The VP and his lawyer

A case of the bad boys

*Isabella*

As I discreetly look over Tom, I'm struck by the paradox he presents. He’s clad in tight black jeans, a fitted blue tee, biker boots and a leather cut… the quintessential biker's garb. Around his neck is a thin leather cord adorns with a seashell, which seems kinda contradicting.

His muscles are pronounced, a testament to a life lived hard and fast, and there's a lingering air of rebellious danger about him. But there's something unexpected about him too. His sandy ginger hair frames a face lit by a charming smile, and his blue eyes twinkle with intelligence.

“So… Tom, what can I help you with?" I ask. My voice is steady, but I can't dismiss the underlying suspicion. I have seen too many like him, their charm and sexy good looks effectively hiding their true colors.

His smile doesn't falter. "You see sweetheart, our SGT at arms was arrested last night," he begins, his tone serious but slightly flirtatious. "We need your help."

"And what was he arrested for?" I prod, folding my arms over my chest.

"He was arrested for beating a guy," Tom reveals, his eyes steady on mine. “Quite badly.”

I feel an urge to roll my eyes. What had I expected from people like him? "Did he do it?" I question, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Tom's smile fades a fraction, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "Are you asking if he did it, Isabella, or if he is guilty?" His question hangs in the air.

"Isn't it the same?" I counter, my brow furrowing with confusion.

Tom gives a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You tell me, sweetheart, you’re the lawyer here."

I suppress my irritation at the endearment. "Please, just tell me what happened. I need to know the details if I am to take the case," I say, my tone firm.

After a prolonged moment of silence Tom finally speaks. "Zac did beat up the guy, and pretty badly at that, he’s in the hospital" he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need you to get him released, Isabella. We need the charges dropped."

I blink at him in disbelief. "And how do you suggest I go about arguing to get the charges dropped when he actually did it?"

Tom's eyes meet mine again, an intensity burning in them that makes my heart pound. "It has to fit under the Stand Your Ground laws."

"How?" I challenge, unable to hide my skepticism.

Tom takes a deep breath before answering, "The bastard Zac beat was abusive to his girlfriend. Zac merely protected her."

My heart skips a beat. I hadn't expected that. If true, it changes everything. But if it's a lie... Can I trust people like this to tell the truth?

"If the girl is willing to testify, or if there are any witnesses who can confirm that Zac was protecting her, then it could indeed be rejected on the basis of Stand Your Ground, unless..." I hesitate, studying Tom's face. "Unless he used unnecessary force."

To be honest I feel a bit weird to be calling them by their first names, but I don’t know their last names and would also feel weird asking, so first names it is.

Tom nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I have no doubt I can get the girl to testify," he affirms. “And the man was beating on a woman, he’s still alive so I see no unnecessary force used.”

I find myself nodding slowly, my mind racing with thoughts. I’m not sure this man and the court agrees on what unnecessary force entails to be honest. But there’s a good change this will actually hold up.

"Understood," I say, the cogs in my mind turning quickly. "Let us focus on getting Zac released now. We can handle the legalities later."

Tom seems pleased with this plan. "That's the priority. Zac doesn't belong behind bars."

I refrain from commenting on his statement. I don't know anything about Zac besides him being a biker and even if I highly doubt his statement it's not my place to judge him. My job is to navigate the legal system and make sure my clients get a fair trial, regardless of my personal feelings.

"Alright," I finally say. "Let us head to the station then. Afterwards I will need to assess the situation and talk to Zac first hand."

Tom nods, his face sliding into that panty dropping grin. "Let's go then."

As we leave the office, I can't help but feel a sense of anticipation. I had not expected to be thrown into a case on my first day here, but I guess you can never plan these things.

"Sweetheart, these are the guys," Tom starts, gesturing toward the group of three men huddled around their motorcycles. "Nick, LZ, Tommy; guys, this is our new lawyer, Isabella Green."

The guys, all clad in jeans, t-shirts and the club's leather cuts, their arms adorned with tattoos, offer a nod in my direction. I can't help but notice that they are all rather handsome, the charm radiating from each one of them, each flashing me a dazzling smile despite the rugged exterior. It makes me wonder if a bucket of charms and a great smile is a requirement for becoming an Iron Viper.

"I will just get my car," I tell Tom, glancing over my shoulder toward the parking lot. “And you can point the way to the station.”

"No need," Tom interrupts, hopping onto his big bike with an ease that comes from years of practice. He pats the seat behind him, looking at me with a grin. "Jump on."

I raise an eyebrow at his suggestion. "Riding a motorcycle is dangerous," I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. "Besides, I have my own car."

Tom doesn't seem fazed by my argument, his grin only widening. "Come on, live a little. I promise I’ll drive safely."

“I do not have a helmet,” I try. I have never been on a bike before, and to be honest it scares me, even if the idea might thrill me just a bit.

He grins and holds up a helmet, “Like I’d leave that smart and pretty head unprotected. Come on sweetheart.”

I hesitate, still skeptical of the idea. But I do feel that if I back down I’ll forever struggle to stand my ground with these men.

When I look at Tom, I can’t help but notice that his eyes are filled with a sense of adventure and his smile promises a thrilling experience. Am I ready to take a risk and step out of my comfort zone? Hell didn’t I do it by moving here?

I sigh, rolling my eyes at his persistence. "Alright, alright. But only because I do not want to hear about this forever."

A chorus of cheers erupt from the three other men as I cautiously approach the bike and manage to climb onto the back. Tom's grin broadens as he turns halfway in the seat. He gently places the helmet onto my head, adjusting the straps until it fits snugly.

"Hold on, sweetheart," he instructs as he tightens it under my chin.

After looking around hopefully for something other than him to latch onto, I place my hands lightly on his waist, ready to grip the sides of the seat. But he looks over his shoulder at me, his grin teasing.

"I won't break," he assures me, his voice layered with amusement. "But you might slide off if you don't hold on properly." He winks at me, adding, "Pretend you are a backpack, or something."

I roll my eyes again, but heat is creeping onto my cheeks. I curse myself for letting him get under my skin so easily. With a sigh, I reluctantly wrap my arms around him, trying to ignore the feel of his hard muscles under the strained material of his t-shirt. I tighten my grip, praying that I won't embarrass myself by falling off the bike.

As the bike roars to life and lurches forward, I nearly let out a squeak of surprise. But I manage to hold it in, pressing myself closer to Tom's back. The vibrations from the large machine ripple up through my body, a sensation that is both jarring and exhilarating.

My heart races in my chest, but I can't deny the thrill that rushes through my veins. As we turn onto the main street, the other bikes follow. I wonder what my friends and former colleagues back home would think seeing me now.

I can feel every shift of his muscles under my hands, a vivid reminder of the strength he possesses. His back is firm and warm against me, the rhythm of his breaths steady despite the speed at which we are moving. The wind whips past us, tugging at my clothes and helmet, but I feel more secure than I had expected.

Despite the thrill of the ride, I can't help but scold myself. I have always prided myself on being a feminist, on not falling for the stereotypical 'bad boy' charm. But here I am, clinging to a biker, my heart pounding in my chest. I can't help but blush at the realization that I’m enjoying this far more than I should.

I silently berate myself, reminding myself that I’m not some damsel in distress in need of a knight in shining armor. I’m a strong, independent woman. I don't need a man, especially not some rough-around-the-edges and probably criminal biker, to make me feel excited or alive.

Hating it, I still find myself hoping that this ride won't end anytime soon.