Hard Core: Biker MC Motorcycle Club Menage Steamy 3 Story Bundle Set (Hot Tales From a Hard Road Book 1) by Motorcycle Club Thrills Page B
Authors: Motorcycle Club Thrills
Ads: Link
looked like the cat he took it from.
Jack said, “Mr. State’s Attorney, I have always had a good opinion of your command of the law. In this matter, as you know, there is no room for debate. I have met the accused, I know him personally and, as such, I cannot hear the case against him. I must recuse myself.”
“Your Honor, I have to admit, I’m curious about how you came to know James Aaron Farrier, president of the Red Skulls motorcycle club, AKA ‘Iron.’ Did you meet him at one of his cocktail soirées, or is he a member of your bridge club?”
“The details are irrelevant, as you well know. You are at liberty, if you wish, to request an inquiry where another judge, one senior to myself, will ask me in a closed meeting about the circumstances, and I will describe them to him in confidence. If you think that will further your aims, go ahead and apply for an inquiry.”
All the while Ira Weinberg, the defending attorney, sat serene with his hands folded on the fine cotton over his ample gut.
State’s Attorney Kelvin Crane’s voice was strained. “It’s going to mean lengthy delays, Judge. Two months at the least. The State needs this matter expedited.”
“I know the defendant and that means that he also knows me. There is no way around it. This hearing is over, Kelvin. Let it go.”
“But…”
“Mr. Crane, if I don’t recuse myself, then the defense will rightly apply for a mistrial, and they would be bound to succeed. What would be the state of your prosecutorial evidence if that happened after you had started presenting your witnesses?”
With everyone back in the courtroom, Judge Berringer’s announcement set a small clump of journalists into busy huddles over their tablets, while another little herd rushed the courtroom doors while as they stabbed at their phones and bumped into each other. As he slammed the gavel down, Jack thought, That was a subtle move for a biker gang . and he wondered, Who thought that up for you?
The only people in the court who showed no change of expression at the news were the defendant and his attorney.
Chapter 13
Tiffany could only focus on the one thing that she could see to do after the long night with her dread and racing thoughts. It would be the only thing in her control. “Take control of the situation,” was what her Daddy would say.
What would give her that now? The lighter. The pizza box, stained with oil, and a flame. She could start a fire. Smoke would bring the emergency services.
If the room was on fire, the bikers would have to do something, and they wouldn’t be prepared for the situation. In the panic, maybe she could escape. What else could she do?
She could wait and see who won the debate between ‘Jax’ and Mace outside about whether to kill her. There was that, or she could take things into her own hands.
Take control of the situation. She could set the pizza box on fire; use that to set the bed covers and the curtains ablaze. Create a diversion. It didn’t make much sense and she knew that. It made a lot more sense than doing nothing, though.
She had eaten more than half of the pizza, and the cardboard box was greasy. The grease was oil and oil was flammable. Surely it should burn well And make a great accelerant.
Tiff was proud of herself remembering ‘accelerant’ from a documentary about fire investigators. She tried to keep her mind off the grim realities of her situation by replaying in her mind the interview with grizzled fire marshal, talking about the ‘seat of the fire’ and ‘accelerant’ and ‘propellants.’
She saw him in his big old fire hat as she flicked the lighter under the corner of the pizza box. Maybe he would come out to this fire. The corner of the box started to turn dark brown, then black, but there wasn’t any flame.
The cheap lighter became hot in her fingers. She couldn’t hold it alight any more, but a red smolder spread along the inside corners of the box. She heard a
Jack said, “Mr. State’s Attorney, I have always had a good opinion of your command of the law. In this matter, as you know, there is no room for debate. I have met the accused, I know him personally and, as such, I cannot hear the case against him. I must recuse myself.”
“Your Honor, I have to admit, I’m curious about how you came to know James Aaron Farrier, president of the Red Skulls motorcycle club, AKA ‘Iron.’ Did you meet him at one of his cocktail soirées, or is he a member of your bridge club?”
“The details are irrelevant, as you well know. You are at liberty, if you wish, to request an inquiry where another judge, one senior to myself, will ask me in a closed meeting about the circumstances, and I will describe them to him in confidence. If you think that will further your aims, go ahead and apply for an inquiry.”
All the while Ira Weinberg, the defending attorney, sat serene with his hands folded on the fine cotton over his ample gut.
State’s Attorney Kelvin Crane’s voice was strained. “It’s going to mean lengthy delays, Judge. Two months at the least. The State needs this matter expedited.”
“I know the defendant and that means that he also knows me. There is no way around it. This hearing is over, Kelvin. Let it go.”
“But…”
“Mr. Crane, if I don’t recuse myself, then the defense will rightly apply for a mistrial, and they would be bound to succeed. What would be the state of your prosecutorial evidence if that happened after you had started presenting your witnesses?”
With everyone back in the courtroom, Judge Berringer’s announcement set a small clump of journalists into busy huddles over their tablets, while another little herd rushed the courtroom doors while as they stabbed at their phones and bumped into each other. As he slammed the gavel down, Jack thought, That was a subtle move for a biker gang . and he wondered, Who thought that up for you?
The only people in the court who showed no change of expression at the news were the defendant and his attorney.
Chapter 13
Tiffany could only focus on the one thing that she could see to do after the long night with her dread and racing thoughts. It would be the only thing in her control. “Take control of the situation,” was what her Daddy would say.
What would give her that now? The lighter. The pizza box, stained with oil, and a flame. She could start a fire. Smoke would bring the emergency services.
If the room was on fire, the bikers would have to do something, and they wouldn’t be prepared for the situation. In the panic, maybe she could escape. What else could she do?
She could wait and see who won the debate between ‘Jax’ and Mace outside about whether to kill her. There was that, or she could take things into her own hands.
Take control of the situation. She could set the pizza box on fire; use that to set the bed covers and the curtains ablaze. Create a diversion. It didn’t make much sense and she knew that. It made a lot more sense than doing nothing, though.
She had eaten more than half of the pizza, and the cardboard box was greasy. The grease was oil and oil was flammable. Surely it should burn well And make a great accelerant.
Tiff was proud of herself remembering ‘accelerant’ from a documentary about fire investigators. She tried to keep her mind off the grim realities of her situation by replaying in her mind the interview with grizzled fire marshal, talking about the ‘seat of the fire’ and ‘accelerant’ and ‘propellants.’
She saw him in his big old fire hat as she flicked the lighter under the corner of the pizza box. Maybe he would come out to this fire. The corner of the box started to turn dark brown, then black, but there wasn’t any flame.
The cheap lighter became hot in her fingers. She couldn’t hold it alight any more, but a red smolder spread along the inside corners of the box. She heard a
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