Page 19 of Ridin' True
“Wait, I don’t understand,” I confessed, almost positive I wasn’t hearing him correctly. “The club employs a general counsel? You don’t just have a lawyer on retainer?”
“We prefer our attorney to be tied to us, not us to whatever firm they work for.”
“Oh.”
“Just somethin’ to think about, yeah?”
Something to think about. That was an understatement.
I wondered what sort of conditions came with the title of General Counsel to the Wild Stallions Motorcycle Club. I didn’t know a whole lot about them or their organization. I knew they owned a couple businesses in town. I knew they were respected and feared in the community, but it wasn’t so much that people were afraid of them; more like they were cognizant of the mystery in which they were shrouded.
Except, Jed knew who Rocco was. It would have been foolish for me to think a bunch of bikers who looked like him never got themselves into any trouble. I’d spent the last few days looking into a few of the members of the club, and they certainly weren’t angels. They were rebels through and through. No one was so ignorant as to believe the Stallions were the kind of club that planned monthly leisurely rides and hosted charity events every quarter.
That said, they weren’t a band of felons.
If what he said was true, representing the Stallions sounded like an opportunity that might make it possible for me to go out on my own.
“Darlin’?” he spoke softly, recapturing my attention. He smirked and continued, “Didn’t say you had to think about it right now. You said you had some good news?”
“Yes. Right,” I muttered, shaking my head clear. “I did. Ido.” I took a breath and willed myself to focus. “Thank you for sending over everything I asked for. It was very helpful. I’ve put together a strong case. Nicole’s attorney, Wendy Abbott? I’ve met her before. She’s a bit of a bulldog, and she rarely losses, but neither do I. Once I present our side, there’s no way she’ll want to go up against us in court. My guess is, she hasn’t gotten the full story from Nicole, or we likely wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet,” I continued, unable to hold back my smile. “You were right about your guys. A few of them do have arrests on their record, but none of them are recent. The last recorded arrest was five and a half years ago. It was a misdemeanor assault charge for a fight in public. Benson Wright spent a night in jail, posted bail, and was sentenced to community service and a fine. Then, a year before that, Roger Matthews had a drunken and disorderly charge. And before that, a couple of guys were charged with possessing a concealed weapon without a permit—and they did do a little jail time, but that was ten years ago. All that to say, your kids aren’t hanging out with predators or dangerous criminals.”
“Yeah. I figured. Good to know we have proof.”
“Here’s something I bet youdidn’tknow.”
I didn’t often revel in people’s past mistakes. I knew all too well, everyone came with history and baggage. But in this case, it was hard not to be a little petty.
I pulled out the mugshot I printed earlier that morning and held it up for Jed to see. It was seventeen years old, and I was sure he looked different now, but I saw the recognition in Jed’s eyes right away.
“What the fuck?”
“Evan Stevens was arrested for driving under the influence when he was twenty-one and again when he was twenty-three. On the night this photo was taken, his blood alcohol level was point-one-nine. Now, that was quite a long time ago,” I said, setting the print aside. “However, one could make the case that unless he’s completely sober, it’s merely been seventeen years since he’s beencaught.
“Of course, I sincerely hope he doesn’t regularly drink and drive, and I don’t mean to scare you—but I told you I wasn’t going to take this lightly. I’m prepared to show up with guns blazing. If this is what it takes to get you what you’re paying for, so be it.”
“Damn,” Jed muttered, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Well, there are still a few details I’d like to hammer out, and I have a couple more questions.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
We talked for another fifteen minutes, Jed filling in the gaps with which I needed help. When we were finished, we discussed timeline. Wishing to be aggressive, I proposed we try to schedule the mediation for Friday morning. He was all for it, and his confidence in our plan was as validating as it was satisfying.
He was standing to leave when I remembered his earlier offer.
While it was completely unexpected, and I wasn’t sure how concrete an option it might be, I didn’t want him to leave without knowing I was interested in learning more.
“Wait, Jed?”
“Still here,” he replied, his blue-green eyes trained down on me.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything, gorgeous.”
