Precarious

Just another hectic day.

I spend the remainder of my afternoon in the dining hall with the prisoners. It’s fairly quiet and my shift ends on a good note after the disturbing news earlier.

After I’ve packed my things, I make my way out. Commotion catches me at the exit, and I turn to see guards bringing in a new prisoner. I step to the side, making sure I’m not in anyone’s way. Tristan approaches me as six guards lead a handcuffed man down the hall.

“That’s the shooter,” he growls, glaring at the man.

As they approach, I catch a glimpse of the man head on, and my breathing stops. I’ve spent a lot of years in this prison, but I’ve never witnessed a man as beautiful as he is. Criminal or not, it jumps out and screams at you to look at him. He’s tall, at least six feet, and is a hard wall of muscle. Thick shoulders, a lean narrow waist . . . he’s all male, strong and sturdy.

That’s not where his beauty lies, though. His beauty is in his face: a pair of stark grey eyes, a slightly crooked nose, big, full lips, and a square, masculine jaw. He’s got a rugged face, yet it’s so incredibly handsome. His hair is dark brown, maybe even black, and it’s a few inches long and messy, strands of it fall over his forehead. He’s got a tattoo running up his neck, and piercing in his lower lip.

I’ve no doubt this man is a bad, bad boy. It’s written all over him. He’s powerful, he’s scary and he’s utterly mesmerizing. I quickly drop my eyes to his attire. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans with chains dipping off the sides, and a heavy leather jacket that has numerous patches on the front. The one that stands out is one that says 1%.

As the guards pass Tristan and I, the man’s eyes meet mine and I forget how to breathe. He’s got a few days’ growth on his jaw, and fierceness in his eyes that tugs at me. How can someone that looks like him go into a café and kill an innocent family? He holds my eyes as he passes, sharing something with me, only I can’t quite decipher what it is.

“Piece of shit shouldn’t even live for what he’s done,” Tristan mutters as he gets closer to me.

I turn to him. “You’re not usually so vocal. Is everything okay?”

He shakes his head, as if righting himself. “Fine, just a long day. You can leave now.”

I nod quickly and turn to rush off, staring down the hall again before I go. I see the back of the man, and I can read his jacket from here. He’s got a massive patch with a picture of a scary-looking joker skull. In bold, white letters are the words Jokers’ Wrath MC. I stare at it for a long moment before turning and rushing out.

He’ll be the first biker I’ve ever had to work with.

I won’t say I’m not curious.

CHAPTER TWO

Unlocking my front door, I step into my large apartment. I have two housemates, so I got myself a bigger place. I enjoy the company, and could never seem to accept a small, one-bedroom home that I could only share with . . . well . . . maybe a goldfish. If I were lucky.

We managed to get ourselves a fully furnished apartment for a little extra per month. The furniture is nice and fairly modern, so it seemed like a better deal. I occupy the main bedroom, and my housemates, Leo and Claire, occupy the other rooms.

I get along with both of them exceptionally well. Claire is a gorgeous, fun-loving blonde who is somewhat like my light after a dark day. She’s bubbly and carefree, and extremely refreshing.

Leo is broody, sexy as hell, and runs his own tattoo parlor up town through the day, and is a fighter at night. He’s a bad boy, but he keeps to himself, and having him around is like having a guard dog.

“I got milk duds!” Claire squeals, skipping into the kitchen just as I place my purse down.

“You and your addictions.” I grin at her.

“I can’t help it. I’m so damned in love with them. Can you tell?” she asks, twirling around, and twisting to stare at her ass. “Is it fat?”

I roll my eyes. Claire has the kind of ass most men would drop to their knees for.

“Why don’t you ask Leo?” I chuckle.

She slaps my arm as she passes me, heading towards the fridge. “Quit teasing me about Leo. So what he walked in on me showering? He’s got a bevvy of babes, and I’m sure seeing me naked was the equivalent to a gynecologist seeing a vagina—an every-day occurrence that is barely worth batting an eyelid at.”

I snort and laugh softly. “God, you give the most . . . interesting descriptions.”

She slides her backside up onto the counter and crosses her legs, popping a milk dud into her mouth. “Did you see the news?”

“About the shooting?” I ask, pouring myself an orange juice.

“Yeah, it’s so sad.”

I can’t give Claire any information from my job, but I do tell her, “I saw him being brought into the prison as I was leaving.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

I nod, stealing a milk dud for myself. “Yep.”

“What was he like?”

My cheeks heat as I think about the gorgeous, rugged biker. “He was, ah, just a normal criminal.”

“I just can’t believe he killed that family. So cold and twisted.”

I nod. “You’re right about that.”

The front door slams and we both turn to see Leo charging in. Damn, he’s good looking. Even Claire’s eyes move over his body. He’s built; I mean, mega built. He’s all muscle. His shoulders are broad and he’s got abs that go far and beyond a six-pack. His messy brown hair often falls over his face, sometimes getting too long and covering those stunning hazel eyes.