You should really work on your anger issues was not something that I wanted to say to the man. Not when I felt that what he’d done was justified.
I’d seen that girl’s story in the newspaper. I’d read her accounting on what happened, and what Tate Casey had done to save her from that obvious hell.
I knew, and I didn’t. Freakin’. Care.
My dad, however…well, he sure did.
Violence is not the answer, Hennessy.
He’d said those exact words at the breakfast table the morning I’d read about Tate Casey’s impending incarceration.
Tate worked for Hail Auto Recovery, and had been on a job one night when he’d come upon a gang of young men raping a girl. After beating the guys responsible for the actual rape to death, he’d then gone and taken out five more of the gang members who were just egging them on, before he was caught and detained by police officers.
He hadn’t touched the police officers. He’d surrendered willingly, and had done everything asked of him to cooperate with authorities.
He’d been calm, cool, and collected while also being covered from head to toe with the blood of the men he’d beaten to death.
This was the second session of a mandatory twenty sessions, and he was about as approachable now as he had been the first meeting.
“I’ve heard of the Hail Raisers.” I said, acting like I was considering my notes as I did. “Can you tell me more about them?”
Was that appropriate to ask? I couldn’t tell.
I was winging it here.
Literally, I’d never once been this attracted to one of my patients before.
This was all kinds of screwed up, and if I wasn’t careful, this would cross the line into ‘no-no’ territory.
I couldn’t help it, though.
I needed to know more about this man, and if he didn’t tell me, I’d then have to ask people around town.
They’d, of course, know that he was being seen by me.
Half the town had been present when he’d arrived at my office over an hour ago due to the town’s Summer Fest Parade passing right past our door.
If I said something almost as if in passing, surely everyone else would fill in the blanks without me having to do any asking at all…right?
Shit.
This was bad.
Bad, bad, bad.
“Hail Raisers?” he feigned ignorance.
I nodded.
“The motorcycle club.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“We’re not a ‘club,’” he admonished. “Half the men in The Hails’ employ don’t even own a motorcycle. That was just something that was made up one day by some random Joe, and has stuck. Mostly because this fucking town can’t let go of the past.”
I didn’t correct him or admonish him for the coarse language.
He seemed to like it when he got a rise out of me.
“Okay, then tell me about the men in The Hails’ employ,” I amended.
“We’re just a bunch of like-minded individuals,” he shrugged.
“Individuals that have all seen prison time.” I filled in the blank.
He shrugged. “I don’t think any of them but Evander has seen prison time.” He paused. “But I haven’t really heard much about him since I’ve been in the slammer, so it could’ve happened. As for me and Evander? I think we’re just misunderstood.”
I wanted to laugh.
I didn’t dare.
“Misunderstood how?” I persisted.
He tilted his head to the side.
“Is your dad coming to interrupt us today?” he asked, changing the subject.
I frowned and looked at him quizzically. “No, why?”
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he was as closed off as one could be without actually getting up and leaving the room.
He gestured to the window behind me with his chin, and I turned to find my father standing in the inner sanctum of my office, staring at me through the glass window that portioned off one half of my office from where I met with patients.
“Apparently, he is,” I said, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what he wants.”
Tate shrugged and put his feet up onto the coffee table that’d been separating our two chairs.
I got up, making sure that both of my feet were firmly underneath me, before I took a step in my heels.
I was still getting used to them.
I was more of a flats kind of girl, but I’d been informed by my best friend that professionals didn’t dress like I did—or had.
She’d then gone out and forced me to buy a whole new wardrobe. For the most part, I adored the clothes, but the heels were taking time to get used to.
The clothes made me feel free. The heels were an almost defiant thing just for me, that I wore—even though it was likely that professionals did wear flats—just so I could act like I wasn’t the preacher’s daughter that everyone knew before I went away to college.
The only problem was that normally my father wouldn’t see me in them.
I knew the moment that I got up, and his eyes went from the top of my head to the bottom of my shoes, that this wasn’t going to go well.
I thought about closing the blinds, and then sending Isidra, my receptionist, a text message to tell her to get rid of my dad, but I couldn’t do that to Isidra.
I glanced once over my shoulder to find Tate’s eyes not on me or my father, but on the window that led outside. Specifically, a car. My father’s car.
I should’ve known when Tate’s eyes first strayed to the window, and I heard the familiar purr of the engine, that it was my father.
I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve closed the blinds.
Instantly, I pushed that thought away.
I was a psychologist. Sometimes I had patients that were all over the spectrum. Some of them could be completely sane, while others could have problems.
I didn’t want to be closed in my office, and not have a way for Isidra—or anyone walking by—to see that my patient was going fucking nutso and killing me with one of my paperweights.
Yes, I had an overactive imagination, and no, I’d never had any indication that a patient was going to kill me. However, a lot of times my patients were unstable, and I wasn’t a stupid woman. I planned ahead, just in case.
My father knocked on the door again, his impatience evident.
I winced and hurried.
He’d never once come to my work.
Why had he now?
I opened the glass door and smiled at my father, my belly immediately tightening into a knot of dread at seeing the displeasure on his face.
“Hennessy Harmony Hanes, what in God’s name are you wearing?”
I looked down at my outfit.
It wasn’t bad.
The skirt was below my knees. It was tight, yes, but it wasn’t revealing. The shirt was a flowy black number that was held in place by a wide red belt.
The only thing one could call revealing about the entire outfit was the lace camisole I had on underneath of it, circumventing the cleavage that one would normally see with this shirt. Even then, the camisole was above the part in my breasts.
“I’m wearing a skirt and shirt, Father.”
My father looked disgusted with me.
“You’re wearing hooker heels.”
Chapter 3
Ladies, Wal-Mart panties will get the same attention that Victoria’s Secret panties will if you’re with the right person.
-Food for thought
Tate