“We’ll bring yar bed up here. Yar right, the pullout is trash, but it was here when I moved in and I’ve not had the time to shop for myself yet.”
“We can’t bring my bed here,” I protest.
“We can. I’ll get Hannah to come sit with the babes while we go down, pack ya for a couple weeks and I’ll get one of the brothers to help me pack yar bed.” And before I can protest further, he whips his phone back out, presses a button in contacts, and says, “Blaze, brother. Ya busy?”
How did this conversation spin out of control so fast?
As I ponder this, I look around the room. This could really be a nice place if he slapped some paint on the walls and bought some new furniture. Maybe hung some artwork. I remember singlewides being cramped, but this is very much a newer model. Maybe a couple of years old and laid out to get the most from each square foot of space.
The kitchen, dining, and living areas flow into one large space with the dining area delineated from the kitchen with a bar that with some stools would make a nice snack or homework area for when the girls are older. Or more places for people to sit and eat if he ever holds a dinner party, not that bikers give dinner parties. The change in flooring separates the dining from the living areas. Laminate flooring runs into the kitchen under the table and the rest of the floor was carpeted at the factory in a pretty tan color.
I blink and return to reality when I hear him say, “Hannah, can ya come sit with the babes for a bit? We need to get Frankie’s bed.”
When it hits me how that might sound to her, I slap his chest. “Don’t tell her that! She might get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea about what?” he asks. “Aren’t we going down to get yar bed?”
“Yeah—yes. But she might think it’s for a far different reason.”
“Oh, she definitely will.” He laughs as my panic grows.
“Rory, this isn’t funny. The more I think about it, they’re all going to think something else. I can’t stay here.”
“Listen to me good, Francesca.”—Francesca, yikes! — “I’ll not push ya, promised that already. But yar the only one not admitting where this is heading, so I don’t give a fuck if every damn brother, old lady, hot mama, or piece of ass who walks onto these club grounds thinks yar in my bed. Because ya will be soon as ya get yar head out of yar ass.”
Oh, he’s lucky when the knock comes at the door right before it opens to a beautiful woman with light honey-brown hair, who must be Hannah, saying, “Knock, knock.” Lucky because I was just about to administer my win-any-argument-with-Rory combination knee to groin and nipple twist. He always twisted his thigh to keep me from hitting the target, and the nipple twisting used to make him laugh. Come to think of it, we ended up falling into bed more times than not when I ended arguments this way, so it’s probably a good thing she interrupted us.
And honestly, I’m not exactly sure what he wants with me when women like her hang around the clubhouse. I’m not Quasimodo by any stretch, but she’s exquisite.
“You must be Frankie,” she says sweetly and I kid not, she walks over to hug me.
“Yeah, nice to meet you.”
“Frankie,” Rory says, “Hannah is Blood’s old lady.” She glares at him hard and he clears his throat. “Or she will be once he gets his head out of his arse, too.”
I look to Hannah. “It appears according to this one”—I use my thumb to point at Rory—“a lot of people around here require head-from-ass extraction surgery.” Hannah laughs.
“Before we go,” I continue, “I needed you to know that we’re getting my bed because Rory is going out of town and needs me to look after the girls. His couch is shit, so we’re bringing my bed here. We’re not together or—”
“Yeah, we are,” he says over me, not letting me finish my sentence.
Oh, boy, she mouths as she tries to suppress a smile.
Oh, boy is right. I think I need another drink—stat.
7.
Rory
We finally roll up on the property of the Devil’s Outcasts, a club we’ve been helping to get clean from the drugs and guns that nearly brought an end to the Lords some years back. They took over an abandoned town. Their clubhouse used to be a strip mall. A fucking strip mall. I hate this hellfire Texas heat. Bullshite, it’s not the heat but the humidity. When it hits this hot, it’s the fucking heat.
My hair is plastered to my head because once the babes came into my life, I forced myself to start wearing a helmet, and I’ve got a goddam sweat-soaked T-shirt on. Someone should’ve warned me not to wear black.
Since the Outcasts legitimately own the whole town, there’s not even a fence surrounding the property. Their president, Mad Man, steps out into the sun once we shut down our bikes. He’s a giant motherfucker. Beard hanging down to his gut, equally as long ponytail hanging down the back. I’d hate to meet him in a dark alley. I’m not small, but he could end me without breaking a sweat, which in this heat, says something.
The man puts out a calloused hand to me. “Scotch, good to see you, man.” I’m lead on this, so out of respect, he directs all initial communications to me.
“Good to see ya, too,” I answer. “Ya know Blaze and Hero?” I point to the brothers with me.
Mad Man holds his hand out to shake each of theirs.
“What we got going on?” I get to the point, but Mad Man shakes his head.
“Business tomorrow. We got a welcome party waiting inside for you.”
Blaze and Hero ain’t got women back home and their smiles show how eager they are to join the festivities. Me? I’ll have to respectfully decline. Frankie might not admit she’s mine yet, but she’s mine and I won’t risk losing her again by partaking in the pieces here. Even on the road. Even if she never found out, I’d know. And that’s one line I’d never cross. Ya got a good woman, ya don’t stick yar dick in other pussy.
“Much obliged,” I tell him. “These boys”—I nod in the direction of my brothers—“they’ll partake in whatever ya got on offer, but don’t take offense if I only kick back with a cold one and conversation.”
“Got you a woman back home?” he asks.
I can’t help the smile. “That I do.”
“What’s happened to the Lords?” he asks jokingly. I raise an eyebrow at him anyway. “You all turned domestic. Morally superior and shit. Never met a club more willing to give up easy road pussy for the promise of some bitch back home.” He outright laughs at that.
“This gonna be a problem?” I ask.
“Fuck, no. I just wish we grew women here in Texas as good as you grow ’em back in Kentucky. Got a picture I can use to get me there while I’m being sucked off inside?”
“Yeah, sure.” I stuff my hand inside my front pocket and pull it back out, flipping him off. The fucker’s joking and he’s lucky I know that or I don’t care how big he is, he’d meet my fist before he had the chance to turn around. He barks with laughter, throws his arm around my shoulder, and walks us inside.
It’s pandemonium and my brothers hit the party running. Blaze walks up to a bitch—I don’t even think he asks her name before he has her on her knees. I walk over to the bar. This is gonna be a long night.
Once the fucking starts to get wet and loud—women pinned against walls, bent over tables, or hands braced against barstools—I excuse myself to the room the Outcasts have put me up in. I lie down on the bed and dial Frankie.
“Hey,” she says all breathy, the sound making my dick twitch hard. “Everything good?”
“Yeah, missing my lasses is all.”
“Well, they’re down for the night. If you call a little earlier tomorrow, I’ll put the phone up to their ears,” she says, not catching my meaning.
“Miss all three of my lasses, Frankie.”
“They miss you, too,” she whispers and I know how much that cost her to admit it, but I’m damn glad she did. Those words spread a stupid smile across my face.
“What did ya get into today?” I ask.
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“You know, it was so weird. A Sheriff’s cruiser followed me from the time I left work with the girls. We stopped off at the grocery store so I could cook dinner—oh, do you still like pot roast?” she bizarrely throws in.
“Back up, a police cruiser followed ya?!”
“Well… yeah. But I need to know about the pot roast,” she answers, brushing me off. I’ll give her that for now, though, only for now.
“Been a while since I had it, but sure. Yars was always the best… Melts in my mouth. And those carrots and potatoes? Ya had to double up on ’em because I ate so many. Remember?”
She laughs into the line. “Oh, I remember. I bought you a large crock pot—housewarming gift. But if I’m being honest, it’s kind of for me, too.”
“Really?” I ask. “How so?”
“When I get back to your place, I’m pretty pooped. So if I get dinner going in the crock pot before I leave for work, it’ll be less hassle when I’m too tired to cook. It’ll be great for you when I’m back at my place, too. You’ll always have dinner ready for you and the girls.”
I don’t justify that with a response because I’ve made a decision. She’s not going back to her apartment. She’s sharing my life and my bed as long as I’m breathing on this Earth. “Making me pot roast?” I ask instead.
“If you let me know when you think you’ll be home, I’ll get it done then. We can have a celebratory ‘Rory’s home’ dinner.”
She’s totally mine.
Now that we got that out of the way we need to reverse this conversation back to the thing she said that I can’t overlook. “What about that Sheriff’s cruiser?”
“Oh—it was probably nothing.”
“Tell me anyway,” I prod.
“Well, he followed us to the store. But then, when I left the store, he was on my tail again. Followed me right to the turnoff that takes us up the mountain. Then he turned to go back toward town.”
She pauses and I’m pretty sure I don’t like the pause. I’m sure I don’t like any of this. That fucking Rodrick pulled me over, drew his weapon, and tossed me in jail on trumped-up charges. Now a Sheriff’s cruiser is following Frankie?
“Then,” she continues, “Caitlin came home while I was unloading the last of the groceries and I walked over to say hi. She looked troubled, so, of course I asked what was wrong. She said a Sheriff’s Deputy pulled her over and insisted on searching her truck.”
“What?”
“Yeah, she told me she refused him because she hadn’t done anything wrong, so he threatened to bring her in and impound the vehicle for probable cause or something. Luckily, Tommy Doyle was passing by in his cruiser and recognized the truck, so he stopped. Caitlin explained the situation to Tommy and he and the deputy had words. The deputy wrote her up a ticket for speeding, which she insisted she hadn’t been at all, and left. Tommy escorted her back to Lords property before turning off.”
“Are ya okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… something didn’t sit well, you know? That wasn’t the first run-in I had with a deputy. When I stopped for pizza the other day, the same deputy who took you in started harassing me.”
“What the fuck, Frankie? Why didn’t ya tell me then?”
“Because it was my fault and I didn’t want to make you mad. I wanted to enjoy the evening with you and the girls.”
“How was it yar fault?” I wipe my hand over my face, knowing that what she’s about to say will piss me off and I’m too far from home to do anything about it.
“I left the girls in the car—please don’t be mad. I couldn’t carry them and the pizza, so I left them; the car was locked and remote start kept it warm. I wasn’t even gone two minutes. Only long enough to grab the food, I swear.” Fuck. I gotta get home. Whatever’s up Rodrick’s ass, he’s escalating aggressions following women or having them followed. Whomever bothered Frankie, Rodrick’s stink is all over it.
“How’d he know ya were there with the babes? Ya got tinted windows.”
“Uh, well… he followed me from the daycare. I didn’t see him turn into Benny’s. But he was peeking through the back windows when I came out with the food.”
“Shite, Francesca… ya should’ve told me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to do with them. If I’d only had one of the girls—”
“I’m not talking about the babes, ya blasted woman. I meant the deputy. Ya did fine with them. I’d have done the same.”
“You’re upset,” she says, and fuck, I want to hold her so bad right now that I think I might actually hate Duke for sending me on this business. I’ve never hated Duke, but then again, I’ve never had a family before that club business kept me from protecting.
“Of course I’m upset. I’m twelve hundred miles away and there’s an idiot harassing my woman.”
“Where’re you at?” she asks, changing the subject, but not denying she’s my woman. Point scored. I’m not happy about the goings-on back in Thornbriar, but I’ll let it go for now and call Duke and Tommy Doyle when I’m off the line with her.
“Texas—it’s hot as blazes. Good thing ya prefer to vacation at the beach because we’re never coming back here.”
“Texas has beaches,” she teases.
“Not in our world. Virginia has a beach. Myrtle has a beach. Hell, even Long has a beach.”
“I see where you’re going with this. Remember that first trip we took to Bald Head Island?” We both start to laugh. “You leaned so far over the rail of the boat to see that sea turtle, you fell in.”
“When do ya get vacation next?” I ask with visions of Frankie in a bikini floating around in my head.
“I’ve got time off coming in about three weeks. My director was sending me to Pennsylvania for a conference about autism, but she told me today that plans fell through because the keynote speaker broke her leg and has to have surgery or something. So I guess they’re rescheduling the whole shebang. But since I’ve been putting in so much extra time at work, she told me that I still have to take the days. They’ve already scheduled the part-time girls to cover me. Why?”
“Because we’re heading to Bald Head. The four of us.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few long moments and I prepare for her to fight me when she says, “I’d love that. I’ll hop on the computer and see what I can get booked.”
From there, I relax to the point that both of us start dozing off while still on the phone. She reluctantly hangs up when I insist she head to bed and I roll over and fall asleep.
The next morning I’m up and ready to get down to business well before any of the other men in the clubhouse, including Blaze and Hero. I don’t give Mad Man the choice to put me off, however, banging on his door and shouting the place down until he and his lieutenants are seated around their conference table with me and my brothers at the visitor’s end.
“You couldn’t have waited an hour?” Mad Man grumbles.
“We both know it’d have been longer than an hour,” I say, “and I’ve got my own shite to deal with back home.” Both Hero and Blaze look over to me, but I give my head one quick shake to let them know not now. I’ll tell them when we’re through here.
An Outlaw brother name Dark speaks up. “The Continuars are now henchmen for the Anguino Cartel.” He sits directly to Mad Man’s right and appears far more awake than the rest.
“The Anguino Cartel?” Hero asks. “Sorry, but what does that have to do with us?”
“Ya asked for me specifically,” I remind them of something they already know. “Why? I don’t speak Spanish.”
“They brought in a man, last name Balfour,” he says. When I hear that I get a good idea of why they asked for me. “The bastard’s got a couple of men with him at all times and they refuse to speak English around us.
Balfour, he’s a Scotsman like me. They need me to listen when he’s conversing with his men in Gaelic so the Outlaws know how much they’re being lied to and about what. Mad Man and his broth
ers are attempting to buy their way out of the contract the president before him signed with the cartel.
Can’t blame them. Nasty business dealing with cartels.
Once Mad Man calls the meeting, a group of ten of us mount our rides, heading for a warehouse about twenty-five miles away where the meet will take place with members of the Anguino cartel, including Balfour and his men. They’ve agreed to only ten men of their own, but as I’m not stupid and neither is Mad Man nor any of the Lords or Outlaws. We position our men strategically to have our backs in case of trouble.
Before we left the Outlaw compound, I had a meeting with Hero and Blaze. Our official job at this meet will be as third-party arbitrators. Because I clearly have an accent, Balfour and his men will know my real purpose the minute I open my mouth. Therefore, I made the decision for Hero to act as lead, for him to do all the talking for us. Blaze and I will sit at his side and take it all in.
We’re met by the ten expected men. Five from the cartel, with the obvious leader dressed like he shopped at Tommy Bahamas for his outfit. The rest of his men sport military-style garb and carry automatic weapons. Fucking great. Then there’s clearly Balfour and his three men, none of whom look like the cartel.
“Hola, Sen͂or Perez,” Mad Man greets the Tommy Bahama wannabe. They shake hands and Mad Man turns to introduce us. “These are the members of the Lords sent for arbitration.”
Our patches are prominent on our cuts. This guy knows we’re legit. “Ah, Brimstone Lords,” he says in broken English. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Then you know not to fuck with us,” Hero says and damn, I would’ve thought he was Duke’s progeny with the authority he exudes. “Either of you.” He looks between Mad Man and Perez.
“You are young to be in charge,” Perez says to Hero.
“I get the job done,” he replies. “Now, are we gonna keep standing out here frying in this goddamn heat or are we goin’ in to work?”
The men turn around to walk inside the warehouse, Perez’s men at our backs. They lead us to a room off the main storage area, empty for now. These men definitely ain’t stupid. There’s a large conference table set up with those uncomfortable metal folding chairs situated around. We each take a seat.
Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4) Page 8