SLY: Kings of Carnage MC

by Nicole James

  I nod. “Time will prove it.” I look at Michaela. “She needs help, I’m there for her.”

  Twenty-Two

  Michaela—

  The sun is setting when Sly drops me off at the pub. I kiss him then climb the back stairs while he waits to make sure I get in. He’s got club business to handle and can’t stay. I watch through the back window as he rides off.

  The things he told my grandfather surprised me, but then he’s been surprising me all week, day after day. It felt good to think I could count on him to make sure I didn’t have to worry about the club amongst everything else. I only hope it proves true.

  I’m suddenly exhausted, physically and emotionally, and kick off my shoes and shuffle into the living room. The temperature has dropped and the room is chilly, so I light a fire log and curl up on the sofa with an afghan and a shot of whiskey. The bottle’s been sitting on the coffee table since the night Sly and I shared a drink and he left me tucked in on the couch, sound asleep.

  I’d been shocked when I awoke in the morning to find myself with a pillow and blanket on top of me and Sly gone with the apartment locked up tight.

  I stare at the fire now, contemplating everything my grandfather told me, and I know what I have to do. I have to save the bar, even if that means cashing in all my savings and selling my car. I didn’t want this responsibility, but it’s been thrust on me. I’ve fought it, but now I see that this legacy means something not just to my family, but to me as well. I want to keep the bar going; I want to succeed, but I just hope I’m able to keep my head above water long enough to do it.

  I set the glass down and stare at the fire, lying down on the pillow from my bed that’s still on the couch.

  I must have drifted off, because the next thing I know, my phone’s ringtone rouses me. I blink and squint at the glowing screen, then pick it up off the coffee table, noticing the fire has burned itself out. My voice is scratchy as I answer, “Hello.”

  “It’s me,” Sly says. “You up?”

  I yawn, sitting up. “I am now. Why?”

  “Got something for you. Come to the back door.”

  I look toward the kitchen and blink. “You’re here? What time is it?”

  “Almost ten. Hurry up.”

  I push the afghan off and pad to the door, rubbing my eyes. I see him through the curtain, standing on the landing. I unlock the door and my eyes drop to the leash he’s holding and the dog attached to the end of it. Buddy.

  They enter.

  “Why did you bring the dog over?”

  “He’s yours now.”

  “What?” My voice drops an octave.

  “You need a dog.”

  “Uh … No, I don’t.”

  “Babe, you’re here alone. He’ll be protection. Alert you if anyone comes skulking around at night.”

  “And do what, gnaw them to death?”

  “Don’t insult him. Buddy’s got the heart of a warrior.” He squats down and rubs the dog’s ears. “Don’t you, boy?”

  “Sly.”

  He stands and drops a plastic bag on the table. “I got you bowls and food.”

  I look down at the sweet pup staring up at me with his tongue hanging out and his flopped over ear. He’s the cutest thing ever. How can I resist? Still. “Sly, I work a lot. I don’t have time for a dog.”

  “You can take him downstairs to the bar with you. He’ll sleep at your feet while you work at the desk.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Babe, he needs a home and you need a pet.”

  “I do not.” My voice gets higher.

  “You do. You just don’t know it yet.”

  “Sly!”

  “Look, I’ve got to go out of town for a few days, just watch him while I’m gone. If you don’t want to keep him, I’ll take him back.”

  I fold my arms and look down at the pup.

  “Come on, Michaela. Otherwise, he’s gonna go hungry for four days.”

  “All right, fine. But just until you get back,” I say, giving in.

  Sly grins, then pulls me to him and kisses me. His lips make me want more. When he pulls back, I ask, “Are you staying?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t. We’re leaving out tonight.”

  “Oh. Is that all you can tell me?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

  I look away.

  “Hey.” He tightens his hold on my waist and I meet his eyes. “You got my number. You need anything, call me. If I can’t get to you, I can have a prospect here in minutes, understand?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll call you.”

  “When?”

  “When I can. I promise.”

  I drop my gaze to his throat, hating that I’ve already let myself need him. I know I’m going to miss him, even for a few days. He tilts my chin back until I meet his gaze.

  “It’ll be late tonight. I don’t want to wake you. I’ll text. If you answer, I’ll call.”

  It’s a small thing, but it makes me happy and I give him a small smile. “Okay.”

  He grins. “Okay.” He kisses me, long and deep, and I reach up to cup his face, not wanting to let him go. “Boys are waiting.” He pulls back and reaches down to scratch the pup’s ear. “Take care of her, boy.”

  His hand at my nape, he draws me to him, kisses my forehead, then slips out the door.

  And then he’s gone, and I’m staring at Buddy. I squat down to pet him, and when he licks my face, I’m instantly in love—just like I’m sure Sly knew I would be.

  “Guess it’s just you and me, Buddy.”

  Twenty-Three

  Michaela—

  I sit at the desk in the office, Buddy asleep at my feet. I’d given him a bath in the claw foot tub last night; thankfully, he didn’t have any fleas.

  He slept curled at the foot of the bed all night.

  Sly texted me at four in the morning. I’d fallen asleep with my phone in my hand, so when it went off, I immediately woke up and texted him. He called me back and let me know they’d arrived at their destination. Where that was, he wouldn’t say. He was tired and planned to get some sleep, promising to call when he could.

  I hate that I already miss him, that I already worry about him driving the roads all night, not to mention whatever his club is off doing. I try not to think about it, because I imagine all kinds of worst-case scenarios. I’m already learning that I have to put it from my mind. So I’ve tried to focus on work today.

  The repairman just left. Apparently, we need a new refrigerator, and the grill is on its last leg too. I’ve got forty-eight hundred in the savings account that I’d put aside for my dream RV. This guy says he can get me both for that amount if I go with used equipment, so I bite the bullet and agree, but I’ll have to drain that account. I’d planned to use that money toward the balloon payment, but if I can’t keep the bar up and running, I’ve got no hopes of keeping up with the bills.

  Kevin walks in and tosses some envelopes on the desk. “Mail came.”

  “Thank you.” I reach for the stack as he walks back to the bar to continue cleaning and fixing all the violations with several of the other employees.

  I flip through the envelopes until one from the bank stops me. I tear it open and read the letter, which states that the last payment was missed and the bank is foreclosing.

  I call the name on the bottom of the page. After an hour, I can’t wrangle one day more than the thirty days the letter says they’re giving me to come up with the balloon payment, and they need the arrearages within the next ten days.

  The only hope I have of coming up with the balloon payment in thirty days is either selling the place, taking on an investor, or proving my father didn’t commit suicide and getting my hands on that insurance money.

  I have absolutely no proof of the latter, so that’s probably a pipe dream.

  I’ve made myself a promise to fight with everything I’ve got to hang on to Mooney’s. Sure I could sell the buil
ding and move the bar somewhere else, but it’d never be the same.

  That leaves bringing in an investor. Of course this bar is still in Ma’s name, and the final decision will be hers, but I suppose I should get some options prepared. Right off the bat, I can think of only two likely investors: the MC or possibly Arthur Stanfield if I play my cards right. Neither seems like a great option, but they’re all I have at the moment, at least within the short time frame I have to make this work. I honestly don’t think I can come up with another interested party out of the blue.

  I dig out Arthur’s business card and call him.

  Twenty-Four

  Arthur—

  “Thank you for coming, Arthur.” Michaela approaches and shakes my hand. “Please, sit down.”

  I sit, glancing around the office. It’s as messy as when Cullen ran the place. “Of course, Michaela. I told you I would be happy to help you in any way I could.”

  “Thank you. I hope that’s true, because I do need help with something.”

  “Have you and your mother decided to sell the place?” Perhaps she’s come to her senses.

  “You know Mooney’s Pub has been a town fixture for well over one hundred years.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” I wonder where she’s going with this. She looks down at her hands, fidgeting.

  “Well, you see, there’s a second mortgage on the place and a large balloon payment due. I’ve tried to refinance. With my father gone, and my having no business experience running a bar or restaurant, the bank is not inclined to do that. I’m a poor risk, they said.”

  “Oh, my dear, I had no idea the establishment was in any financial trouble.”

  Her gaze snaps up to mine. “It’s not trouble, just … well, a small hitch. I need some time to get things sorted and caught up.”

  “I see. So you want help with this balloon payment? Is that why you called me, you need a loan?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then, what exactly? You can be frank with me, Michaela. Let’s just cut to the chase. Would you like to sell?”

  “Of course not. This place is has been in my family for generations. I couldn’t possibly sell it.”

  “Are you sure? It sounds like it may be your only choice. The bank hasn’t foreclosed on you, have they?”

  She nods. “I’m afraid so. I’ve got thirty days to get everything caught up.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s not a loan I want,” she’s quick to assure me.

  “It’s not?” I truly hope she’s not wasting my time here.

  “I was wondering if you’d be interested in becoming an investor, a silent partner.”

  My brow lifts. I hadn’t expected her to think of that as a way out. I sigh. When I’d talked to Walter at First Federal, I’d made it clear he needed to be more persistent in going after what was owed. Thanks to small favors and an approval for a coveted membership at the golf club, he was easy to manipulate. Not as easy as the hundred bucks I only had to slip Lyle at the health department. Of course, I’ve got to humor her and appear to actually consider such nonsense.

  “Tell me, Michaela, why should I invest in Mooney’s? What improvements have you made in the last years?”

  “I’ve got a new grill being installed as we speak, and a new refrigeration unit in coming in a day or two. We’ll be able to do much more in the kitchen and expand our menu, which should bring in a larger lunch and dinner crowd.”

  “Perhaps you should have put that money toward the mortgage,” I suggest and watch her shoulders slump, as I expect them to under such criticism. I want her beaten down. I want her to have no expectation of help except to take my offer.

  “The repairs were necessary.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  She sighs and confesses what I already know. “The health department shut us down. I had to invest the money so we could reopen.”

  “I see.” I pause, making her wait and squirm. “Michaela, I’ll make you an offer, not because I want the place, not because I need it, but because I think of you as a friend, dear.”

  “What offer?”

  “I’ll buy the place, lock, stock, and barrel. You can be done with it.” At her crestfallen expression, I press her. “Come now, Michaela, this isn’t your dream. You told me so. You don’t want to run this place and be tied down, day after day, with no time off. You want freedom, freedom to travel. I can take this place off your hands, and you’ll be free of it—all the responsibility—the burst pipes and broken-down equipment. I’ll make you a good offer.”

  She shakes her head before I even finish. “No, I can’t sell. I’ve got to find another way. If you’re not interested, there’s someone else who might be.”

  “And who is that?” I fear I already know, and my jaw tightens.

  “Another group who have the means to help me. Their name is not important.”

  “Michaela, sorry to interrupt.”

  We both turn at the head that pokes through the door. It’s one of her male employees.

  “Can I see you a moment? We’ve got a situation out here with the installation.”

  Michaela puts her palms on the desk and stands. “Of course, Kevin. If you’ll excuse me, Arthur, this shouldn’t take long.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  She moves around the desk and out the door.

  I make a tight fist; almost without realizing I’m doing it. Goddamn it. There’s only one group in this town that would want to get their hands on a piece of this place—that damn motorcycle gang, Kings of Carnage.

  I can’t let that happen. My eyes shift over the desktop as I frantically think this through. I’ve got to find a way to make the thought of going to that MC more revolting than letting this place go.

  An idea comes to me and I grab a piece of paper and a pen off the desk and scrawl a note. This should be enough for her to put off any idea of seeking help from them, though she’ll never be able to prove it and certainly not to any insurance company in order to get a payoff. Of course, if she were to even suggest it, the Kings would probably kill her, though I have to admit, if that were to happen, it would work in my favor just as well.

  I glance around for a place to hide the note. It needs to be somewhere she’ll find it, but somewhere she may have missed earlier.

  I spot the ledger and flip it open, slipping it inside the back cover, leaving a piece of it sticking out just enough for her to spot. I shove the leather book back under some papers just as she walks back in the room.

  “I’m sorry for that, Arthur.”

  I stand. “No problem, Michaela. I’m sorry I can’t be the answer to your situation. As I said, if you decide to sell, I’d be interested, but a partnership—I’m afraid that doesn’t appeal to me.”

  She reaches out to shake my hand. “I understand. Thank you for coming.”

  “Perhaps we could do lunch soon.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “I’ll call you next week.”

  “Thank you.”

  I walk out, pausing at the door to look back. She moves behind the desk and stares down at it, tapping her fingers. I know she’s contemplating her situation. I smile, knowing she’ll call me before the week is out.

  Twenty-Five

  Michaela—

  I sit and rub my forehead. I’d hoped Arthur would see the benefits of the investment, but I’ve still got one option left.

  Sly’s been in Florida for days now; he’s shared that much with me. Though he calls every night, I can’t help wondering what he’s doing there. I have a feeling it’s some type of big thing, perhaps some national club meeting. The town has been very quiet for the time they’ve been gone, and I’m pretty sure all but one or two of their prospects are on this secret trip.

  Sly told me if I had any trouble, I could call the number he left me and a prospect would show up within minutes. I’ve seen a lone bike ride past around closing. He often parks on the side street within sight of the
alley and the backstairs that lead to the apartment. I know he’s there to make sure I get locked up safe each night. He lingers about ten minutes after I go up, and then I’ll look out and he’ll be gone.

  I said something to Sly about it the first night, and he confirmed it was one of their prospects tasked with checking up on me. I wanted to argue with him that it was silly, but I have to admit, it makes me feel safer to know there’s someone protecting me.

  Sly is supposed to be back either late tonight or early tomorrow depending on how things get wrapped up where he is. I guess I’ll ask him then, if his club would be interested in investing in the bar. If they’re not, I’ll have no option but to approach Ma with the fate of selling.

  Phil appears in the door. “They’ve finished installing the grill, but they’ll have to come back tomorrow to hook it up. Some issue with the gas fittings, he said.”

  “Thank you, Phil.” I glance at the clock. It’s already six. The crew has already stayed past the five p.m. time I’d told them. “Go on home, and thanks for staying late.”

  He turns to leave, along with the rest of the staff. “You coming?”

  I nod and grab my things. “Come on, Buddy,” I say, patting my leg. He stands, then stretches and wags his tail.

  I flip off the lights and follow the crew out, locking the door. “Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for all your help.”

  “Good night, Michaela,” Phil calls out and Kevin and Sasha wave.

  They make their way to their cars, and I climb the stairs with Buddy at my side. When I reach the top, I glance over and spot the lone bike on the side street, the prospect, my guardian angel thanks to Sly. I smile and give him a little wave. It’s too far for me to see his features, but he lifts his chin at me.

  Unlocking my door, I head inside, then turn on the lights and peek through the curtain to see him still sitting out there, but now he’s on his phone.

  I move to the kitchen counter and pour myself a glass of wine, and as I’m jamming the cork back in the bottle, I hear the sound of a motorcycle firing up, and smile. I walk into the living room and to the window in time to see the bike pull out and roar down the street.