Page 99 of Forget That Guy
“Juliana will love that.” He chuckled low. “Judge Baskins is on our side with this. He’s probably just as tired with her shit as we are.”
He would be. We’d been in here six times in just as many months since Juliana and I had divorced. Hell, even I was tired of seeing us here.
Everyone found their seats, and I had to laugh when Silas chose the one directly behind Juliana’s.
He wasn’t wearing his club cut, but it didn’t matter. He looked like he didn’t belong with his long beard and his piercing eyes that missed nothing.
He sure the fuck didn’t look like he belonged with Juliana and her lawyer.
Silas was dressed down in jeans and a long-sleeved tee.
Juliana was dressed up so spectacularly that she looked entirely out of place—not to mention uncomfortable. She looked like she was about to go to a prom, not to a courtroom.
Everyone shifted in their seats by the time Judge Baskins walked into the room, way later than was normal, even for him.
He waved the bailiff off who was about to say “all rise” and took a seat, shifting his glasses onto his nose.
“Sorry, sorry. There was a traffic jam. In Bear Pass. Who knew?” He looked at his papers, stilled, then looked up.
“What are we doing here?” he asked as he sat back. “I thought we solved this last month.”
Juliana shifted in her seat.
“Your Honor, we’re here today because—” Juliana’s lawyer started, but the judge cut her off.
“I know why you’re here. I can read. I went over the notes last night. Do you have any evidence that suggests that Denver is unfit to be a parent?”
“Your Honor, my client is worried that the children will be unduly influenced by the motorcycle gang that their father is a part of,” her lawyer started.
The judge sighed. “We’ve been over this, several times. Everyone and their brother is part of a motorcycle club. Hell, even my mother-in-law who’s in her eighties is. She rides one of those trikes around with her other eighty and ninety-year-old friends. They go to parades, run toy drives, poker runs. Wear those cuts that show their club name—the Granny Outlaws. And if we’re being honest here, the Dixie Wardens MC has the best reputation in the country. Half of the members are firefighters, police officers, military, or some other form of badass. Hardly a one-percent club at all. This argument is invalid. What else do you have, Mrs. Montgomery?”
The lawyer shrank back a little at the judge’s words.
But Judge Baskins was correct.
The Dixie Wardens MC was a pretty well-known club in the country. Most of them were public service professionals of some kind. Did they break the law? Yes. But they only did it for good reasons…mostly.
We didn’t run drugs. We didn’t pimp out whores. We didn’t traffic women and children. We were genuinely out to better our communities and make them safer to live in.
We were not bad influences on anyone, especially our children.
Did we do bad things? Hell yes, we did. But we did it in a way that no one would know.
On the outside looking in, we were solid members of society.
And that was all because of our ex-CIA national club president, Silas.
“The children’s father is never home. And he’s making the girls work from sunup to sundown.”
“That’s wrong,” Jedidiah countered. “My client has hired what hands he’s able to get his hands on—seeing as your client took half of Sinclair’s workers with her when she left because she told them that Denver abused her when he didn’t. He’s hired a local vet to even help.”
“A local vet that he’s sleeping with!” Juliana hissed.
Silas shifted in his seat, not necessarily toward her, but just in a way that she looked behind her and froze.
She hadn’t realized he was sitting there until now.
She inhaled swiftly and wilted into herself.
