Striker (Lords of Carnage MC #11) - Daphne Loveling

Prologue

Ember

I’ve had a lot of odd cases in my somewhat brief time as a lawyer.

But boy oh boy, this one takes the cake.

On paper, the clients sitting in front of me right now don’t seem all that different from the ones I usually get. A man and his girlfriend, who came to me because the man wants to get formal custody of his daughter.

The girlfriend is here because she wants to marry the man and adopt said daughter. But before that, the girlfriend needs to obtain a divorce from her husband — from whom she has been informally separated for more than two years.

Messy, yes. Complicated, sure. But I get complicated cases fairly often.

That’s not what makes this situation strange.

What makes it strange is that the man in front of me is a member of an outlaw motorcycle club.

As for the woman: her soon-to-be-ex-husband is a gangster.

And thus begins a very atypical work day in the offices of December Wells, Family Law Attorney.

A day, it turns out, that will change my life forever.

1

Ember

“So basically,” explains Cady, leaning back in her chair, “we have three separate but connected cases that we’d like you to be working on at the same time.”

The attractive dark blonde with deep brown eyes glances over at the long-haired, muscular man sitting next to her. The man hasn’t said much yet. So far, he just watches his girlfriend and lets her talk. The strong, silent type, I’m guessing.

Cady continues, enumerating on her fingers.

“First, we need to figure out how to get Tank permanent custody of his little girl. Her name is Wren, by the way.” Her eyes soften as she says the name. “Second, I need to file for divorce.” Cady pauses. “I’ve been estranged for a while from my husband,” — she stumbles over the word — “and I should have filed a long time ago, honestly. I guess I’ve been putting off dealing with it.” She takes another breath and looks up at me, lips curving into a smile. “Then, when that’s all done, Tank and I will get married, and assuming all goes well, we’ll start the paperwork for me to adopt Wren.”

“I see.” I turn to the man. “Mr. Barrigan, is that more or less how you see this working?”

The man that Cady calls Tank — whose real name is Matthew Barrigan — locks his dark, brooding eyes on mine, and gives me the barest of nods. He’s distractingly handsome, with longish brown hair, a short beard, and sensual lips. His long sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos lining his forearms. The patches on his leather jacket tell me he’s a member of the Lords of Carnage MC, the local motorcycle club.

Tank Barrigan is every inch the bad boy. His entire presence exudes grit, power, and masculinity. His is the kind of raw strength that comes not from the gym, but from the street. If I met this man out in public, I’d I wouldn’t know whether to be scared of him or attracted to him. Probably both, to be honest. He’s the kind of guy I might cross the street to avoid — except for one crazy, incongruous thing.

He’s wearing what looks like a kid’s plastic pop bead bracelet on one wrist.

I caught myself staring at the bracelet when he and Cady came into my office, its bright burst of color an instant distraction. I’ve been fighting not to gawk at it ever since. I can’t imagine that that bracelet came from anyone other than his daughter. In my line of work, I’ve gotten good at reading signs and body language, and the fact that a big, scary dude like Tank would wear that bracelet in public tells me something very important about my prospective client. Something more important than perhaps any other detail.

It tells me his commitment to fatherhood is real. It tells me how deeply he loves his little girl.

Tank shifts his gaze away from me to Cady. Her petite hand has been wrapped in his giant one ever since they sat down. The way his expression shifts as soon as their eyes meet tells me something else about this man. Something undeniable. Matthew “Tank” Barrigan is in love with Cady Abernathy, body and soul.

A sharp pang of grief hits me unexpectedly. Not for what I’ve lost, exactly. More for what I never had in the first place.

I swallow, and mentally push it away, before my new clients can notice anything is wrong.

“Well,” I murmur, straightening. “You’re