by Nic Starr
“I…. Alternative, indie, a bit of techno.” For some reason, he was completely honest. Finn would never have admitted his music preferences to Rocky or anyone else in the club and wasn’t sure what made him open up to Mitch.
“Yeah? Do you like listening to live music?”
Finn let out a sigh when Mitch sounded honestly interested, with no snide remarks about his alternative tastes. “Sure. I enjoyed seeing some of the up-and-coming new bands who performed in the pubs around the university in Melbourne.”
“Cool. I wish I had more time and opportunity for live music.”
Finn glanced at him. Mitch was focused on the road in front of him, allowing Finn to study his profile. Mitch’s jaw was strong and deeply shadowed with the day’s growth of beard. His nose was perhaps slightly on the larger side, but suited Mitch’s face—strong and powerful.
“So why don’t you?”
“Why don’t I what?”
“Why don’t you have the time and opportunity to see live bands?”
“Just work getting in the way.”
“No girlfriend demanding your time?” Finn couldn’t help asking, although it probably wasn’t his place to ask such personal questions of an employee. Mitch looked at him briefly. “Sorry, none of my business,” Finn mumbled.
“No, that’s okay. I don’t mind you asking. Like I said, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so it’s probably good that we get to know each other a bit. But the answer is no. No one special.”
A sense of relief flooded through Finn, but he had no idea why. It didn’t matter if Mitch was single because there was no way they’d ever be getting together, even if Mitch were remotely interested.
“Because of the work?” Finn didn’t know why he was asking, but he had a desire to know more about the man who was going to be his driver. Fuck, more than his driver—his keeper, his spy, his jailer, if Rocky had anything to do with it. Finn knew he needed to get over his fascination with Mitch as soon as possible, no matter what Mitch said about them getting familiar with each other.
“Work might play a part. But to be honest, I don’t think I’ve met the right person yet.”
“You’re looking?” Finn nearly bit his tongue. Where are these questions coming from?
Mitch cleared his throat before answering. Maybe it was a touchy subject? “I’m not looking, but I’m not adverse to a relationship. I just don’t think my life is really suited to including someone else in it at the moment. Relationships take time, you know, and I’ve hardly got time to meet anyone, let alone wine and dine them.”
“You’re into wining and dining? Tell me more. What’s your ideal date?” This should be interesting.
Mitch took his eyes off the road, but the sunglasses hid his expression. “Ah… just the usual. Nothing special. Dinner, drinks, that sort of thing. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
Finn’s mind briefly flashed to James, the guy he’d had an on-again, off-again relationship of sorts with in Melbourne. He wasn’t surprised there was no sense of missing the guy. It had been fun, but that’s all it had been.
“No. No one.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky. There seem to be a lot of girls hanging around the shop.”
Finn snorted, and Mitch raised a brow. “Yeah, not the sort I’d want to wine or dine.”
“Not your type?”
“Definitely not my type.” And in more ways than one.
Chapter TEN
MITCH COULDN’T believe the stuff he’d said to Finn on the car trip from the city out to the old house where Finn lived. For God’s sake, he’d told him he wanted a relationship. Sure, Finn would have thought Mitch was talking about a relationship with a woman, but to say anything at all was inappropriate. What the fuck was I thinking? There was something about Finn that made him relax, and he damn well couldn’t afford to relax. Mitch had to keep his head in the game and not let down his guard.
He left the car at the apartment he’d been given for the duration of his assignment. A two-bedder in an old red-brick building not too far from the city. It was miles from Finn’s place, though, and it took him an hour and a half to get back to the city, drop off the Range Rover in his parking spot, and another half an hour to make his way into the business district by train. He stopped to grab a coffee before making his way through the city streets. He was relieved to arrive at the safe house—a shitty apartment hardly a step up from a squat—without being followed.
“You’ve been smoking.”
“Hello to you too.”
Ross sat on the edge of the old dining table with folded arms. “How many times do I need to tell you those cancer sticks will kill you?”
“Yeah, yeah. You try quitting when you’re hanging around with nothing to do all day.”
“It’s been, what? A day? Besides, if you hadn’t gotten an in with Rocky, then you’d be bitching about that instead.”
“So what’s new on the case? Has there been any more contact?”
Ross shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing since the note about the warehouse where we found Russell Hutchins’s body.”
“Has there been any progress on that from our friends in Homicide?”
“They found the weapon. It’d been tossed in a dumpster on an adjoining property. Serial numbers were filed off, and there were no identifying prints.”
“It’s not hard to connect to the Brutes, though?”
“Especially not with the calling card they left.” Ross reached in the yellow manila envelope he carried and pulled out a couple of photos and threw them on the table. Mitch looked at the autopsy images. They were graphic photos of Hutchins’s back. Mitch’s stomach roiled slightly at the raw red flesh where a large patch of skin was missing from between his shoulder blades. It was where his tattoo would have been—all the Fury boys had ink representing the flames from their patches.
“Shit. That’s a new one. That sure makes taking someone’s patch to the extreme. Why just take a leather jacket when you can take the skin from a man’s back?”
“Have you heard any talk about it out on the street? Any of the Furies or Rocky aware of it yet?”
“No. I haven’t heard anything. But I’ve only been there a day. I spent most of it hanging around the workshop waiting for instructions. Rocky wants me to babysit his brother.”
“The kid from Melbourne? What’s he need a minder for? Is Rocky worried he’s marked?”
“I’m not 100 percent certain yet.” Mitch drained the last of the lukewarm coffee from his cup. “I get a feeling there’s bad blood between them and that Finn doesn’t want to be here.”
“You think he doesn’t want to be involved with the club?”
“It’s hard to say. It could just be he hates Rocky, or maybe the kid has his own aspirations within the club.”
“Internal politicking? Sounds probable given the family machinations that have already taken place. First Carl Senior, then Carl Junior, and now Rocky. Maybe the kid’s got a taste for following in the family footsteps.”
“I’ll be digging around to get more of a feel, but Rocky’s position at the helm seems pretty stable as per the intelligence we’ve gathered. He’s got a lot of support—”
“Or a lot of people running scared.”
Mitch nodded. “There’s no doubt about that. I’ll do some more digging to see what I can find out about Finn’s history with Rocky, see if we can’t utilize him in some way. Now that he’s working in the office, he’ll have access to information that could be useful.”
“Fingers crossed. So what’s the immediate plan?”
“I want to speak to Peter as soon as possible. I need to find a way to get him alone, to find out what’s really going on within the inner sanctum. This stuff with the murder has me worried—”
“Worried for Pete?”
Mitch’s gaze flashed to Ross. “Of course I’m worried about him, but it’s not what you’re thinking.” Mitch stood and picked up his coffee cup. Ross followed
him toward the kitchenette. “It was strange to see him again and even weirder to see him in this scenario. I knew about the drugs, obviously, but knowing he’s more than a user—it’s hard. But only because we used to be so close. It’s weird, but seeing him again in person actually reinforced that any feelings I had for him are definitely in the past—long gone and buried. I don’t want him hurt, and there’s a sense of friendship, but I don’t feel any pull. What Pete did, what we went through, killed any of that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Anyway, it’s all water under the bridge.” Mitch tossed his empty cup into the garbage bin, ignoring the brief flash of guilt as he thought of his conversation with Lana. But recycling in this apartment wasn’t an option, and the bin would have to do. “Back to the case. I have no idea how to get Pete alone. I’m hoping he’ll call me. Rocky has me driving Finn around. He lives near the base of the mountains, so it’s a long trip both ways. I’ll have to leave here by 5:00 a.m. to get to his place at seven and back to the city by nine. Then same again in the afternoon—hours and hours spent in the car. I’m hoping the time spent at the showroom and workshop will give me the opportunity to see Rocky and Pete and that I’ll get invited to hang out with them. But that won’t be happening if Finn wants to go straight home. All I’ll get to see is the inside of that damn Range Rover.”
“Why doesn’t he live closer to the city?”
“Once again, I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s because he has some sentimental attachment to the house he grew up in or he just doesn’t want to live too close to Rocky, but I’d put my money on it being the latter. The farther away he is, the harder it is for Rocky to see him.”
“Anyway, thanks for meeting me late. I know it’s a pain after the long day. Is there anything else we need to go over?”
They spent the next hour or so reviewing case files. There wasn’t too much new information, and Mitch resigned himself to getting immersed in his new job and living undercover for a while. Things were still moving too slowly, and he hoped for a quick breakthrough.
THE NEXT few days crawled by, each day with the same routine. Mitch would leave at the arse-crack of dawn to head to Finn’s house. Finn would be ready and waiting. They’d drive into town, where Finn would spend the day holed up in his office, meeting with Rocky’s business managers and Rocky himself. At first Mitch tried to make himself as invisible as possible, figuring if he blended into the surroundings, he’d be able to observe more effectively—people would be more likely to talk if they figured they weren’t being overheard. By day three he decided he was better off trying to make himself indispensable so that Rocky would see his value and get him involved.
The brick wall was warm against Mitch’s back, the heat seeping through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. The sunglasses kept the glare from his eyes, and he dragged on his cigarette as he surveyed the area. Customers came and went, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A glance at his watch showed it was nearly 3:00 p.m.—only another hour or two, and Finn would be finishing up for the day.
He couldn’t keep the smile from his face. The hours spent with Finn driving to and from the house on the outskirts of Sydney were the best of his day. What started out with the potential to be endlessly boring had become the highlight of his day. Finn had been surly during the first trip, but since then he’d relaxed, probably because Mitch largely avoided the topic of Rocky. And a less tense Finn was turning out to be interesting to be around. He was nothing like Mitch would have expected, given his upbringing—in fact, Finn had fallen so far from the tree it was hard to believe he and Rocky had grown up in the same house. Finn was intelligent and opinionated, as evidenced by their long discussions on current affairs, and had a broad range of interests. Thank goodness because those discussions made the time fly by. It was a shame Mitch only had his own company on the equally long return trip.
A low rumble drew Mitch’s attention, and he stiffened as Rocky cruised into the car park area, closely followed by two other growling Harley-Davidsons. This could be his opportunity. He hadn’t seen Rocky for a couple of days, although surveillance was keeping track of his movements, and hadn’t had any contact from Pete. He didn’t want to push things. However, he was only going to give Pete another day or two before chasing him down. The relief was immediate as the two bikes parked next to Rocky and the men took their helmets off. Pete ran a hand through his flattened hair and glanced around. The third guy placed his helmet on the back of his bike, then approached Rocky.
Mitch hadn’t seen the tall blond guy before. He ground the cigarette butt under his heel as he pulled his iPhone from his pocket. He took a couple of discreet photos before tapping on the screen. Ross could get one of the team to run a check.
Pete looked his way, and their eyes met across the expanse of concrete. He spoke a few words to Rocky and then turned Mitch’s way. Mitch raised a hand in greeting but stayed where he was, leaning back against the wall—casual, uninterested, not wanting to appear too eager and draw unwanted attention. Rocky gave a parting glance over his shoulder as he and the blond guy headed to the workshop. Pete approached, although he looked like he was walking to the gallows.
Jesus, he looked terrible close up. Even thinner than before, with dark shadows under his eyes and a gaze that kept dancing around. When he finally stood in front of Mitch, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and stared at the ground.
Mitch couldn’t help it: he reached out and grasped his shoulder. “Are you okay, Pete?” He could feel the firmness of Pete’s collarbone under his thumb and the gentle tremor. “Fuck, Pete. What are you doing to yourself?” he said quietly under his breath.
Pete lifted his eyes up at the whispered words, but he didn’t respond. Instead his lips were pursed, and his glare was like a challenge, as if he were daring Mitch to say more. Mitch took a deep breath and dropped his hand—there was no point pursuing that line of discussion; it hadn’t worked in the past, and it wasn’t going to work now. Plus he had a job to do.
“I haven’t heard from you,” Mitch stated. “I thought you were going to call.”
“I couldn’t. Rocky’s had me on a short leash.” Pete darted his gaze to the workshop, but Rocky wasn’t anywhere in sight. “There’s some shit going down, dangerous stuff.”
“Is this to do with the Brutes? Russell Hutchins?”
“How’d you know about—oh.” Mitch could tell the moment Pete’s shock changed to disbelief. “His body’s been found?”
“In a factory out by the airport.”
“Fuck!” Pete hissed. “Rocky’s going to be pissed.”
“What did he think had happened to Hutchins?”
“Wasn’t sure.” Pete shrugged. “Thought the guy had just disappeared for a while, maybe gone on a bender. The guy’s been known to get stuck into the drink. Although after this amount of time, Rocky was starting to get suspicious that something may have been up, plus there have been some rumors. But I thought it was more likely Rabbit was going to patch out.”
“Yeah, well, he did that in a big way.” The image of the bloody raw flesh on Russell Hutchins’s back flashed into Mitch’s mind—that was definitely one way to have your colors taken from you and leave the club.
“What?” Pete tilted his head in obvious confusion.
“Nothing. Go on.” Fuck, he needed to keep his mouth shut and tell Pete as little as possible, not give him bits of information that would have him seeking answers or saying things that could trip him up.
Pete didn’t look comfortable, but he started talking. “Since the clubhouse was shut down and it’s gotten harder to meet, the brothers aren’t happy. I mean, without the brotherhood, what’s left? A motorcycle club is about the camaraderie, the lifestyle, your brothers. You guys are fucking it over.”
Mitch bristled. “With these clubs, it’s more about the money, not the goddamned brotherhood. You know that, Pete. You’ve been sucked in by the drugs, but you know what they’re capable of, the damage they
can do. The lifestyle has nothing to do with mateship.”
Pete had the decency to look ashamed for a moment, but then he raised his head and looked Mitch in the eye. “I do what I have to do. You do the same.”
“They’re violent, Pete—”
“I know that!” Pete glanced over his shoulder, then dropped his voice. “I know what’s going on. I just need to work out the best way to handle things.”
“I know you’re trying, but that’s what I’m here for—to help. Let me handle things. Please.” Mitch refrained from reaching out to Pete, although he itched to rest a hand on his arm and still the trembling.
“Listen, it’s harder to recruit new members, and the rivalry between the clubs is increasing. They’re fighting over membership and turf. If Rocky finds out the Brutes had anything to do with Hutchins’s death, there’ll be retaliation.”
“You need to be prepared, then, because his name’s going to be released soon. They’ve been looking for next of kin but haven’t had any luck. And I’m sure his name will make the press. At the moment it’s just an unidentified body.”
“Fuck! Just keep the kid out of the middle of it, okay?”
“The kid?”
“Finn. The one you’re being paid to chauffeur around, to keep an eye on. Just make sure he doesn’t get caught up in it.”
Jesus, Mitch hadn’t thought of him as the kid since that first day, since he’d started spending time with him. Finn may have been only twenty-three, compared with Mitch’s twenty-nine, but he didn’t seem much younger. Pete, on the other hand, with his haggard appearance and pallor, looked considerably older than his thirty years.
“I’ll take care of Finn.”
“Thank you.” Pete smiled, and it reached his eyes. In that moment, Mitch knew Pete really cared for Finn. Like a friend? More?
Pete looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go.”
He moved to turn, and Mitch grabbed his upper arm. “Wait. I need a way of contacting you. I can’t just leave it up to chance. And I need more time, more information.”
