The probie and his biker chick (Iron vipers book 3)

Bad news

2 weeks later

*Tommy*

The clubhouse is buzzing with life, but my mind is somewhere else. I’m leaning against the bar, nursing a drink and catching up with Tom about some club business, when Isabella storms in like a whirlwind, her face contorted with frustration.

“Ugh! I wish I wasn’t pregnant right now!” she exclaims, kicking at an empty beer can on the floor. The can comes over our heads in a low arch, and I instinctively duck to avoid it. “I need something strong to deal with this crap!”

Tom’s eyebrows shoot up, and I can see the worry etched into his features. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

Isabella lets out an exasperated sigh, running her fingers through her hair. “I just had from the first court meeting in the case against Sinclair,” she says, her voice thick with disbelief. “And the bastard… the bastard is claiming it wasn’t rape. He’s saying the girl wanted it rough!”

Rage simmers within me. “Rough? Who the hell wants a fist in the face during s*x?” I snap, incredulous.

“Exactly!” she replies, her voice rising. “But the girl admitted she went outside with him, and she wanted s*x with him. Then, when he started to hit her, she changed her mind. But… it complicates everything.”

I can feel my jaw clenching, my blood boiling. “How can it be complicated? This guy is a monster!”

Isabella shakes her head, her expression resolute yet weary. “It has to be proven beyond a doubt that it was rape. That’s the law. And it’s going to be hard when the woman said yes first. It's not as straightforward as I hoped.”

Tom and I exchange glances, frustration palpable in the air. I want to scream. I want to march into that courtroom and make Sinclair pay for what he's done, not just to that girl but to everyone who has suffered at his hands.

“What the hell do they expect?” I mutter. “How can anyone think that a woman’s consent is not retracted when she is beaten up? It’s sickening.”

“It is sickening,” Isabella agrees, her voice steady. “But the justice system is twisted, especially in these words against word cases. They’re going to scrutinize every detail, every moment leading up to that night. We need to make sure we have all the evidence we can get.”

My fists clench tightly around my beer as anger and helplessness swirl within me. “We need to do something, man,” I say to Tom, my voice sounding low and dangerous even to me. “This isn’t just about the court case anymore. It’s about sending a message. Sinclair can’t keep getting away with this.”

Tom nods, his expression grim. “I know. But what do you suggest? We can’t take the law into our own hands. Not with the cops watching us like hawks.”

Isabella shakes her head, her frustration palpable. “As a lawyer I don’t want to hear any more about that,” she interjects, her voice sharp. She cups her ears with her hands, her eyes wide as if to block out the very thought of violence. “I can’t deal with it right now. I’m too stressed, too emotional. I’m pregnant, for God’s sake!”

“Okay, okay,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension in the air. I place my beer on the bar and step closer to her. “I get it, you have to uphold the law. But we can’t just sit here and do nothing. We can help gather evidence or talk to people who know what Sinclair’s capable of, something… anything. We can’t let him walk free.”

Isabella’s face softens for just a moment, her frustration melting into concern. “I appreciate the support, but the last thing I need is you two getting yourself into trouble. I’m already worried about this case and the stress is killing me. I don’t want to have to bail anyone out of jail.”

“Bail out?” I ask, my voice edging on incredulous. “Isabella, we’re not going to do something stupid... like getting caught. We’re going to make sure justice is served!”

“Tom,” she warns, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Please. You have to promise me you won’t do anything reckless. I need you here, safe. I refuse to be a single mom because you are in jail.” She looks at me Tommy. “You too, no funny business."

I feel my resolve waver, her plea cutting through the fog of anger and adrenaline that had consumed me. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of that scumbag getting away with this. It’s not just about the girl; it’s about every woman he’s hurt.”

Tom looks between us, sensing the rising tension. “Let’s take a step back,” he suggests, his tone calm yet firm. “We need a plan, not a brawl. We can’t let our emotions drive us into a corner. Isabella’s right; we need to gather intel without drawing attention to ourselves, or getting in trouble”

Before I can respond, the door swings open, and a gust of cool air rushes in. I turn to see a familiar figure stepping into the clubhouse, and my heart skips a beat. It’s Dylan. She’s home.