by Nic Starr
“I can’t promise anything. But I’ll send you my number. I’d rather you didn’t call or text, though.”
“Wouldn’t Rocky think it strange that we’re old friends, but we’re not communicating?”
“Fine. Just don’t text anything about the past, or this place, or Rocky, or—”
“You’re not leaving a lot to talk about.”
Pete’s eyes were stony. “Maybe that’s because there isn’t much to say.” Ouch.
“Can you try to catch up with me this weekend? Maybe I could meet you at the pub on Sunday.”
Pete shook his head. “There’s a barbecue thing at Rocky’s place. Everyone will be there, and I’ll be expected. The kid won’t want to come, but maybe you can convince him. If you make it, it’ll be a long afternoon, and Rocky will get hammered. We can probably find some time out of earshot when he lets his guard down.”
Mitch shrugged. It was better than nothing, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Listen, Pete. Thank you. I really appreciate what you’re doing.”
“Doing? I’m just answering your questions. I’m not a bad bloke, Mitch, no matter what you think or what happened between us. I’ve made mistakes, big ones, and I wish things were different.”
“I know. I do too.”
“Yeah, well….” He shrugged and walked away, leaving Mitch to ponder how differently he wished things had ended.
Chapter ELEVEN
THE OPULENCE of Rocky’s house was in direct contrast to the man himself. Finn wandered from room to room, avoiding the people inside while taking in the furniture and the finishes of the formal rooms. A kind of stone on the floor—maybe marble?—in some rooms and deep plush pile in others, high ceilings with chandeliers, ornate moldings, and floor-to-ceiling curtains. Leather couches, glass coffee tables. It was nothing like the place they’d grown up in, and if Finn were honest, nothing like he’d ever want to live in, even if he did have the finances. It was tacky to the max, a tribute to Rocky’s money, and something their father never would have supported. Everyone—except for Rocky, apparently—knew houses like this one, and fancy cars, and all the trappings of wealth, only drew unwanted attention from those who wondered where the money came from. Rocky obviously had his own opinion and decided his preference was to throw his cash around and show the world he was a success.
Now that Finn had had some time to study the company books, he knew CMC was a successful business in its own right, but not to the extent of a riverfront property unencumbered by a mortgage. It would serve Rocky right when someone came investigating. It wasn’t like anyone had to tap on the cops’ shoulders to point out the activities of the Soldiers of Fury—Rocky seemed to be doing this all right on his own.
Finally Finn headed outside, knowing he couldn’t avoid the gathering forever. He needed to show his face and play nice with Rocky’s mates, stand by his brother as part of the almighty Cummings dynasty.
The backyard must have had twenty guys in it and just as many girls. The men were all dressed in the uniform—jeans, biker boots, T-shirts or singlet tops. Here in private there was no fear of displaying the Fury patch, and the red-and-orange flames adorned every guest’s leather jacket and shirt. Acres of exposed skin displayed ink as the club members swung arms about the shoulders of their similarly uniformed girlfriends. The girls wore the standard dress of denim and tank top, showing off shoulders and arms, equally adorned with tattoos. Music and laughter filled the air, as did the scent of marijuana. Rocky held court on the paved patio, one hand at Ginger’s waist, the other holding a can of Woodstock.
Finn actually liked Ginger. She was a redhead with a fiery temper to match her long tresses, but she was generally friendly and only let fly when pushed. She was one of the few people to genuinely welcome Finn to the office each day. It was such a shame she’d taken up with Rocky, no doubt attracted by his power—most of the girls who hung with the club had a thing for bikers and the persona they presented. Finn had no doubt it was the whole appeal of the alpha male, something he well and truly understood, although his attraction usually included a powerful guy with an equally powerful personality but, most important, using his power for good. Finn smiled at the sudden thought of Superman.
“Hey, Finn.” Ginger’s voice was cheerful as she waved to him. “I’m so glad you changed your mind and came along. It’s a great opportunity for you to meet everyone.” Finn briefly thought back to the discussion he’d had with Mitch that had convinced him to come to Rocky’s. Mitch wanted to see where his boss lived, and for some reason, Finn found himself agreeing to do what Mitch wanted.
“Hi, Ginger. You were right—it’s a big turnout.”
“Rocky’s barbecues are always popular, right, Rocky?” She looked up at Rocky, who ignored her and addressed Finn instead.
“I want you to spend some time with Stack and with Lucky. You haven’t met Lucky yet, and he’s someone you need to get to know. Ginger here”—he elbowed her in the upper arm—“will introduce you.”
“Sure, Rocky.” Ginger’s face clouded briefly, but she nodded appropriately.
Finn looked back to Rocky and feigned interest. “Lucky? He’s the guy who oversees the parts shipments and takes care of the buying, right?”
“Spot-on. He’s just come back from Asia. We might need you to facilitate a shipment coming from China soon.” Finn’s stomach dropped, but he kept a neutral expression. Although maybe this was just the opportunity he was looking for. He nodded and turned to Ginger, full of fake enthusiasm and grateful when Rocky’s attention was diverted by yelling from the pool.
“There’s no time like the present. C’mon, Ginger. Lead me to the man so I can get business over and done with.”
Ginger brightened and stepped from Rocky’s hold, linking her arm in Finn’s and leading him back toward the house.
The kitchen had an adjoining family room, both rooms with large picture windows overlooking the backyard, the swimming pool, and the water view beyond. Rocky had decked out the spacious family room with a pool table in the middle and a bar on the far wall opposite the fireplace and seating area. Four guys were engrossed in a game of pool, including Mitch, who looked up over his cue stick as they passed. The familiar spark of attraction flared, and Finn had to tear his gaze from Mitch’s piercing stare.
“Finn. This is Lucky, and this here is Ron. Guys, this is Rocky’s brother.”
The tall one who’d been leaning on the bar crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and stood up straight. He gave Finn the once-over, not hiding his perusal or his subsequent summation of Finn. He obviously found him lacking in some way. Finn pulled his own spine straighter, as if adding half a centimeter would reduce the height difference between him and Lucky. Shit, the guy was tall. Lucky thrust out an arm, and Finn found himself gripping a hand that was missing the three fingers on the outside. All that remained was the thumb and pointer finger. Finn couldn’t keep the surprise from his face—it just wasn’t something he saw every day, plus the casual way Lucky shook his hand was a shock.
The other guy, Ron, laughed. “Now you know why he’s called Lucky.”
Finn raised a brow in Ron’s direction as he released Lucky’s hand.
“He’s lucky he didn’t lose the whole thing!” Ron’s face crumpled with laughter, and Lucky rolled his eyes.
“Nice to you meet you, guys. I’m Finn.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Lucky said.
Finn walked around the bar, glancing over the drug paraphernalia and littered ashtrays. He grabbed a beer from the small fridge as he raised his gaze to study Lucky. “Yeah?”
Lucky held out his hand, and Finn passed over the bottle and took another for himself. Lucky was tall and slim, with a pale scar over his right eyebrow, but he looked friendly enough. Lucky’s dark hair swung as he nodded. “Rocky’s been singing your praises. He’s been keen to get you on board as quickly as possibl
e.”
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Ginger interrupted. “C’mon, Ron. Let’s leave them to their business, and you can come outside and hang with me.”
“Sure, Ginger.” Ron didn’t hesitate to follow her from the room, leaving Finn and Lucky, who took their beers to the couch.
Finn sunk into the leather and sipped his drink cautiously.
“As I was saying, Rocky was excited to have you start at CMC.”
“God knows why,” Finn mumbled. But he did know. He knew Rocky’s hand had been forced with the death of the club’s previous accountant, and even if Stan had still been alive, he would have insisted Finn learn the ropes.
Lucky tilted his head. “Family. The Furies have always been a family-run club, different from other organizations—loyal to the Cummings. You know?”
“I guess.”
“Not that he’d ever say it, but Rocky misses your father and Carl Junior.”
Finn nearly spat into his beer but stopped himself just in time. “You think he misses the old man and Carl?”
Lucky took a large slug of his drink, nearly draining the bottle in a single gulp. “Uh-huh. It’s not easy running the cycle shop by himself and taking care of club business.”
“Isn’t that what he has Stack for? And Blue. And you.”
“We all have a part to play, sure, but the responsibility falls on Rocky’s shoulders.”
“Well, he should have thought of that when he made a bid for leadership.” And fucked over Carl.
“I told you, there’s always been a Cummings running things at the club. The Soldiers of Fury and the Cummings name go hand in hand. Shit, if something ever happens to Rocky—touch wood”—Lucky knocked his knuckles against his skull—“I’m sure you’d get the support to be voted in to the top spot.”
Jesus, as if I ever want that to happen! Finn fought to keep the disgust from his face and changed the subject.
“Anyway, enough about that. I’m sure Rocky doesn’t want us talking about his eventual demise. You want to tell me about this deal you’ve got going on and what you need from me?”
“We’ve got a delivery that’ll be clearing customs soon.”
Lucky took a swig from his bottle, his remaining fingers gripping the neck in what was obviously a practiced hold. Finn caught himself staring and immediately turned his attention to his own bottle.
“And you need my involvement somehow?” Finn knew the Furies played a strong role in getting drugs into the hands of low-level dealers on the streets, but his blood ran cold at the thought of them being involved in directly smuggling into the country. He thought they were lower on the food chain, not importing the goddamn stuff.
Lucky placed the bottle on the coffee table and leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the leather couch. His relaxed posture was in direct contrast to the tension pulling at Finn’s shoulders.
“Nah,” Lucky responded. “Not really. We’ve done this before, and it should all go smoothly. But once the stuff has arrived, we’ll need all hands on deck. This is the biggest shipment we’ve dealt with.”
Finn glanced across the room. Mitch was bent over the pool table, his face tilted up as he laughed at something the guy he was playing with said. Music drifted in from open patio doors that led from the living room into the backyard. A couple of girls were preparing food at the kitchen island bench. And Finn was discussing drug dealing while sipping a lager. Even though he knew what his fucking family was involved in, the whole thing felt surreal. He returned his gaze to Mitch, and at that moment, Mitch looked up, his brown eyes crinkling as he smiled at Finn.
“Finn?” Lucky elbowed him, drawing his attention.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Can you manage without Stack and Blue for a couple of days? Rocky said you’d spent enough time with them and knew enough about the workings of the business to keep an eye on things for a short time.”
“I guess so.” Finn leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave Lucky his full attention. “What will you guys be doing?”
“Rocky wants the boys to provide an extra level of security during transit. There’s been some shit going down. That’s why he’s got the new guy looking after you.”
“Shit, Lucky. I don’t need anyone taking care of me. I’m not a goddamn kid.” The last thing Finn wanted was everyone to think he was weak, and it pissed him off that Lucky, a man he’d never even met before, had made assumptions about the type of man Finn was.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But these guys don’t play nice, and as a Cummings, you’re fair game. Taking you down would send a strong message, and Rocky can’t afford to take any chances.”
Finn’s attention was momentarily drawn to Mitch as he and the guy he’d been playing pool with sat on the couch opposite, just the coffee table separating them.
He turned back to Lucky. “He really thinks something would happen to me?”
“Fuck yeah. There’s word on the street that the Brutes have an agenda, one that includes taking out Rocky’s top guys, but you’d be the icing on the cake.”
Finn’s blood ran cold. Being part of the club was always dangerous, but to know there was a specific threat was unsettling. Why hadn’t Rocky said anything? Probably thinks I’m too pansy arsed to take care of myself.
“Yeah, well, whatever is going on, I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can.” The smirk on Lucky’s face said he felt anything but. “You just stay in the office and do whatever Rocky tells you, and I’m sure things will be fine.”
Fine. That wasn’t exactly the word Finn would use.
“So when’s all this happening? And where?”
“Next week or so. Specifics are need-to-know.”
“But here in Sydney?”
“Like I said, ‘need-to-know.’ I’d suggest you talk to your brother if you want to know anything else.”
Despite a few more questions, he wasn’t able to glean additional information from Lucky. It looked like he’d have to bite the bullet and talk to Rocky.
Chapter TWELVE
MITCH FOLLOWED Finn out into the backyard. The party was in full swing, and most of the guests were a little worse for wear due to the volume of alcohol being consumed, and whatever else it was they were inhaling or snorting or shooting up. The late-afternoon summer sun beat down, hot after the chill of the air-conditioning indoors. It was a typical Sydney summer day, but a slight breeze coming from over the river prevented the heat from being too stifling. Mitch had managed to avoid drinking too much—sipping on a few beers and discreetly draining his bottle or swapping with someone else when no one was looking to keep his alcohol consumption low—but he was grateful for the bottle of water he snagged as he passed by an esky filled with ice. Sunlight reflected off the surface of the pool, and the faint hint of chlorine filled the air, mixing with the scent of barbecuing sausages.
Mitch sat across from Finn at one of the outdoor settings and smiled. A warm flutter filled his chest as the corner of Finn’s mouth rose and his eyes crinkled. It wasn’t often Finn smiled, but when he did, it lit up his whole face, reminding Mitch of his age. The more serious side of Finn looked older, more mature and sensible. At twenty-three, the carefree, fun-loving Finn should have been seen a lot more.
Mitch drank from his bottle before gesturing to the half-empty bottle in his hand. “You want one?” he asked as he stood.
Finn shook his head, indicating the nearly empty bottle he held, but instead of drinking, he started picking the label off with his thumbnail. Small bits of white, green, and red paper floated to the grass. By the time Mitch had returned with another bottle of water, Rocky had joined Finn at the table.
The brothers really were chalk and cheese. But it wasn’t the physical appearance that stood out. It was the demeanor that differentiated them. Both of them had fair hair, Rocky’s buzzed and Finn with a longer style. Both had tattoos, but Finn’s were usually kept mostly covered by his shirts. It was only now that he was wearing a
casual T-shirt that his full sleeves were on display. Mitch could only imagine what was hidden under his clothing, but the tattoos Mitch could see were much more refined than Rocky’s crude drawings. Mitch had the sudden desire to see the full extent of Finn’s markings and had to tear his eyes away from Finn’s golden skin before his fascination became too obvious.
“Rocky.” Mitch nodded at his boss as he took a seat.
“Mitch. How’s it going?” Rocky slumped back into the chair, legs spread-eagled, and nursed a can of Woodstock.
“Good. Nice party.”
Ginger walked past with a couple of other women. A brunette with masses of hair in long waves running down her back paused in front of them. She tucked one of the long tresses behind her ear and peered at Finn over her sunglasses. When Finn looked at her, the unease of jealousy caused a lump in Mitch’s throat, but it didn’t last as Finn’s gaze slipped past the girl and he locked his blue eyes on Mitch. Mitch’s breathing slowed, and he found himself unable to look away from those crystal-clear irises that rivaled the color of the summer sky above. The girl moved on.
“You should ask her out,” Rocky said, eyes glued to her retreating butt.
“What?” Finn frowned.
“That girl. Cherie. She’s obviously got the hots for you.” Rocky slurped from his can. “Have a chat to Ginger. She’ll get you Cherie’s number. Or better still, corner her today before you leave. I saw the way she looked at you, so I’d say you’re pretty much a shoo-in.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Finn continued to drop small pieces of paper to the ground as he worked away at the Heineken label. He looked up suddenly, met Mitch’s gaze, then addressed Rocky. “I met Lucky like you wanted.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“I’m not exactly sure what it was I was being asked to do and why I needed to speak to him.”
“You don’t need to know why.”
