Page 4 of Dash

Here it was. A man in a navy suit, brown shoes, and a red tie would deliver her fate. He looked like the poster child for a Republican recruitment ad. He was definitely the perfect person to mount her defense of innocence based on desperation and stupidity.

“Would you like to sit down?” He gestured to the chair with the manila folder in his hand.

A folder? Oh shit! He had a folder. That couldn’t be good. That meant there was a deal. Which meant they wanted her to plead to a lesser charge. She didn’t want to plead to anything. She didn’t do anything that warranted pleading.

“Do I have to?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around herself.

He lifted one shoulder while making his way deeper into his office and taking a seat behind the desk. “If you’re more comfortable standing, you can stand.”

Well, that wasn’t very helpful. Don’t be wishy-washy now! Show some conviction here, buddy. How was he going to win the case if he couldn’t even convince her to sit in a goddamn chair? She was a submissive, for Christ’s sake! It wouldn’t take much, an authoritative tone really.

Wait. That wasn’t—shit. That wasn’t good. It should take more than that. She really was pathetic.

Opening the folder, he cleared his throat, which drew her attention away from her internal self-loathing. “All right, well…” his voice trailed off as he skimmed through the papers, flipping one and then the other.

She cautiously stepped toward the chair. Slowly, she lowered herself on it. Sitting. Yes. Sitting was the best way to handle this news.

He nodded, humming to himself before leaning over the desk and making eye contact with her. Her gut told her to look away, but she held it out of principal. If he was about to tell her they were going to trial, she’d at least have the balls to look him in the eye.

“They’re dropping the charges against you. They found nothing linking you to anything. In fact, they found additional evidence of the program Richard put on your computer to store keystrokes, to hack into passwords, and basically, they found out how he got into your system and selected his victims.” He closed the folder. “You were just a tool he used to target people.”

Her gaze fixated on the folder and focused on the sheets of paper inside, which were now all misaligned. The nagging feeling to reach over the desk and fix them, to tap the papers so they were all perfect and smooth, taunted her. She fought it and waited for the relief to kick in.

She would not go to court. She would not go to jail. It was over. Everything.

She could go back to work. She could resume her life.

Everything was fine.

They found her so innocent of all the charges they didn’t even want to pursue them. They found her innocent and even found more charges to bring against Richard.

They found her so stupid, her lawyer referred to her as a ‘tool.’

Lifting her eyes to meet the man who’d just freed her from it all, she kept waiting to feel happiness, gratitude, anything other than shame, but it didn’t come. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run out of the room and crawl into a hole and never come out again. She’d been exploited and put her clients at risk because she’d been desperate.

“Thank you.” She finally mustered the words she needed and plastered a smile on her face.

Chapter 3

Dash

Dismounting his purple Road King, Dash flexed his legs and adjusted his crotch. Nothing got the balls stuck to his legs more than sitting on the bike for a bit. This, of course, caught the attention of one of the club sluts. Terry? Tammy? Tina? He didn’t remember her name, but he was almost positive it started with a “T.” He tried to recall it as she sauntered toward him.

“Hey baby,” the brunette crooned, pausing in front of him.

Fuck it. He couldn’t remember. Thankfully, he wasn’t expected to in the compound. “Hey,” he greeted as he put the cigarette to his lips. He flicked his lighter, brought the flame to the tip, and puffed it to life.

“Got another one?” she asked as she leaned forward a bit. Sure her intention was to draw his eye to her cleavage, he obliged. She went to all that trouble, it’d be rude not to take a peek. Besides, church interrupted his scene with a fine naked woman. He deserved a glimpse of some cleavage as a consolation prize.

She had a nice rack. It didn’t need the bra shoving it up under her chin that way. He suspected they may even be real. There were far too many fake tits running around the clubhouse.

As he made no attempt to hide his ogling, he guessed hers were a D cup. They’d bounce up and knock her ass out if she had to run anywhere. He grinned at his mental image.

“Sure.” He shook his pack, and a few popped up—one more than the others. He did his best not to puff out his chest like he used to in high school when he’d perfected that move trying to be cool. He was a biker now. His mere existence made him cool. Stupid little cigarette tricks were unnecessary. It didn’t mean he’d stop doing them.

“Thank you, honey,” she purred as she plucked one from the pack.

Stifling a laugh, his gaze followed the Marlboro as she slipped it between her lips in a gesture meant to be alluring. She puckered far too much. It looked like she was about to suck off the cancer stick. Holding up the lighter, he used it to block the view as much as to help her out.

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