Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2)

by K. Ryan

  She didn't need to do anything to show me how strong she was. I already knew.

  "Feeling a little better now?" I asked her, my hand still rubbing gently across her back.

  "Ugh, I don't know. I mean, I know this is normal, but this just sucks. This is all your fault, you know."

  My hands shot up in defense. "Guilty as charged. I guess this is what I get for not being able to keep it in my pants when it comes to you, huh?"

  "I guess I could be saying the same thing to you," Isabelle allowed as she reached for her toothbrush.

  I took that opening to finish up getting ready for this little road trip, threw on the first T-shirt and jeans I could find along with my cut, and then headed into the kitchen to put together a quick breakfast for Isabelle before I hit the road. By the time I set her breakfast down on the table, she was already settling into her chair with a weak smile on her face.

  "Thanks."

  "No problem, Iz," I grinned down at her and pointed to her oatmeal bowl, "Eat this," I pointed to her cup of orange juice, "Drink that," and then pointed to her massive prenatal vitamin, "And swallow that bastard down."

  I bent down to kiss the side of her head, smirking as she eyed the vitamin warily, "Love you."

  "Love you too."

  "Have fun with Lex and my mom today," I called back to her as I headed for our front door. "Don't spend too much of my money, alright?"

  Her light chuckle followed me out the door. "Oh, I don't know about that..."

  . . .

  We arrived at the Warlords-owned and operated bar right on the dot and as Marcus stepped inside, I practically stopped right in my tracks when Heath gestured for me to follow after the Prez. That was normally the VP's place and the only way I could reconcile this new development was the fact that all the club's dealings with Padilla had virtually been through me. So, it was only fair, I guessed, that I act as second-in-command in this meeting.

  Right in the back corner of the bar, Theo Wallace and three other Warlord members sat waiting patiently for us and when Wallace caught sight of our entrance, he waved us over with the flick of his wrist.

  On almost every level, Theo Wallace was living my dream, at least where the MC was concerned. Son of Conrad Wallace, the Warlords' prez, and the current VP, he had the status, the pull, and the legacy behind him now to back up the air of superiority wafting around him. We'd known each other off and on through these last few years—Wallace had about five years on me, which gave him the advantage in his own club that I was still waiting for in mine.

  Every time I saw him, there was something harder about him, a little colder, a little more ruthless, and I figured that change in his demeanor just came with the job title, too. I'd never admit it out loud, especially not where anyone in my club could hear, or any other club for that matter, but I admired Theo Wallace. Looked up to him. Wanted to be him. Wanted the respect and the stability that came with his position. I'd heard he'd settled down with his long-time old lady not too long ago, had a kid with her and another one on the way, so I guess I was slowly but surely catching up to him.

  When we sat down at the booth where they waited for us, Wallace's eyes took careful stock of our seating arrangement, and with the seasoned intuition that only comes with years spent in this kind of life, he focused only on me.

  "Sawyer," he nodded to me respectfully as he pushed an ashtray toward me.

  "Wallace," I dipped my chin down in greeting.

  "Heard you got a kid on the way now with your girl," Wallace shot me a genuine grin. "Congrats."

  An easy smile spread across my face, something that just came naturally whenever Isabelle and our new family were the topic of conversation. "Thanks, man."

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Caleb Sawyer finally settled down with one girl. She must have a magic pussy or somethin', huh?"

  I knew this was all supposed to be easy, good-natured small talk before the real conversation started, and even though he was treading on thin ice now, I rolled with it.

  "Hey, man," I jabbed a finger at him with a smirk. "That's my future wife you're talkin' about."

  Wallace's ringed hands shot up in defense and he laughed heartily. "Alright, alright. My bad. You're having a pretty good year, you know. Knocked up a girl, movin' up in the world and in the club...you're on a roll."

  Marcus bristled a little next to me and Wallace's eyes flicked to him for just a moment before shifting his attention back to me.

  "I guess," I shrugged. "How 'bout you? Family good?"

  Wallace's eyes darkened for just a moment and he hesitated, lighting up a cigarette instead of answering me directly. "They're fine. My kid was in the hospital again. Some kinda lung infection."

  Shit. I'd heard his kid had been pretty much been in and out of the hospital since he was born—cystic fibrosis, I think—and suddenly, any lightness in the room dimmed to black.

  "I'm sorry to hear that, man."

  "Don't worry about it," Wallace batted a hand my way and leaned forward on his elbows as he spoke. "I didn't call you down here to catch up, Sawyer. We got a problem and since you and I have never had any problems before, I figured we should talk it out first before we move forward on this."

  My eyebrows lifted and I glanced at Marcus out of the corner of my eye. "What's the problem?"

  "Ortega's boy is dealing and his shit is cutting into my shit."

  I cursed under my breath and cast a glance at Marcus to my left, who was a running a hand wearily over his grizzled face. If the Warlords were pissed enough, they could cut off their business dealings with us altogether. The problem was that we were in too deep with the Lobos and their cronies to pull all our deals completely. We depended way too much on the income from our long-standing business with Ortega to bail altogether. Still, losing our relationship with the Warlords could stand to be just as detrimental. After all, they were our business contacts in the North. We needed them just as much as they needed us.

  Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

  "So," Marcus bit out gruffly. "What are we doin' here, then?"

  "I just wanted to give you a heads up," Wallace shrugged and ran a hand over his bald head. "But that doesn't mean I can afford to just let this go if your business deals interfere with mine, too."

  "We can't control what Padilla does or doesn't do," I interjected quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation with as little heat as possible. I could already feel the steam pouring off Marcus in waves and I knew I needed to salvage what was left of our relationship with the Warlords quickly and efficiently.

  "That's why I'm givin' you a heads up," Wallace turned to me now and seemed visibly grateful to not have to deal with Marcus, whose lips had curled up into a dangerous snarl. "I know all this business with the Lobos isn't your fault. If you cut ties with Ortega, we don't have a problem anymore."

  I shook my head and lit up a cigarette before speaking again, mulling over what to do next. He was being pretty reasonable and logical about all this, but we just couldn't give him what he wanted.

  "You know we can't do that, man. I'm just as pissed about this as you are. That dumbshit has caused too many problems as it is, but we gotta keep the cash flow goin'. We're in the same position as you're in right now and if there was a way we could stay afloat without the Lobos, we'd do it. But right now, it's just not possible."

  Wallace's eyes darkened and he leaned back into the booth, creaking the plastic cushions to cut in through the silence that had taken over the meeting. "Then I guess we've got nothing more to say."

  "What if we handle Padilla? Then there's no problem anymore."

  Wallace eyed me carefully, searching for some sign of dishonesty for a few painfully silent moments. "How're you gonna do that?"

  I looked briefly to Marcus, who just nodded in response, and then to Heath, who followed Marcus's lead. So, it looked like this was going to be on me then. Go big or go home, right?

  "I doubt Orte
ga is going to be happy when he finds out his lap dog has really gone off the rails this time. Even if he doesn't care too much about the fact that Padilla's dealin', he definitely won't like that he did it behind his back to make a profit."

  "So," Wallace stared back at me incredulously. "You're just gonna bring it to Ortega?"

  "Look, man," I shot back quickly. "Ortega is just as smart as the rest of us. He knows when shit's worth hangin' onto and when it's not. He'll cut ties with Padilla so fast the asshole won't know what hit him. If the Cobras lose their patch, they can't afford to stay anywhere near here and it'll be business as usual then."

  Wallace leaned back against the booth in thought and then nodded. "Alright. Fair enough."

  With that, the meeting was over almost as quickly as it'd started. Marcus was on the phone with Ortega the second we stepped foot out of the bar to set up the next sit-down of the day. With a quick nod from my prez, I knew the arrangements had been made and then we were on our way to the Lobos' clubhouse in Raleigh. The entire ride over, I felt myself sweating bullets. Although it was logical and smart, the plan I'd devised literally from the seat of my pants could easily blow up in my face. And if it did, the repercussions, both seen and unforeseen, wouldn't be pretty.

  "You sure this is gonna work?" Marcus clapped a hand on my shoulder as we closed in on the Lobos' doorway.

  "They can't afford to lose our business either," I reasoned. "I don't think Ortega is stupid enough to hang on, do you?"

  Marcus just grinned and clamped down on his cigarette.

  Over all, the sit-down with Ortega went better than I could've hoped for. It didn't take much rationalizing for the Lobos' leader to clearly understand the long-reaching effects a continued relationship with Padilla could mean for his club.

  The real fun began, though, when Ortega called Padilla to get his ass over to their clubhouse. Like the good little lapdog he was, Padilla came to heel in less than 15 minutes.

  Padilla swung through the clubhouse doors and headed right for the table where his charter president was sitting. This had been a long time coming and I just hoped I'd get back to the table in time to snag a front row seat.

  As Padilla passed us with a cigarette dangling from his lips, his smug, slightly dilated beady eyes froze on me for a little too long. Even though I didn't want to give the surprise away, I couldn't stop the knowing, evil smirk that tugged across my lips. Padilla's expression darkened with confusion, but he just pressed forward until he dropped in the chair across from Ortega.

  "What's this about?" Padilla huffed as he took a long drag from his cigarette.

  Ortega only hesitated to cast a sideways glance at Marcus, who nodded with approval. Padilla didn't seem to miss this nonverbal communication and his black eyes darted back and forth between them.

  "You been dealin' behind my back?" Ortega bit out in Padilla's direction.

  I had to fight the urge to rub my hands together in glee. This was just too damn good. Where the hell was the popcorn when you needed it?

  Padilla swallowed tightly once. And then again. And then again. At some point, he must have realized he needed to supply an answer and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

  "I...uh..."

  "That's not the answer I'm lookin' for, ese," Ortega shot back, his thick accent enunciating every syllable. "I'll ask you again: you been dealin' behind my back?"

  Padilla squeezed his eyes shut tightly and blew out a deep breath. At least the dipshit had enough sense to know it was over.

  "You don't understand. I was waitin' 'til the deal was all settled to make sure it was all good. I didn't wanna take the chance that—"

  "That what?" Ortega cut in sharply. "That I'd find out what you were doin' behind my back?"

  With that, Ortega lunged forward until his hands were closing around the edges of his former mentee's cut. He abruptly loosened his grip with one hand to snap his fingers above his head. When someone handed him a knife, Ortega leaned closer with the blade extended dangerously close to Padilla's eye.

  "Get the hell out of my clubhouse," the Lobos Prez exhaled venomously before slicing through the patch in the upper left-hand side of Padilla's cut. Then he flung the patch onto the floor below them and roughly shoved Padilla back against his chair.

  Silence permeated the air for a few long moments, save for Padilla's heavy, stunted breathing. A beat later, he knocked his chair back as he furiously rose to his feet. With his chest heaving violently, Padilla's black eyes rounded the length of the table until they rested firmly on my victoriously smug smirk. Bottles smashed in his wake and chairs upended as Padilla lunged for me with both hands reared for attack.

  My back slammed into the floor before I had time to even register what was happening as Padilla's fist smashed square in my jaw. Shattering pain splintered through the left side of my face and then instinct took over as both my hands shot up to block the next attack. With Dom yanking Padilla back, I took the opportunity to wind up and finally hit that prick right in the face.

  Padilla spit out a tooth, narrowly missing the front of my shoes. "Fuck you, Sawyer."

  "You think this is my fault?" I shot back hotly and jammed a pointed finger back at him, even though I was being tightly restrained by both Doc and Eli. "You did this. Not me. This is on all you, ese."

  Padilla's eyes narrowed into menacingly dark slits. "You been waitin' for this since day one. You better watch your back if you know what's good for you, bro."

  "Oh really?" I laughed bitterly, shoving myself free so I could inch up right in front of Padilla's face. "Bring it, asshole. You got nothin' to threaten me with and you know it."

  Padilla just snarled and before he had a chance to reply, his ass was unceremoniously tossed out of the clubhouse and into the dirt where he belonged.

  Good riddance, I thought bitterly as I rubbed my throbbing jaw. At least all this shit had essentially resolved itself and now Padilla was officially out of our hair. I'd been waiting for this moment for more than six months and now that it was finally here, the vindication was sweeter than I'd anticipated.

  Buzzing in my back pocket jerked me from those thoughts and my first thought was that it must be Isabelle calling to check in. But when I saw my mom's name on the caller ID, I frowned at the screen.

  "Yeah, Ma?" I answered quickly, catching Dom's gaze as I spoke.

  "Where're you guys right now?" My mom's haggard voice sounded over the phone and I had to blow out a deep breath in preparation for whatever was coming next.

  "Dealin' with some club shit. Why?"

  "If you guys can get back anytime soon," my mom told me anxiously. "You'd better head over to the precinct because the ATF picked up Isabelle and Lex about 20 minutes ago."

  For a second, I thought I hadn't heard her correctly.

  All I could sputter in response was: "What?"

  Dom was suddenly standing right next to me as my mom continued.

  "They showed up at your house right after we got back from shopping, flashed their badges, and said they wanted to talk to the girls at the precinct. I think their angle's pretty obvious considering I'm still sitting here in your kitchen."

  It wasn't a coincidence that the first time we had any sort of trouble with another club, the ATF swooped in and grabbed two old ladies, especially ones who'd never been in this position before. I knew exactly how these self-righteous pricks operated and the thought of Isabelle trapped in a room with just a bright light and an overzealous, aggressive agent was enough to make my blood boil.

  Isabelle was smart, but federal agents were trained, ruthless interrogators who would play on any angle they could to get what they wanted. They could talk circles around her for hours if they really felt like it.

  Jesus Christ, what else was going to happen today?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sit Down, Part Two

  Isabelle

  It wasn't until I found myself alone in a cramped interrogation room with Agent Jordan staring back at me that I sta
rted to get really pissed. I'd been sitting here for about 10 minutes already and I'd heard murmurings through the door that Becca had been brought in as well. Jesus, they were really pulling out all the stops here.

  Standing just over six feet tall with cropped dark hair, Agent Jordan was clearly well-built underneath his suit jacket. Clean shaven and put together, he couldn't have been more than 30. And he might have been attractive if his dark, hooded gaze didn't feel so threatening and smug.

  Under no circumstances did I want to be alone with this man any longer than necessary and I suddenly envied Lexie, who was more than likely being questioned by Agent Summers at that very moment. At least I might have been able to go toe to toe with Agent Summers a little easier because she didn't inherently intimidate me the way the agent currently sitting across from me did.

  "Isabelle..." Agent Jordan started carefully. "Is it alright if I call you Isabelle?"

  I nodded slowly, hesitant to speak to him unless absolutely necessary.

  "Thank you," he grinned back at me gratefully and I felt myself frowning back at him. "Please, call me Matt. Agent Jordan is way too formal, don't you think?"

  When I just stared impassively in his general direction, he frowned and leaned forward on his elbows. "So, it looks like you're almost finished with your first semester at UNC in Winston-Salem. And you've got a showcase coming up too. That's quite an accomplishment. You must be really proud."

  I'd had enough of this already.

  "Can we just cut to the chase, huh?" I snapped back at him. "I'm not stupid and I know that since you didn't arrest me, you can't keep me here against my will. Ask your questions so I can leave, please."

  I hadn't meant for my tone to betray all the swirling emotions running through me, but there was nothing I could do about it now. When Agent Jordan's lips tightened into a thin line, I wondered which part of what I'd just said had set him off more. If he'd really done his research, he would've known what I'd studied at Duke and so, my basic knowledge of the law couldn't have been a surprise. Still, the longer he stared back at me with that unfathomable expression, the more I wanted to squirm in my chair.