Unlawfully Yours (Lawless MC #1)

5

I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. The kind of nervous that has a riot of butterflies doing somersaults in my belly and has me wanting to make the acquaintance of my breakfast for the second time this morning.

I barely got two hours of sleep last night which is why I find myself in the little coffee shop I visited the other day when I met Maddie. Since then, she’s helped decorate both my bedroom and my living room. She’s spent her days off this past week at my house, given up her free time just to spend a few hours with me and I couldn’t be more grateful. She’s helped bring my house one step closer to becoming my home. It also gave us an excuse to get to know each other better and it feels nice to have someone to call a friend in a place full of strangers. This past week, my homesickness has hit me harder than I expected it to, but it’s a comforting thought that I’m no longer alone here.

“What can I get for you?” the lady behind the counter asks.

“Coffee to go please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

I nod. “Absolutely. I’m gonna need all the sugar I can get today.”

She smiles knowingly. “Coming right up.”

A deep rumble has vibrations rippling through my body, the stack of mugs on the marble counter clinking together.

Are we having an earthquake? Surely not. The sound grows louder and it rumbles like thunder, but it’s a clear sunny morning, so it’s definitely not that. It’s not until I glance out of the window rattling in it’s frame that I see what it is. Half a dozen men riding motorcycles cruise past the window, all of them dressed head to toe in black leather, some of their faces shielded by dark sunglasses, one in the middle wears a black bandana with the bottom half of a skull on it covering his face. I just manage to catch a glimpse of the patches on their backs, a skull, grinning devilishly and I grind my teeth.

There’s an MC in town. Wonderful .

A bunch of savage misogynistic macho men who believe that the two-wheeled death machines between their legs give them power and somehow makes them deserving of respect.

I hate motorcycle clubs, right down to my core, not just for the fact they think themselves above the law and are a royal pain in my ass, but because I’m ninety-nine percent sure a motorcycle club was responsible for my dad’s murder.

I don’t remember a lot from that day, but I do remember the smile on the rider’s face as he cruised past the spot where my dad lay dying in my arms. I can’t remember the patch on the back of his jacket, but I take some solace in the knowledge it definitely wasn’t a skull.

“Here’s your coffee, hon,” the barista slides over my cup, stealing my attention. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” I smile before turning back towards the window where the thunderous roar of the bikes fade away into the distance. I only hope it’s not an omen for the day ahead, lord knows wherever there’s a motorcycle club, nothing good ever follows.

I’m sat in Sheriff Walker’s office listening to the clock on the wall tick by loudly, every single one setting me more and more on edge.

Tick. Tick. Fucking tick .

I had hoped to make a good first impression by turning up to work early for my first day on the job, but it seems all my effort went to waste.

I’ve been in here for exactly fifty-six minutes and forty-seven seconds waiting with not a single sign of him.

Where the fuck is he?

At that moment, the door opens behind me and Walker strolls in calmly, completely oblivious to the fact I’ve been sat here with nothing else to do but watch the hands on the clock tick by.

He drops into his chair on the opposite side of the desk and slaps a brown manila folder in front of him as well as a cup of coffee and a brown paper bag containing what looks like cookies, or donuts. How stereotypical…

He must be in his late fifties, his already thin grey hair balding on the top, his belly stretching the fabric of his shirt to the point the buttons are straining under the pressure. He’s average height and broad shouldered but where there should be muscle under the clothes I can only assume is fat.

“So, you transferred from Colorado?” He doesn’t even bother to look up from the file as he takes a sip of his coffee.

I sit up straight in my seat, clearing my throat. “Yes, Sir.”

“Been in there service for six years.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He studies my file for a few more minutes before slapping it closed and reclines in his chair, meeting my eye for the first time since he sat down. “So, Allison—”

“Everybody usually just calls me Allie, Sir .”

He stops, clicking his tongue, not impressed by my interruption. “ Allie . Stillwater’s a lot smaller than what you’re used to, we do things a little differently around here but you’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure I will.”

There’s a knock at the door and Sheriff Walker signals whoever it is to come in. “Ah! Ryan, just the man.”

I glance to my right to find a slender man in a matching uniform to mine. He can’t be much older than me, light blonde hair with a handsome face. His eyes find mine and he smiles.

“ Allie , this is Ryan, you’ll be shadowing him this week. He’ll show you around, show you the ropes, let you get a feel for the place. He’s in charge.”

I have to force myself to not roll my eyes. Of course he’s in charge. God forbid I can make my own decisions, it’s not like I haven’t been doing this job since I was twenty-one.

“Ryan, will you please direct Allie to the locker room where she can put her belongings, then take her to collect her firearm and the rest of her gear?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Good luck, Adams,” Walker says as I stand.

“Thank you, Sir.”

We leave his office and Ryan’s hand shoots out in front of me. “Ryan Eaton, pleasure.”

I take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Allie Adams.”

“So, I hear you’re from Colorado?” Ryan asks.

“Denver,” I clarify.

“What brings you to Stillwater Falls?”

“Change of scenery,” I lie.

“Well, hope you’re not too disappointed. Not a lot to see in Stillwater.”

“I’m sure it has everything I’m looking for.” I hope that’s true, otherwise uprooting my life a thousand miles from home will have been for nothing.

As we head through the station, I can’t help noticing that I’m the only woman here as I let my gaze wander across half a dozen or so faces. I’m not exactly sure what I expected from such a small Sheriff’s department, but this is the twenty-first century after all, and I had hoped there’d be a degree of diversity.

I don’t relish the idea of being the only woman here, in fact I’m kind of dreading it. Back in Colorado, some of the guys made it no secret they thought I was inferior and therefore not as good at my job all because I had a vagina instead of a dick between my legs. Day to day, it wasn’t just the criminals I was battling against, it was my own colleagues.

Some dick from across the room wolf-whistles and I have half a mind to turn around and knee the prick in the groin, but it’s my first day after all, there’s time for that.