Free Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) by Hope Conrad Page B

holds on, and I realize just how tight her grip is.
    I can feel the tension in her tight muscles and the almost desperate sting of her nails as she clutches onto me for dear life. I pull off the road at the nearest vacant lot.
    It’s an abandoned gas station. It was probably a successful business before they moved the highway. I pull up in front of one of the long dead pumps and cut the engine. I take off my helmet and tap her hands to let her know it’s okay to let go of me.
    “So, what do you think?” I ask her as I slide off the bike to lean against the gas pump.
    “It’s definitely different,” she says with a wide-eyed, terrified look.
    “You good?” I ask, knowing she’s scared as shit but not wanting to call her on it. This woman is fiercely proud, and she’ll get used to the bike.
    “Yeah, I’m good. Or, I will be, I think,” she says.
    I laugh at her. “Did you ever think you’d be here, with a lawyer on a motorcycle in the middle of nowhere?”
    “No. Never in a million years did I imagine this would be happening. I don’t usually spend my time with outlaws. Um, you know what I mean,” she says.
    “Yeah, you think we’re all outlaws. You think because I was in an MC, I’m some rough, violent biker,” I tease her.
    “I think maybe you were,” she says.
    Again, I’m startled by her perceptiveness. I’m swamped by memories of all the things I did for King, all the times he called on me for less than legal activities, though most of that had happened before my friends and I opened Nailed Garage. Once we’d left Thornbridge, we’d tried so hard to keep clean and straight. But he never let us go. Not completely.
    “No, we actually ran a pretty clean business,” I tell her. “A garage called Nailed. It’s still in operation. It’s run by my friend Jericho, but me and three other guys are still partners.”
    “So what happened to the MC?”
    I hesitate, then tell her the truth, even though it’s not the whole truth. “The five of us opened the garage and things were good. Better than good. We’d all been orphans—that’s how we met—and had pretty shitty childhoods. One of our founding members, Street, went down for something stupid he and another friend of his did. I guess it didn’t feel right, keeping the club going without him.” I shrug. “Plus we’d all moved on to different things. Life got in the way. Me with lawyering. Axel joined the Marines. Jericho continued to run the garage. Davis is big into computers and finance.”
    “And what about Street? Is he still in jail?”
    “No, thank God. He got out of prison several weeks ago. Just before I met you, I saw him for the first time in three years. If Axel wasn’t off somewhere playing soldier, we would have all been together.”
    “That must have felt wonderful. But why hadn’t you seen Street in three years? Didn’t you visit him in prison?”
    Part of me can’t believe we’re having this conversation. That’s she’s not wrinkling her nose in disdain at the thought of me being friends with an ex-con or asking me what he did instead of asking why I didn’t see him, as if she’s a little insulted on behalf of Street. I smile at her. “You’re so inquisitive,” I tell her. “I like that about you. You try to make sure no details escape you.”
    “I’m a teacher. What can I say? You pick up some of what you try to instill in your students over time,” she explains with a shrug.
    “Well, I like it. Anyway, we tried to keep in touch with Street, but he pushed us away. He felt he’d let us down and didn’t deserve our friendship. It was rough on all of us. But like I said, we’ve made contact now.” I hesitate, not wanting to give away too much, but also wanting to give her a clue that I really am shadier than I’ve portrayed myself to be. “The truth is Street was supposed to serve another seven years in prison. He got out early. And that was in large part due to a favor we asked of a man. A man who’s