by Nina Levine
Pushing off the counter, he said, “All good. I’ll head out and buy her some.” His gaze swept over my kitchen before coming back to me. “I like the changes you’ve made in here. It needed some updating.”
The first thing I’d done when I moved in was rip the kitchen out and put a new one in. I loved to cook and spent hours in my kitchen so that was a no-brainer. The outdated pale blue tiles had to go, and I replaced them with fresh, white tiles and white paint. I’d added splashes of colour with prints on the walls and red appliances. And the plants I always had in my home finished the room off.
I smiled. “Thank you. Next up is the bathroom.” I couldn’t wait to get started on that room; I had grand plans.
He started walking down the hallway to the front door. Pausing, he asked, “You doing the work by yourself?”
“Yeah. My weekends and nights tend to be filled with renovations these days.”
A look crossed his face, like I’d impressed him, but not knowing him, I couldn’t be sure. In the end, all he said was, “Good. There’s some guys out there who will rip you off, so best to steer clear of them.” And then he walked the rest of the distance to the front door.
I followed him, and held the door as I watched him walk down my path. Realising I didn’t know his name, I called out, “I didn’t catch your name, handsome.”
His step faltered, and he came to a stop before slowly looking back at me. He took a moment to speak, as if he was unsure about sharing his name with me. Odd. “Griff.”
Smiling, I leant against the doorframe, and folded my arms across my chest. “Nice to meet you, Griff. I’m Sophia.”
He gave me a nod and turned away from me again.
As he took another step, I called out again, “And Griff?”
Stopping again, he turned his whole body this time to look at me. His lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed on me while he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah?” he said, his voice all kinds of gravel, the kind of gravel that made me thank God for men.
“Tell Josie, anytime she needs something, just call out, okay?”
Blowing out a breath, he nodded again. “Will do.”
And then he was gone, and I couldn’t help but hope like hell that I ran into him again. Soon.
4
Griff
Fuck, it’s too early in the morning for this.
I reached for my phone on the bedside table, fumbling when I couldn’t grasp it. Frustration punched through me and I squinted my eyes open to see where the phone was. Locating it, I snatched it up and eyed the time. Just after five in the morning. Then I saw the name on the caller ID, and that jolted me out of bed.
Scott.
Fuck.
“What’s up, brother?” I asked as I stretched. Jesus, the workout I’d given myself last night had left me in a world of hurt.
“There’s been a fire at Trilogy. Can you meet me there?”
One of Storm’s restaurants.
“Yeah. Any idea how bad?” I asked as I began pulling clothes on.
“Not sure yet,” he answered, and I heard Harlow’s voice in the background. Scott said something to her and then came back to me. “See you soon,” he said before ending the call.
I finished throwing on clothes and headed out to my bike. The minute I stepped foot outside, the humidity stuck to me. Fuck, this summer was brutal – not even six in the morning and already a scorcher.
As I sped off towards Trilogy, I thought the only good thing about leaving for work this early was the lack of traffic. My home in Bulimba wasn’t far from where Trilogy was in The Valley, but peak hour traffic more than doubled the time to get there some mornings. The lack of traffic today meant I pulled up outside the restaurant just over fifteen minutes later.
Surveying the damage from the fire, I estimated the restaurant was as good as fucked. I found Scott talking to one of the firies. When they’d finished their conversation and we were alone, Scott confided, “Looks like arson. They found empty fuel containers, and while they won’t voice their suspicions, I know we sure as fuck don’t keep fuel containers on the premises.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, my brain scrambling to figure out who would set fire to the restaurant and what their motive would be.
A vein pulsed in his neck as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You and I have got some visiting to do today, brother. Nash and J can keep digging for the info on Ricky’s deal, but I want us to figure this fire out.”
I nodded. “Agreed.”
“Wilder can take the lead on dealing with the staff and insurance.”
“I’ll go over it with him, make sure he’s up to speed,” I said, wanting to take some of the load off Scott.
“Thanks,” he said as he kicked some debris on the ground in front of us. Looking at me, exhaustion clear in his eyes, he muttered, “When do you think all the shit will let up? Because I’m getting fuckin’ tired of it landing in our laps. It feels like just when we sort out one issue, another one flares up.”
It was a question I’d asked myself often lately. “No idea, man. But I hope it’s soon because every time we get dragged into shit, it’s taking us away from the one thing we really need to be putting time into. And that concerns the fuck outta me.”
“You’re talking about the club, yeah?”
Nodding, I said, “Yeah. There’s still a divide between the boys and us. Marcus made damn sure of that before he died, and as much as I hate to admit it, we’re really fucking struggling here to come back from that.” The motherfucker had spread so many lies about Scott and turned most of the club against him. My unwavering support of Scott after Marcus’s death had caused them to doubt me as well.
“Trust can’t be bought; the only way we’re gonna get it back is with time. And you’re right, that’s going against us at the moment.” He paused and stared at me as if a million thoughts were running through his mind, and I figured they probably were. “We need to put some time into rebuilding those relationships. I can’t do anything tonight but let’s organise drinks for tomorrow night at the clubhouse if you’re free.”
“I’m free. I’ll make it happen.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got stuff to do with Harlow, but let’s meet at nine and get this shit sorted.”
“I’ll clue Nash, J and Wilder in.”
He nodded and turned his gaze to what was left of the restaurant. “Whoever did this will pay, Griff. I’ve let shit slide lately, but I’m done.” He looked at me through hard eyes. “Storm’s not going to roll over and be fuckin’ walked over, and if they thought we would now that Marcus isn’t here, they seriously underestimated us.”
I couldn’t have agreed with him more.
* * *
Three hours later, I’d organised everyone who needed organising, and was working through paperwork in the office when Scott walked in with a scowl on his face.
“King and Kick just pulled up,” he informed me.
I sat back in the chair, dropped the pen I held, and let out a low whistle. Our relationship with the Sydney chapter of Storm had been strained since Marcus’s death, and for King, their President, to turn up said things weren’t looking up.
I followed him out to the bar area where King was deep in conversation with Kick and Nash. He glanced in our direction as we entered the room, and gave Scott a nod before turning back to Nash.
Kick left their conversation and made his way to us. His hand reached out for Scott’s and he shook it before doing the same with me. “Scott, Griff,” he greeted us, his voice somber and his expression void of any emotion.
Before we could speak, King joined us. “Boys,” he boomed in greeting, his eyes flicking between us. King always had an unpredictable air to him, and tension ran through me as I waited to hear why he’d made the trip to Brisbane.
“What gives?” Scott asked, cutting to the chase.
King’s face broke out in a grin, and he turned to Kick. “That’s what I fucking love abou
t Scott Cole – that no-bullshit, tell-me-how-the-fuck-it-is attitude.” Turning back to Scott, he said, “I thought it time I paid your club a visit to put to rest this shit about your father.”
Scott’s body remained taut. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no shit to put to rest, King.”
King’s eyes widened a little. “I’ve heard differently. It would seem some of your boys believe we had something to do with Marcus’s death. And as much as I don’t make it my business to ever answer unfounded accusations, I feel it in me to ensure you know I had nothing to do with it.”
I’d never known King to go out of his way like this. And it seemed Scott hadn’t, either. He remained silent for a beat, and then said, “I appreciate that, brother, but I never doubted you in the first place.”
King assessed him closely before finally nodding once and saying, “Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.” He turned and looked around the room. “Anyone else got doubts over this?” His deep voice cut through the silence, and all eyes were on him. We had about ten members in here today, some of whom I knew to have their suspicions about King’s involvement in Marcus’s death. However, none of them came forward which seemed to piss King off.
He jerked his head for Scott and I to follow him outside. When we had some privacy, he said, “I call bullshit, boys.” Pointing his finger at the clubhouse, he added, “Someone in there has been talking, and I don’t fucking like what I’m hearing.”
I should have known the conversation with him a few minutes ago had gone too smoothly. King wasn’t a man to let shit go, and he’d been breathing down our necks for a few weeks about this.
“Are you saying that you and I have a problem?” Scott demanded.
King’s eyes flashed a warning. “No…not yet. But what I am saying is that you and I are going to spend some time together and figure out which one of your boys I do have a problem with.”
Scott’s jaw clenched and he cursed under his breath. “I appreciate you wanting to get to the bottom of this, but we’re in the middle of something at the moment and my attention needs to be on that. For today at least.”
King’s brows raised and I caught a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Kick and I can help you with that, and then we can all work on this. I’m not going home until I have what I came for.”
“And I take it you came for more than just a name?” Scott asked, his gaze shifting between King and Kick.
“You would be correct,” King confirmed.
Fuck.
As if we didn’t have enough problems to worry about. It looked like we were about to be down a member or two.
* * *
“What have you heard, Jimmy?” Scott asked with the kind of patience he wasn’t known for. We stood in Jimmy’s living room, and my patience was waning due to the stench in his house. A mixture of cat piss and rubbish that should have been taken out days ago made my stomach roll.
Jimmy was one of the locals who had a finger in everything. If it involved drugs, guns or pussy, Jimmy was bound to either be involved or know something about it. Storm had an easy relationship with him, and he often fed us information when we came calling, but today he’d clammed up. Scott had been questioning him for a good ten minutes and had come up with nothing. I was surprised his patience was still at a high.
Jimmy’s beady eyes flicked from Scott to King who stood in the background. He’d remained silent but King’s presence could never be misconstrued – he radiated a don’t-fuck-with-me energy. Everyone who came in contact with him knew it, and didn’t dare question it. I figured it was the reason the Sydney chapter remained a strong force in not only their city, but throughout the country.
“I’ve told you what I know - nothing,” Jimmy replied, but his voice sounded off. Not quite the Jimmy we knew.
Scott stared at him with distaste, but before he said another word, King pushed past him. Grabbing Jimmy’s wrist, he dragged him to the table in the kitchen and shoved him down onto a chair. Grabbing a handful of his shaggy hair, he yanked his head back, and snarled, “You’re a lying piece of shit, Jimmy. And you’re wasting our time. Either you open your mouth and let the words Scott wants to hear fall the fuck out, or I shove my gun down there and we all stop wasting our time here. Your choice, motherfucker.”
The fear on Jimmy’s face matched the fury on King’s face. The seconds ticked by, and if panic were a sound, the silence in the room would have been drowned out by Jimmy. He squirmed under King’s hold, and muttered, “Dude - ”
King’s nostrils flared. “Don’t fucking dude me, asshole,” he roared, tightening his hold on Jimmy’s hair.
Jimmy blinked in quick succession as he stared up at King. His breaths came hard and fast, and I figured he’d reassessed his predicament. “Shit,” he finally muttered.
King didn’t relent. “Keep talking,” he ordered.
“I swear, all I know is what Slug told me…that there’d be a hit on the restaurant last night, but I swear I don’t know by who or why.” His words tumbled out, fast and uncensored, but they didn’t shed much light on the fire.
King glanced up at Scott. “You know this Slug?” he asked, maintaining his firm hold on Jimmy.
Scott nodded. “Yeah.”
King gave Jimmy’s hair one last yank before letting go and smacking the back of his head. The force caused Jimmy’s head to snap forward, and he yelped in pain.
“Next time, don’t fuck with us,” King muttered.
Scott eyed Jimmy. “Any idea of Slug’s whereabouts today?”
Jimmy’s eyes darted to King quickly and then back to Scott. His fear breathed on its own, and it seemed he wasn’t keen on messing with King again today. “Yeah, he’s working down at The Eclipse Bar today.”
King grinned and I saw a trace of the crazy in his eyes that he was known for. “So much easier when you just give us what we want,” he said as he slapped Jimmy on the back.
Scott was already on his way out the front door. “Griff, we might need back-up for this.” He voiced what I’d been thinking.
Shit was really about to go down.
* * *
An hour later, after calling in Nash, J and Wilder, the seven of us entered The Eclipse Bar. It was a dive of a bar in The Valley. I’d been here before and my memories consisted of stale alcohol, worn carpet, peeling paint and two-bit hookers looking for a john to get them through to their next hit. My memories were accurate.
It was still early in the day so there weren’t a lot of customers around yet. We split up and searched the bar, but Slug was nowhere to be found.
King scowled. “If Jimmy has fed us the wrong information, I’ll personally make sure he never takes another fucking breath.”
“Right there with you, brother,” I muttered.
“You boys want a drink?” The skinny, forty-plus, redheaded waitress who was aiming for sexy with her skimpy outfit, but who didn’t quite pull it off, sidled up to Scott as she asked her question.
Scott looked her up and down, his lack of interest in her clear, and said, “Slug in?”
“Now, sugar, that’s no way to greet a beautiful woman.” She pouted and placed her hand on his chest, moving closer to him. “How about you grab a seat while I get you a drink.” She winked at him. “And I’ll bring you my number, too.”
He took hold of her hand and removed it from his chest as if it was a piece of garbage. “I’ve already got the only number I ever want,” he snapped.
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. You can have two numbers; she doesn’t need to know what you get up to on the side.”
Scott leant in close to her. “I obviously haven’t made myself clear enough. My woman’s number is burned into my memory, as is the way her lips feel around my dick, and let me tell you, there’s not another set of lips that’ll ever get that close to my dick again. And as far as her not needing to know what I get up to on the side? I’ve never been interested in sides; I’m a mains kinda man.”
Surprise crossed her f
ace. “Never known a man to say no to a bit on the side,” she muttered.
Jesus, do I have to listen to this shit?
I stepped forward so I could speak. “Did Slug come into work today? Yes or no? That’s all we’re interested in.”
Her eyes widened. “You guys got out of bed on the wrong side today.”
Staring at her, I repeated my question. “Yes or no?”
“No,” she muttered. At fucking last.
“We’re gonna need an address,” King asserted, his tone full of impatience. He was obviously as done with this conversation as I was.
“I don’t know where that asshole lives,” she said, straightening her shoulders as if she was preparing for a battle.
King glared at her, but before he said anything further, Wilder piped up. Holding up his phone, he announced, “I’ve got his address.”
“Thank fuck,” J said as he slapped Wilder on the back.
A minute later, we exited the bar. As we crossed the street to where we’d parked our bikes, my gaze narrowed on three guys down the road. I recognised two of them, but not the third. Jerking my chin in his direction, I asked Scott, “You know who that is?”
Scott squinted through the sun. “No idea; never seen him in my life. But if he’s consorting with those two, we need to make it our business to know who he is.”
