Slow Burn

  Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC, Book 1)

  Copyright © 2014 by Autumn Jones Lake.

  Edited by: Marti Lynch

  Cover Designed by: LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

  Photography: Kelsey Keeton of K Keeton Designs

  Models: Cameo Hopper and Walter Veale

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Autumn Jones Lake. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book is an original publication of Ahead of the Pack, LLC.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9907945-0-9

  Print Book ISBN: 978-0-9907945-1-6

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lake, Autumn Jones

  Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC, Book 1) / Autumn Jones Lake

  SLOW BURN and the Lost Kings MC series is a complete work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My awesome beta readers: Tamara McDonald, Rachel Beavers, Iveta Veličkaitė, Krystal Fahl, Angi J, Robin Thompson, Brandy Moreno, Shauna M. Casey, Allison Krugger, Elizabeth Thiele, Amanda Reel, Clarisse Martinez, Katie Marcum, Shelly Roberts Harper, Katherine Kelty, Nisha Alwaysreading, Chris Murray, Setty, and Leslie.

  I'm not sure if I would have met my crazy self-imposed deadlines without you! I am so lucky I found such an amazing group to help me with this project. Your patience and support floors me. Thank you for the advice, critiques, edits, last-minute reads, pimping and encouragement. Every comment, suggestion and form you filled out for me, was a huge help. Thank you for loving Rock and Hope as much as I do! Your enthusiasm for the Lost Kings has helped me tremendously. I want to hug each one of you!

  My critique partners: Cara Connelly, Kari W. Cole, and Virginia Frost. Working together has been such a blessing. I’m sorry the first thing you read from this series was "Chapter Nine." Thank you for demanding to see chapters 1 – 8. Your feedback really helped me push Slow Burn to be the best I could make it. Your support and willingness to take time out of your own busy writing schedules means so much to me.

  K.A. Mitchell, my friend and mentor. You give the best advice ever. I value everything I’ve learned from you. Thank you for being so excited about this series and letting me yammer on about it endlessly!

  LJ Anderson, thank you for my gorgeous cover! Not only are you incredibly talented, you have the patience of a saint.

  Thank you Marti for dealing with my last minute planning, and overall general nuttiness.

  Navene, I can never thank you enough for helping me find my wonderful group of beta readers.

  Rebecca Grace Allen, Jeanette Grey and Marie Lark: thanks for being so awesome, and thank you for listening to me yap incessantly about this project at one time or another.

  CR-RWA, I don't think I would have made it this far without my chapter and the wonderful people in it.

  Most of all, I have to thank my husband. Although I’m sure bits and pieces of you show up in all my work, I could never write a romance hero that would do you justice. Also, thanks for letting me borrow “simmer down.” No, I'm not paying you for it.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ALSO BY AUTUMN JONES LAKE

  NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy in handcuffs.

  Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don't mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.

  True violence had never touched her life.

  Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.

  She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.

  She was kind. I didn't know any nice women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.

  None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.

  We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.

  She sat in the front row. I didn't hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I'd get bail.

  I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.

  The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, "Your attorney called to say he's running late." I nodded and mumbled a "thanks" without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?

  "Any other message?" I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He'd treated me with respect, hadn't tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, bec
ause the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I'd dealt with him before.

  My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.

  Holy shit.

  If I'd been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.

  The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.

  "Attorney Kendall?"

  "Yes, your honor." She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn't understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.

  I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn't show up soon, I'd be screwed.

  I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. "Can she represent me?"

  "I don't think she's a criminal attorney."

  "Just for the arraignment. To get me out."

  "I'll ask."

  The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.

  Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I'd been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I'd gotten picked up in a different county, I could have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.

  "Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?" the judge asked off the record.

  Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. "Uh, I'm not a criminal attorney, your honor," she stammered.

  "It's pretty simple. Mr. North's attorney got delayed. Don't make me appoint you," he teased.

  "Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?" she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

  "That's fine."

  The judge waved me over next to her. Her big eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I'd been sitting there?

  "I can pay you," I whispered down to her.

  She looked startled. "It's okay. What are we dealing with?"

  I liked the way she said "we."

  "Weed."

  She gave me a blank stare.

  "Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts." Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.

  "Oh geez." She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn't sure.

  "Do you have a record?"

  "About a mile long."

  That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.

  "Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?"

  "Yes, yes, and yes."

  She didn't ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.

  "Your honor, I've had a chance to confer with my client."

  "Very well. Let’s call it."

  His clerk stood and read out, "The People of the State of New York versus Rochlan North." Look at that—the old gal even pronounced my first name right.

  My girl looked up at me again. My manners were shit. I’d never bothered to introduce myself, I guess.

  The judge slammed his gavel down. First time I’d heard him do it all morning. The sharp thwack broke the staring contest my pretty lawyer and I were engaged in.

  "Do you wish to hear the reading of the charges, counselor?"

  She hesitated for a minute, and the judge covered the microphone with his hand. "Usually the attorney waives the reading, Miss Kendall."

  "I know, your honor. Thank you. Yes, I'll waive the reading. May I have a copy of the charges for my file, though?"

  "Yes, of course. Do you wish to be heard on bail?"

  "Yes, your honor. My client assures me he can pay a reasonable sum. He's a hard-working family man, so it would be in society's best interest to allow him to continue to work and provide for his family while he waits to address these false charges."

  I'm proud to say I kept a straight face during all of that. She impressed me with her quick thinking, though. Criminal attorney or not, she was clever. I had a fondness for clever. Clever kept you alive.

  Cute and smart. I should get arrested more often.

  "Very well. Bail is set in the amount of five hundred dollars cash. If your client is able to post it now, he can be processed downstairs instead of going back to county."

  She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. I nodded and motioned my crew forward.

  "That's acceptable. Thank you, your honor."

  "Off the record," the judge said to the court reporter. He looked back up at my attorney. "See, that wasn't so hard, Miss Kendall." The judge's face lit up in a wolfish smile I didn't take kindly to. Already in my head, I'd laid claim to this woman whose first name I didn't even know.

  The sheriff came over and gripped my elbow.

  "Can't you remove the restraints, now?" she asked the sheriff with wide, pleading eyes.

  To say her request stunned me would be an understatement. No one had ever given a crap about my discomfort.

  The sheriff did not look surprised. He answered her gently. "No counselor, not till he's posted the bail money. You can meet us downstairs." He nodded toward the guys standing behind the banister. "His posse can show you the way."

  She hesitated, and I read the expression on her face loud and clear. She didn't want to follow my crew anywhere. In fact, she looked like she wanted to run away.

  "Go ahead, I'll be fine." I appreciated that she'd given it a try. Sheriffs wouldn’t break protocol no matter how owl-eyed innocent she acted. It sure turned me on, though. Maybe that was the moment I fell in love with her.

  I couldn't get my hands to stop shaking. It was just nerves from handling an on-the-spot arraignment for the first time. I could almost fool myself into believing it, but my hands betrayed me. The reaction I had to this guy was ridiculous—not to mention inappropriate.

  A career criminal obviously. Smooth talker. Sexy in the most obscene and dangerous way. The hideous orange jumpsuit did little to conceal the powerful body inside. Still, when my eyes traveled farther up, my breath caught in my throat. I’m not sure I had ever met such an exquisite example of masculinity before.

  Preoccupied with staring, I probably made a huge fool of myself. But I needed to take all of him in. Short, sandy blond hair, sharp cheekbones, a firm angular jaw, and perfectly straight nose. For some reason, I expected a man like him to have a crooked nose that had been broken once or twice in his life. He radiated power and barely controlled violence.

&nbs
p; I was in way over my head here, and not just career-wise.

  Our gazes collided, and I sucked in a deep breath. Deep, slate eyes bored into me. I had never seen anyone with gray eyes before, and I kept staring to see if the color would shift from a different angle. Tearing myself away from studying his unusual irises took some skill.

  I wrapped my fingers around the handle of my briefcase and took a step back. The last thing I wanted to do was follow his scary-looking friends anywhere. Wasn't my job finished now anyway? Since I'd never done this before, I had no idea. I guessed if I wanted to get paid, I needed to follow.

  Instead, Judge Dane signaled me to come with him as he left the bench.

  "I’ll find my way down there in a minute," I told the guys who stood there waiting for me. A nervous smiled tugged at my lips.

  "Ms. Kendall," the judge called.

  I turned and scurried toward the ornate oak door that led to his private chambers. I’d been back here once or twice before for settlement conferences, but never by myself.

  I left the door open.

  "Have a seat." He swept his hand toward the two chairs stationed in front of his wide desk.

  "Uh, I need to go follow Mr…." Crap! What was the guy’s name?

  "North. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You did an excellent job. How would you feel if I appointed some minor criminal matters to you?"

  Like throwing up on a regular basis.

  "That might be okay," I said.

  "I can assign someone for you to shadow for a couple cases, until you get the hang of it."

  I interpreted that as I’d get to do all the work, while my "mentor" collected the fee. As if I needed any more complications in my life.

  Handcuff-free and back in my street clothes, I looked around for my new attorney. She hadn't followed the guys downstairs, and I wondered where she could possibly be. I didn't even have her card.