Lara only held his gaze coolly. "And this wasn't the first time she turned up drunk. Something you were informed of previously, yet did nothing to curb."
Chaser shrugged. He vaguely remembered some bullshit message awhile back that he'd ignored. The way he'd ignored the first six this woman had left him yesterday and today. It was apparently the seventh that had irritated him enough to show up. "She's in high school. Kids do shit."
"She's sixteen years old."
"When I was sixteen I was stealing cars from the high school parking lot and taking cheerleaders on joyrides." Chaser kept his voice even. If forbidding. "The cars came back in one piece, the cheerleaders, not so much. From my perspective, Kaylee's doing fine."
"Here's what will happen if I report this, the way I'm supposed to," Lara said, her expression unreadable, which … poked at him. A lot. It was a little too much like a challenge. "Your daughter will get expelled, because drunkenness on school grounds will count as a third offense after an incident in gym class with a boy she didn't like-"
"If you mean that punk bitch who put his hands on her, you're lucky she handled it. Because if I had, he'd have lost a few fingers."
"-and the first episode of drunkenness, which she claimed was migraine medication making her loopy, but I doubt anyone was taken in by this claim. Maybe you're unaware that the principal has instituted a 'three strikes and you're out' policy here at Lagrange High."
"The principal? You mean that little douche Thierry Maitland?"
"That a member of the community finds Mr. Maitland a douche is something I can certainly bring up at the next school board meeting if you wish," Lara said testily. As if-and it took Chaser a moment to place the unfamiliar expression on her face-she found him little more than annoying. Not scary. But irritating. Like a bug. "But that won't help your daughter's situation one way or the other. Which is why I called you in today." She tilted her head slightly to one side with more of that same impatience. "What is Kaylee's home life like? Does she have an adequate support system?" Another nod at his cut, which was starting to feel like an attack. A very, very unwise attack. "Is it possible that with all your activities, her cries for help might be going unheard?"
Chaser took a moment. It was that or put his hands on this woman who dared speak to him like this, which he knew was a terrible idea. He'd happily pistol-whip any man who spoke to him this way, no question. A tiny little woman like this, with more mouth than common sense? Hell. He'd end up fucking her against a wall, his second favorite form of anger management. And he suspected this was the sort of pissy, impossible woman who would come screaming his name and then actually call the cops on him. Him. Right here in Lagrange, where the cops were either really good friends with the Devil's Keepers or really, really committed to staying the hell out of the club's way.
"Did I fuck you and forget your name, babe?" he asked, in as insulting a drawl as he could manage. "Did you drag me in here so I could tell you it was good for me? If I came, it was great. Better now?"
It was worth it for the steam he could swear came out of her ears at that, and the sheer murder in her gaze.
"Over my dead body would I ever-ever-touch you," she bit out, sounding straight-up furious instead of morally outraged, which was interesting. Like it wasn't the idea of fucking itself that pissed her off-it was the idea of fucking him.
Not a response he was used to. Despite himself, Chaser found it fascinating. Her too, if he was honest. Most women weren't all that interesting. Not like this. They were wet, they wanted him, they cried when he fucked them blind. Most women were interchangeable to him, not puzzles to solve.
It turned out he had a thing for puzzles.
"But I know you somehow?" His temper eased a little as he tried to figure out if she had an issue with him personally or bikers in general-and how quickly he could get inside her to find out if all that hate made her come harder. He bet it would. Hate fucking was the good stuff, blistering hot and wrong, guaranteed to take the top of his head off. He really, really wanted to find out what would make this starchy, uptight woman get soft and wet and greedy. Even better, what would make her beg.
"Mr. Frey," she was saying, still with murder all over her face despite the smile she tried to aim at him, "I don't think you understand why I called you in."
"I understand that as far as I know, I never laid eyes on you before I walked into this school tonight. But I'll be honest. Pussy is a blur. There's just so much of it, who can keep track?"