Hammer (Heartlands Motorcycle Club #9) - Dani Wyatt Page 0,3
to court.”
Fucking Lacy Parker. So that’s what this is all about. She was trouble from the moment she called looking for someone to represent her in her third DUI case. I did withdraw, because she showed up at my office for our last meeting before going before the judge.
Drunk.
When I asked if she drove herself to my office, her affirmative answer through slurred words and red eyes made my position untenable. From there, I withdrew from her case, told her I would file a motion to delay her appearance so she could find new counsel. She proceeded to clear the top of my desk with one swipe of her arm, threw my lamp on the floor and gave me the double bird, calling me some creative names as she exited the office.
She told me she would represent herself and she didn’t need my help delaying anything.
Wasn’t the best decision when she showed up for her appearance under the influence, but that was her choice. I can’t force my clients to take my advice.
“I don’t discuss clients.” I staple my eyes to his and shove the cart forward with his fingers between the metal grid, forcing him to let go of the cart or have three broken bones.
Douche bag number one steps in front of the cart while his compadres flank me on both sides. I’m not scared, just fucking annoyed at being confronted in the grocery store of all places. I love the grocery store, I love food in general, and these guys are fucking with my mojo.
“Well, you’re going to discuss—”
Before he can finish, there’s a thumping noise from behind me. When I spin, I see the two dudes behind me crumple to the floor after watching their foreheads be smashed together by…
O.M.G. He’s here.
Hammer.
Six feet five inches of everything I keep telling myself I don’t want. Leather, patches, tattoos, scars and jeans that fit in that perfect way. Just loose enough, because he doesn’t care to show off, but just tight enough I can see the outline of where his business hangs to the right and a good handful of inches down the inside leg of his Levi’s.
He’s been following me, and it’s annoying because I don’t want to want him. But I can’t help myself. I have plans. And those plans don’t include being stuck for much longer in Seneca, Arizona, and certainly not with a biker whose life goals are wobbly at best.
His eyes are hypnotic, green, intense and unmoving, as he stomps forward, and my belly is doing somersaults and back handsprings.
“Hey, what—” I stutter out, but he’s already got his hands on the guy standing in front of my cart, bringing a knee to his gut as he grabs his shoulders and drops him to the floor along with his two buddies.
I gasp and struggle for words, but instead Hammer grabs me around the waist and picks me up against his hip like a child, and yanks my cart away from the now moaning heaps of man-trash, carelessly running one of them over with two of the wheels before working us both away and down the aisle.
“Uh, put me down?” I manage, pushing on his arm, which feels like iron and my head is spinning from what just happened but also from his scent.
Jesus, I can’t even identify what he smells like, except that’s it’s some sort of testosterone sex juice that has my head spinning and my heart in my throat.
He marches forward until we are half-way through the meat section before slowing his pace and finally putting my feet back on the ground. I glance back to see the three guys now standing, looking pissed, as they jerk their heads, swearing and stomp away in the opposite direction.
There’s a couple of twenty-something girls also watching them, and us, but they are doing more than watching. One has her phone up and from the looks of it, she’s recorded at least some of what happened, which may not bode well for Hammer.
“You just assaulted those guys, you know that, right? They’re probably calling the cops on you right now.”
I brush my hands down the front of my tank top and try to ignore the fact that my nipples are making a grand entrance—and it’s not because of the humming freezers all around us. I’m in my Saturday best. Khaki shorts about three sizes too big, a white tank top and my Tom’s with black and white cat faces I stamped all over them