Possession (7 page)

Vincent never allowed women on the back of his bike. Some Brothers viewed it casually, and used it as an opportunity to show off their latest conquest. Although he meant what he'd said, he regretted letting it slip. It suggested he'd already pictured her as old lady material—if he were in the market for one. Which he'd emphasized a dozen times he wasn't. But she knew better. What a monumental fuck-up. How could he explain this one?

“What are you trying to say?” she asked.

His eyes were firmly set on her. “Pretty sure I didn't mince words. My bike is sacred territory. The honor of sitting on the back is reserved for the next woman I fall in love with.”

At first his answer didn't seem to faze her; she wrapped her soft lips around the straw in her water glass and sucked so hard it made a slurping noise. After she finished drinking, she frowned. “I'm not sure if I should be impressed by your righteous claim or insulted because I'm not that woman.”

“Shit.” The girl knew how to spin things. Or didn't she get it? Falling in love with Tina might be the easiest thing he'd ever do, if he ever let it happen. He certainly couldn't control the overwhelming desire to give in very well. And her incredible green eyes undressed him every chance they got. “Stop complicating things. You're everything a man could want—beautiful and intelligent—definitely soft in all the right places—and hard where it counts.” He winked, hoping to ease the renewed tension between them.

She snapped her mouth shut, obviously surprised. “So are you.”

His cock twitched to life as he remembered how it felt when she touched him between the legs at the park yesterday. He couldn't ignore the obvious. Maybe the only way to get her out of his system was to fuck her. All night. He checked the wall clock near the deli counter. No matter how he felt, this wasn't the time or place to explore it. “I have club business to attend to.”

She laughed sarcastically, then snapped her fingers. “Just like that, huh? Off and on like a light switch.”

He sighed. “No. Nothing could be farther from the truth.” He stood and pulled two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet, then dropped them on the table. “Finish your sandwich, order another coffee. Remember somewhere in this world, at this very moment, there's a guy wearing patches that admires you more than you'll ever know.”

He walked around to her side of the table and kissed the top of her head. Without another word, he exited the restaurant, the weight of her stare on his back heavier than a millstone around his neck.

He sped from the parking lot, avoiding looking back through the wall of windows. As easily as she sexually aroused him, those green eyes had the same effect on his heart. He stopped in a random parking lot a few blocks away and called Crash.

“Meet me at the clubhouse in thirty minutes,” he said.

“Done.” Crash disconnected.

It amazed Vincent how quickly things could change. For the better lately. From the day he patched out with the Sons of Odin to meeting Tina, he'd never seen life with more clarity. His children were safe and thriving. He'd increased liquor sales and customer relations at Valhalla. Even the charter's net worth continued to improve under his watch. All benefits since he'd been appointed treasurer for the club.

But his personal life suffered.

Twenty minutes later he roared into the clubhouse parking lot. He grabbed Saline's vest from his saddlebag and marched inside Valhalla, ready for a drink. Half a dozen customers were playing pool in the back. He leaned against the bar and gave Sheila a wave.

“Shot of Jack on the rocks.”

She filled his order and slid the glass down the polished wood counter. “This one is on the house,” she said.

“Thanks, sweetheart. How's your son?”

“Getting better every day. He asked about you—wanted to know if Mr. Vincent was going to invite him to the next club barbeque.”

“You tell Tyler he can visit anytime he wants. And if he's not here for the Thanksgiving party, it'll break my heart.”

Sheila grinned as he finished his drink. Her son had needed eye surgery a few months ago and Vincent organized a fundraiser at the bar. They made $10,000 on a Friday night, enough to cover his medical expenses.

He headed to his office and sat behind his desk, waiting for Crash to show up. The bastard abused his old lady and expected her to stay? Not in Vincent's world. And since his president was away on business, Vincent maintained control of the charter. Confident he'd made the right decision, he mentally prepared for what he was going to say.

A few minutes later Crash appeared at his door.

“Come in,” Vincent said.

Seated across from Vincent, he dropped a wallet-sized photo of his old lady on the desk. “Saline is hard to miss.”

Vincent didn't acknowledge the picture. “I found her.”

Crash fisted his hands at his sides; his face turned red. “Did you catch them together?”

“I'm not going to play politics, Crash. There's no love lost between our clubs. And after what I found out today, you'd better get on your scooter and ride for Robstown before you find my boot buried up your ass.” He cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his leather chair—not caring how his guest reacted.

Crash's mouth dropped open and he pounded his fist on top of the desk. “What the fuck are you talking about? We covered the details this morning. Dog Tag violated every bylaw by showing up at my bar and stealing my old lady. I demand justice. And if I don't find it here, pretty sure your chapter president will give it to me.”

Vincent shook his head. “I'd rather unwrap a box of shit than look at you.”

Crash shot up. “Care to explain that?”

“Forked-tongued motherfucker.” Vincent met his rage with equal violence. “Showing up in my club with a benign story about how one of my Brothers seduced your old lady. You conveniently forgot to mention the torture tactics you use to keep her in line.”

“What did that lying bitch tell you?”

Vincent stood, ready to explode. “She didn't need to say anything, I saw the evidence on her back. Get the fuck out.”

Crash hissed, openly sizing up Vincent. “You're violating the code.”

Vincent smiled evilly, then slammed Saline's old lady patch on the desk. “Not if she requested sanctuary. Here's her answer.”

Crash eyed the vest angrily, then picked it up.

“If you're thinking about retaliation, I'd reconsider. As of this morning, that little
Property of Crash
tattoo on her ankle has been replaced with worthier ink the size of my fist—
Property of Dog Tag.
Saline belongs to the Sons of Odin now.”

Vincent wanted the bastard to make a move, give him an excuse to unleash all his pent-up tension. It had been too long since he'd thrown a punch or had sex, the only two outlets he had. And when it came to hurting women and children, God only knew the extent of his patience.

“Our clubs have tentative peace; this won't help,” Crash reminded him.

“I'd rather go to war than have to claim any affiliation with a man like you.” Vincent picked up the handset of the house phone and dialed zero. J.T. picked up in the shop. “Send Scoundrel and Jones to my office.” He hung up, then focused on Crash again. “You just earned an escort out of the city. Anything else I can help you with?”

Crash retreated from Vincent's office the second the Brothers appeared in the hallway. With nothing left to say, why prolong the unsanctioned visit? The Sons of Odin and Man-o-Wars had nothing in common, never would.

Once he was sure he was alone, Vincent picked up his cell and dialed Dog Tag. “Just finished the meeting with Crash. Pack a suitcase and get Saline over here for a few days. I'd feel better if you stayed close. I don't trust the Man-o-Wars.”

“You think Crash will try something?”

“I think reactions speak volumes, and he wasn't a happy man when he left.”

“I'm sorry I jeopardized the club and didn't come to you first.”

Vincent exhaled. “I forgive you, Brother, but I can't overlook your bad judgment. What if someone sliced you open in the parking lot and you died? Do you know the ramifications? How I'd have to respond?”

“Blood for blood.”

“More than that.” Although Vincent and Dog Tag had patched out at the same time, Dog Tag lacked the maturity of an experienced member. Vincent blamed his arrogance and popularity with women. “We'll discuss it later.”

“Understood.”

Finished at the bar, Vincent locked his office and left via the emergency exit. He didn't want to see anybody right now. The conversation with Tina over lunch had gone slightly sour before he left the café and he needed to do recon before she had too much time to think about it. Weighing the pros and cons of starting a relationship with her didn't produce any viable excuses not to. The usual detractors men complained about but never meant—getting stuck with one woman, financial demands, time constraints—none of those applied to her.

She had a career, friends, family—a life of her own. The majority of old ladies and pass-arounds
needed
something only a Brother could supply. Not Tina. She wanted him for his body and brains. It made him smile.

Suddenly it occurred to him that she'd offered a no-strings option.
What kind of fool turns down a woman like Tina?
He reached his bedroom in the clubhouse and closed and locked the door, then stepped in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. The answer hit him hard.
A man who's forgotten how good it feels to make love to a woman with a soul.

Tina appreciated the lush surroundings in her office. She'd designed it with comfort in mind, and it doubled as a sanctuary on stressful days. The charcoal wallpaper and creamy lacquered desk her parents bought her as a graduation gift, combined with a classic blue velvet sofa and matching chairs set against the bright sunshine that flooded her work space through three windows, was what kept her sane in the morning. Never a morning person, she rarely engaged in deep conversation before she'd consumed two cups of coffee.

Her legal assistant, Madeline, greeted her in the hallway. “Have you seen the bouquet yet?”

“Did you get flowers from the fireman you've been dating?”

“Me?” she laughed. “Three dozen red roses and a Waterford crystal vase await you in your office.”

Perhaps Vincent had had a change of heart? Madeline handed her a cup of java, then walked with her down the well-lit corridor. Tina's Jimmy Choo heels clicked on the tiles as she approached her open door. The silk drapes were drawn, the overhead lights off. Sitting in the middle of her desk was the most elegant bouquet she'd ever received.

“Did I exaggerate?” Madeline arched a brow.

Vincent wouldn't waste money on something so frivolous. She walked to her desk and smelled the flowers as she grabbed the card pinned to the red ribbon tied around the vase.
Look inside yourself to discover the truth…What the hell did that mean? And whoever sent it didn't leave a name. But the vague language had Kline written all over it.
Tina frowned and looked at her assistant. “What flower shop delivered these?”

“Blossom Shop Florist. The delivery guy left fifteen minutes ago. Is something wrong?”

“Please get the manager on the phone for me.” Tina dropped her leather briefcase on her desk.

“Yes, ma'am,” Madeline said as she scooted out of the office.

If her suspicions were correct, Kline had cheated her of the satisfaction of making the first strike. For the last two days she'd looked forward to summoning him to a private meeting, then dumping him as her client. She'd chosen Seth Logan as her replacement, a fairly young attorney with an ego that matched Kline's. Let the two testosterone-saturated fools battle it out. Vincent's concerns were well founded and she didn't want to be subjected to Kline's abuse again.

Her phone rang and she picked up the headset. “Yes?”

“Gilbert Sanchez is on the line—he's the manager at the flower shop.”

“Thanks, Madeline, put him through.”

The line beeped a couple of times before she heard Gilbert breathing.

“Mr. Sanchez?”

“Good morning,” he said. “Your assistant told me you're displeased with the bouquet we just delivered.”

“Not exactly,” she explained. “It's beautiful. But there was no name on the card.”

“Our customer wishes to remain anonymous.”

“Even if it involves a legal matter, possibly criminal charges?”

Gilbert cleared his throat. “In order to share private information I need a court order.”

“Of course,” Tina replied. “I'll be in touch, Mr. Sanchez. Thank you.”

She sat in her high-backed chair and swiveled so she could stare out the closest window. Across the street she eyed Corpus Christi Bay. Families were enjoying the mild morning weather, walking and jogging, oblivious to the world around them. Everything moved in slow motion in Texas, especially in Corpus. But not the legal system. Her caseload had doubled recently, but judges cleared their dockets at the end of the year. She only hoped Seth would accept Kline as a client.

She buzzed Madeline. “Please contact Mr. Kline Barnes and set up a meeting for this morning.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Call Mr. Vincent Ramos and ask him to forward the invoice and pictures from his auto repair shop. I'll email you his number.”

Two hours later, Kline knocked on her door. Tina looked up from her desk, once again turned off by his pricey tailored suit. “Come in,” she said. “And please shut the door.”

Kline did as she asked, then claimed one of the guest chairs in front of her desk. “Do you like red roses?” His gaze zigzagged around her office, obviously searching for the bouquet.

She sucked in a frustrated breath. “Mr. Barnes…”

“Kline.”

“Mr. Barnes,” she started again. “I find your question inappropriate. We are not personally involved. Our relationship is limited to this office and your ongoing criminal case. Whatever triggered this interest in me outside working hours needs to be addressed and stopped immediately.” She kept her eyes on his.

He crossed his long legs. “Your smile.”

“Excuse me?”

“Somewhere in that ridiculously long diatribe you asked what triggered my affection.”

“That's a lie.”

“Of course you did. So I took the liberty of answering. Even if you don't realize it yet, you smile at me whenever we're together.”

Tina leaned forward, her mind all over the place. The guy had serious problems. “I smile at strangers on the street. It's a professional courtesy, Mr. Barnes.”

“Your eyes say different.”

Tina gave him an impatient look. Either the man lived in a fantastical world of make-believe or the arrogant bastard assumed every woman desired him. “I didn't invite you here to play games, Mr. Barnes. When you approached me in Tito's Friday night, I explained how I feel. Then you tailed me to Flour Bluff and vandalized my vehicle. The messages you left on my answering machine and the flowers are all the evidence I need to file a complaint with your probation officer.”

He spread his legs and loosened his tie. “What messages? And what flowers?”

She blinked several times. After five minutes, she wanted to rip his perfect brown hair out. “As of today, I am no longer representing you. My assistant will contact you with the name of your new attorney. Or if you're feeling adventurous, perhaps I can recommend another law firm that's accepting new clients.”

“Don't be too hasty, Ms. Bethel,” he shot back. “Alexander James, the man who signs your paychecks, was my father's best friend. How would he react if I walked into his office and explained one of his junior associates is making indecent proposals to a client?”

“That's preposterous. You're a convicted felon. Why would he take your word over mine?”

The professional noose tightened around her neck a little more. “Uncle Alex
always
sides with me,” he said flatly.

Her mouth gaped, shocked at his threat. “Get out of my office.”

He didn't budge. Suddenly her cellphone jumped to life on top of her desk. A perfect excuse to disregard Kline's continued unwanted presence. “Hello?” she answered, voice a bit shaky.

“Tina, you okay?” Vincent asked.

“Yes,” she said, turning away from Kline. “In the middle of things.”

“Kline?”

“Yes.”

Silence followed.

“I want to see you tonight. We need to talk.”

“Text me,” Tina suggested. “We'll finalize a time and place.” She hung up.

“Clandestine meetings with other clients?” Kline tsked. “Now I know.”

“Know what?” She turned around, glaring at him, not wanting an answer. Maybe he'd accuse her of subliminally seducing him, because she'd never done anything to cause this obsession he seemed to have. “If you don't leave my office now, you'll get an armed escort downstairs.”

“Relax.” Kline slowly stood up. “I'm pleased you reconsidered the decision to dump my case. I'll set an appointment with Madeline for next week. We still have plenty to discuss, Ms. Bethel.” He headed for the exit, then glanced over his shoulder. “Have a lovely afternoon.”

After the door clicked shut, Tina picked up the closest object off her desk and flung it against the farthest wall. Staples exploded everywhere and she fell back against her chair. Something needed to be done about Mr. Barnes.