Slay (Storm MC #4) (5 page)

“I second that motion,” Damian chimed in.

I scowled at him.  “You fucking would.”

He grinned.  “Can I have his number if you’re not gonna use it?”

I shook my head at him.  “Something tells me Blade isn’t gay.  I think you’re shit out of luck there, dude.”

“I think you might be right, boss lady.  Why is it all the hot guys are straight?” he grumbled.

I snorted.  “That’s what she said.”

He laughed and we finished closing up.  As I worked, my thoughts drifted to the events of the night.  I was a little concerned about Mario coming back but, at the same time, I was fairly sure Blade had sorted that out for me.  Something told me he was a man you didn’t mess with, even if you were a debt collector who chopped fingers off for a living.  And that in itself kind of scared me, because I didn’t know whether owing Blade something would come back to bite me in the ass or not.

Chapter Four

Blade

I steered the car towards Scott’s house.  We’d organised to meet there this morning to discuss Storm business.  My mind should have been focused on that, but it wasn’t.  Instead, it was focused entirely on Layla.  I couldn’t get the dark-haired beauty out of my mind after last night.  She seemed to be a strong woman, and yet I’d sensed a vulnerability to her.  I was attracted to that.  I didn’t want to think about it, but that side of her reminded me so much of Ashley.  She hid it well, though.  Ashley hadn’t and she’d let me in easily.  I sensed Layla wouldn’t be the kind of woman to do that.

Fuck, why was I even thinking about this?  It wasn’t like I was interested in starting something.  I’d learnt women were best kept at arm’s length.  Since Ashley’s death, I hadn’t found a woman who came close to her.  All I’d found were women interested in themselves, and fucked if I’d spend my life with a woman like that.  I craved someone with a genuine kindness to them, someone who cared about other people as much as they cared about themself, and I’d rather end up alone than settle for less than that.

When I arrived at Scott’s, he was deep in conversation with Harlow on their front lawn.  Neither appeared happy, and this surprised me; from what I knew, they were tight.  I watched as Scott pulled her back as she turned to leave.  His grip on her wrist looked firm, and she struggled out of it but let him continue talking.  Whatever was going on with them appeared to be serious.

Eventually, he finished talking and pulled her to him to lay a kiss on her forehead, and then she headed to her car in the driveway.  I watched her leave as I walked to where he was standing.  He’d seen me, but his gaze was fixed on Harlow, and he didn’t turn to me until her car had left the street.

“Morning.”  He gave me a perfunctory look before turning and taking the stairs up to his house.

I followed silently.  Once we were inside, he offered me coffee and as he made it, I asked cautiously, “Everything good with you and Harlow?”  Being in Scott’s home wasn’t something I experienced often.  And being alone with him even less.  There was a distance between us that, as much as I’d tried to close it, had hardly changed since we’d met last year.  We were both too stubborn and moody for our own good. I inwardly grimaced: a trait we shared with our father.

He glanced at me before giving his attention back to the coffee.  His voice was off when he finally spoke.  “No, we’re going through some stuff at the moment.  It’s fucked.”  His hands stilled and his gaze hit mine.  What I saw there made me suck in a breath.  Whatever was going on, Scott was having a tough time at the moment because his face was a mask of torment.  His eyes were hard when he added, “Everything’s fucked.”

I let him get it out and then let him finish making coffee.  It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t force it.  A few minutes later, he placed a mug in front of me and said, “Marcus’s first coke shipment hit the streets this week.  Seems this has pissed some of your old friends off.”

“Who?” Actually, I had a good idea who he was talking about but needed to know the name.  It wasn’t a name I wanted to hear, though.

“Ricky Grecian.”  His stare penetrated me; he knew what this name meant to me.

I acknowledged it with a quick nod.  “Figured that would happen.” 

“What does this mean for Storm?”  He asked the question but he had to know the repercussions. Everyone in Brisbane knew Ricky was a man to be avoided at all costs.

I humoured him regardless.  “Let’s just say Ricky will twist your balls till you wished you didn’t fucking have any, because the thing about him is he likes to play with his opponents for a while.  He’ll eventually try to take you out but he likes to have some fun beforehand.”  I paused before adding, “Ricky’s a sadistic fuck.  Has Marcus got this covered?”

Scott raked his hand through his hair, the look on his face indicating he clearly didn’t think so, but he replied, “He says he has but I have my doubts.  And the division in the club at the moment won’t help us.”

“Where are you at with all this?”  It had been a few months since Griff took over as Vice President, and I’d watched as the club had slowly begun falling apart.  The support Marcus and Griff had at first was beginning to take a hit.  I suspected this had to do with the direction Marcus was taking the club; he’d made a lot of promises in order to gather support, but the reality of it wasn’t as rosy.

He drank some of his coffee and took his time answering me.  “More of the boys have come to me with concerns about how Marcus is handling stuff.  Problem is they haven’t voiced that to him so he thinks they’re all behind him, and still will be behind him, when shit goes down with Ricky.”

“You need to deal with that, and soon.”

He blew out a long breath.  “Fuck, Blade, what the hell do you think I’m trying to fucking do?  I’ve got J and Nash helping, but even between the three of us, with all the other normal club business we’ve got to take care of, shit’s going slow.”

“I’m telling you, don't fuck around with Ricky.  Put your other shit to the side and take care of this first.  Otherwise, you might not have a club to even worry about.”

As we sat in frustrated silence, glaring at each other, a voice boomed from the front door.  “Scott, why is this fuckin’ cat still at your house giving me grief?”

I turned to see Nash entering the kitchen a moment later.  He lifted his chin in greeting before looking at Scott with a perplexed gaze.  “What’s up with the cat?”

Scott shrugged.  “Fucked if I know.  Monty seems to like it here more than next door.  Lisa’s over here visiting Harlow half the fuckin’ time so I guess her cat just follows.  What’s your problem with him?”

“He has it in for me! Tries to attack me every fuckin’ time he sees me,” Nash grumbled.

“Jesus Christ, Nash, he’s a fuckin’ cat, for god’s sake.  Get your shit together. We’ve got more important things to worry about at the moment,” Scott snapped.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Nash muttered.

I cut in, “I don’t have time to sit around talking about a fucking cat.  Nash, where are you at with that lead on Blue you mentioned to me the other day?”

He scowled before answering me.  “We’re thinking Blue could be an old Storm member who’s now living in Western Australia.  He had a heart attack years ago and moved back home.  But he was tight with Marcus before they had a falling out, so, we’re figuring, even if he’s not Blue he might have an idea who is.”

“You going to check it out?”

Nash nodded.  “Yeah, heading out tomorrow.”

“Good.  It’s way past fucking time we worked this riddle out.  Whoever the hell this Blue is, he’s damn good at covering his tracks.  I’ve never had my boys come up blank when looking for someone.”  I drank the rest of my coffee and started heading out of the kitchen.  I gave Scott one last glance.  “Going back to Ricky: I’ve known him to kill for less than what Marcus has stirred up.  Don’t fuck around with this.”

Scott acknowledged that with a quick nod.  “I’ll be in touch,” he promised, and I left him and Nash to it.  As I walked to my car, images of Ricky flashed through my mind.  Sick, twisted images I’d done my best to forget.  They’d always be there, though, because the filth of Ricky himself was stained on my soul, and as much as I’d tried to eradicate him from it, we’d seen and done too much together for me to ever be able to completely forget.

***

I found myself at Layla’s bar again that night.  I’d discovered her business a little over a year ago and came nearly every night.  It was a small bar in The Valley, tucked away in a laneway and afforded me the quiet I needed after a long day.  The staff left me alone as well, so that was its final selling point.  Up until last night, I’d hardly spoken to any of them.  As I entered, I took in how quiet it was for a Friday night.  Not good for Layla if she had no cash in the bank.

She was behind the bar and gave me a nod when she saw me.  As I headed towards her, she motioned for me to take a seat in my usual corner.  I did as she directed, figuring she was going to make good on her offer of a free drink. 

A few minutes later, she placed a scotch on the table and slid into the seat across from me.  I knocked half the drink back before giving her my attention.  Fuck, she really was beautiful.  Long, wavy, dark hair framed her face, and curves a man could grip onto filled out her body.  She wore tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt.  It hugged her breasts and distracted the hell out of me. 

“We had some big spenders in here today,” she said, her eyes firmly on mine.

“Good to hear.”

“Figured you might know something about that.” 

“How’s that?”

“It’s unusual for us to ever have that type of customer, and then, when one of them mentioned the name Blade, I figured you must have sent them.  So I asked them, and fuck me if they didn’t tell me they work for you.”

Her irritation confused me.  “I did mention your bar to some of my guys.  Thought they may be interested in an out of the way place to relax after work.”

“Did you also fund their little jaunt in here?”

I shrugged.  “They were owed bonuses.”

“Fuck,” she muttered, her eyes flashing annoyance at me.

I threw back the rest of my drink.  “What’s the problem here, Layla?  You need customers and my boys need somewhere to drink.  It’s a win-win for everyone,” I said, still not understanding the problem.

“I don’t like owing people, Blade, and now I owe you for two things.”

“Consider the first debt paid.”

She frowned.  “How?”

I held up my empty glass.  “You bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, like that covers it.”

“Get me another if you must, but after that we’re square.”

She pushed her chair back and stood.  “Don’t do shit for me anymore, okay?  I can look after myself.”

I watched her walk to the bar, that ass swaying from side to side, causing my dick to harden.  Fuck, she was something else.  Where did that fight in her come from?  Something had to have happened to her in life for her to be that tough and independent. 

When she returned with another drink, she placed it in front of me and turned to leave straight away.  I reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.  She gave me a questioning look and I murmured, “Stay.”  Fuck knows why, but the urge to sit with her, talk to her, was overwhelming.  I hadn’t experienced this desire for a long time.  Not since Ashley.

She stared at me for a few moments. 

Yeah, I’d think about sitting with me too. 

“Who are you?” she asked as she sat.  Her eyes held a challenge in them.  She had to have worked out I ran in some seedy circles if I had the ability to convince Mario to back off.

“You know my name.  That’s all you need to know.”  Fuck, even my house cleaner thought I was simply a man who owned a construction company.  I didn’t share my shit with anyone unless they were on a need to know basis.

“What’s your real name?  I doubt your mother named you Blade.”

I remained silent as I filed through what I knew about her.  Honesty and trustworthiness were high on her list of what she desired in a person.  I figured that probably meant she possessed them. 

Ah, fuck it.

“Donovan.”  I raised my glass to my lips and swallowed the burn of the scotch sliding down.  No one got that name out of me.

“Donovan who?”  Her eyes flashed more of that challenge at me.  And fuck if I didn’t like it.

“Brookes.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and settled back into the chair.  “How hard was that for you, Donovan?”

I drank the rest of my drink and slammed the empty glass on the table.  She didn’t even flinch, just continued to give me that hard glare of hers.  I leaned forward a little and lowered my voice.  “To be clear, no one gets that name.  Don’t go giving it out.”

“Don’t do me anymore favours.”

“Christ, you drive a hard bargain, woman.”

“Like I said, I don’t like to owe anyone.”

“So you’re telling me, if I come in here and find you being threatened by someone, I should just let that shit happen?” It wasn’t really a question, though, and she knew that.

She didn’t say anything so I continued, “’Cause I’m telling you now, that’s not gonna happen.  Ever.”

“Fine.  If something like that happens, do whatever you want.”

“Thank Christ we can agree on that,” I muttered.  Her challenging way divided me.  One minute I liked it, the next it irritated the hell out of me.

“You gonna tell me who you are?”

“I already did.  But you haven’t told me who you are.”

She pursed her lips before saying, “Layla Reed, and no, you didn’t tell me what you know I’m looking for.”

“You want to know how I know Mario and how I could get him to back off.”

Her hands flew up in the air.  “Yes!”

I shook my head.  “That’s not information I share with most of the people I know, let alone a woman I just met.”

“So I take it that what I’m thinking you’re tied up in is probably correct.”

“Think what you like, Layla.  Most people do.”

“I don’t usually spend this amount of time thinking about people, Donovan, but you’ve got me intrigued.”