truly necessary. I’ll lean into what we have, which is his clean record since parole.

Can you vouch for consistent check-ins?”

“Yes,” Hawk, the parole officer, nods when I turn to look at him. “He hasn’t missed an appointment.”

“Good,” I say as the wheels spin in my head. “If the drugs weren’t on him directly, or there’s ambiguity, I’ll push hard on that angle. I can also propose stricter conditions like more frequent check-ins. It’s not ideal but it’s enough to give us a fighting chance with the judge.”

“He’s innocent,” Saint hisses, turning his back on us to face the small window that looks out on the busy streets of midtown Chicago.

“Ten years ago, Trigger was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, and just when he’s starting his life again, the fucking cops plant drugs on him.

I should have fucking known they would pull another dirty trick!

Ten years ago, we trusted the system, believed that the fucking court-appointed attorney had enough dignity to stand up for what was right, but he didn’t do shit for Trigger. ”

Under the rage vibrating through his voice and body, there’s a thick layer of pain and guilt.

“I’m not going to let that happen again.

I won’t hire some stiff-necked lawyer who’s more interested in dragging out the case and bleeding money from the Rebels.

” I gasp when he turns his dark eyes back to me.

“You’ll get him out, Miss Halloway, won’t you? ”

I flinch at the hardness in his voice, feeling a chill run down my spine from the rage in his face. I can tell it’s not directed at me, but that does little to assure me.

“I…” I clear my throat when my voice squeaks. “Yes, I’ll get him out.” I take a moment to gather my wits, unwilling to cave under the pressure brought about by their presence. “I need to speak to my client so we can prepare for the bail hearing. It’s happening this afternoon, you said.”