Page 7 of Ruffled Feathers

Sure, sure. Haughty ass.Just because he was an Alpha and I was Unshown, it didn’t mean he could just boss me around and I’d say,“Yes, Sir.”I was going to lose this jerkwad as soon as humanly possible and go back to my life.

I gave him my most innocent look. “I promise.”

Two

Truett

In the six years since the day I first met Otillie-James, I’d learned a few things about my best friend’s stepsister.

One, she had a heart that was way too big and full of empathy, and it got her into more trouble than any single undesignated girl should be able to achieve.

Two, that empathy didn’t often extend to the human species, and especially not to me. Otillie-James and I butted heads more often than not, so Sonny was always between us, playing mediator.

Three, she was stubborn as hell. So I knew with absolute certainty that when I told her to wait for me, she’d do the exact opposite.

I would bet my license to practice law in the state of South Carolina that she’d be out the door of the station any minute now, just to spite me. It was why I just sat in the parking lot, leaning against my Maserati—which she’d once called a giant cock on wheels—and waited for her to come to me.

Satisfaction hummed along my veins when the doors opened, and out came one Otillie-James Baler in wrinkled clothes, a plastic bag of her possessions clutched in her hand. When she looked out and saw me, her eyes narrowed.

Stepping back, I opened the passenger door. “Get in the car, Otillie-James.”

She lifted her chin, and I could see the argument brewing in her pretty mind. I gave her my stony Alpha expression that said I would not be swayed, and that she was either getting in this car herself, or I was picking her up and stuffing her in.

Sighing heavily, she stomped over. “I can make my own way home, Truett.”

Shaking my head, I herded her toward the open door and waited there until she’d buckled herself in. She glared at me like a petulant child, and I shut the door with a little more oomph than I normally would. Moving around the hood, I briefly wondered if she’d make a break for it. However, she showed a little bit of maturity and stayed in the car as I slid behind the wheel.

When her father and stepmother had gone off to Alaska, they’d made Sonny promise to keep an eye on her, which he had. Of course, that meantwehad to keep an eye on her. She was twenty-two, for Christ’s sake, not an infant. Though I guess if last night had proved anything, it was that she might actuallyneeda babysitter.

Finally, the silence became too much. “Remind me again what thefuckyou were thinking?” She just turned to stare out the window. “This is serious, Otillie-James.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, her eyes flashing in my direction. “Tillie, or OJ. Hell, even Juice, if you have to. But stop full-naming me like you’re my dad.”

“Fine, OJ.” My sarcasm was in full swing. “If they send this to trial, and you get found guilty, you’re looking at jail time, at worst. At best, community service and a criminal record.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You were busted with a fucking chicken at a cockfight, OJ. That’s like being busted with a suitcase full of drugs and tellingthe cops you were just holding it for a friend. It’s hard to prove that you weren’t there for the wrong reasons, and your pretty little face and innocent eyes aren’t going to sway a judge.”

She was seething. “I’ll get a good lawyer. A lawyer who doesn’t think I’m some stupid kid who doesn’t think through her actions. A lawyer who’ll bring up the fact that I tried to get those damn fights shut down forweeksbefore I took matters into my own hands.”

I growled as I pulled off into the gated community that held the Chalmers Estate. It was always like this with her. “You’ll do no such fucking thing. If I let another lawyer handle your case, they’ll fuck it up, and you’ll end up in jail. Then I’ll have to explain to Buck why his daughter is the fresh meat at the Women’s Correctional!”

As I pulled up to their gate, OJ almost launched herself out the door. “Here’s fine. I can walk up the driveway without getting into trouble.” I had anecdotal evidence that wasn’t true at all.

I narrowed my eyes at her. She sounded a little too eager to get rid of me, which set my lawyer—and general OJ-wrangling—instincts onto high alert. So I relocked the doors and pressed the gate open button. “I’ll drive you to the door. I insist.”

She ground her teeth so loudly, I could hear it. “Fine.”

I tried to keep my amusement locked down as I pulled up the driveway, and the first sign that maybe something was amiss was a goat eating Citrine’s azaleas. OJ’s eyes went frantically wide, but I pretended not to notice all the goats as we drove past, and she relaxed a little.

As we pulled up in front of the house, and I unlocked the doors, OJ was out like her ass was on fire. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll message you about the court case. Thanks again.” She slammed the door, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. As if I was just about to drive away now.

For as long as I’d known her, Otillie-James’s emotions had played out across her face like a children’s picture book. She sucked at poker, but would have been an incredible mime.

I lazily climbed from the driver’s seat and followed her up to the door. She whirled around on her toes, looking guilty as hell. “What are you doing?”

I happened to be a great poker player, so I just looked at her blankly. “I thought I’d come in, so we could discuss your case, and how things are going to progress from here.”

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