Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  It takes me a couple minutes to collect myself, sitting behind the steering wheel with my palms pressed to my eyes, shaking. Why? Why do I still let him get to me? This one was completely on me, too. All he did was offer a friendly dinner. I’m the one who can’t let go of things. I kind of hate myself right now.

  I start the car, reverse out of my spot and pull out onto the road with Rory and the girls in their big fancy truck following close behind me. He’s not speeding. He can’t because I’m not speeding and I’m right in front of him. He uses his turn signal; I see that too. My eyes should be fixed on the road ahead of me not watching him in the rearview, but then I’d miss out and I don’t want to miss out on one second of Rory while we still have this time together. Once we get back to the daycare, he goes back to being a daycare dad and nothing more. I owe myself this last little bit of happy.

  With him following all the applicable traffic laws, what I don’t understand is why when we’re about a block from the center, does a pair of red and blue lights flash behind him?

  Rory pulls over. When he does, I do too.

  I know the cop isn’t after me or he would’ve jumped the line to get to me.

  There’re cars that should be whipping past us at thirty-five miles per hour that, I swear, have shifted into neutral to let the wind push the butt-end of their trucks forward in order to get a good looky-loo glimpse of Rory rolling down his window, and I hear him greet the officer. County Sheriff’s Deputy to be exact. “Hello, Deputy—” he appears to read the man’s name tag, then finishes, “Rodrick. What’s the problem?”

  “I’m gonna need to see both hands now,” the deputy says back, as if he’s detained a hardened criminal. Not a man on his way home from dinner with his babies in the backseat.

  What?

  Rory moves like he’s reaching for his wallet from his jeans pocket and then picks up papers from the seat next to him. Then he closes his eyes and I’m pretty sure I see him sigh before he drops both hands out the window, pressing them against the metal of the truck. One still holding his license and registration and proof of insurance.

  The deputy takes the papers and walks back to his cruiser. Less than a minute later, he’s back at Rory’s door with his gun drawn—what the hell? This escalated quickly. “Sir, I’m going to need you to get out of the vehicle. It’s been reported stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Rory yells. “I just drove it off the lot not two hours ago.”

  “Sir.” The deputy moves his gun up to Rory’s chest level. “Exit the vehicle.”

  “No need to get upset. I’m getting out now,” Rory says, reaching his hand to open the door from the outside and without thinking, I hop out of my car. The deputy whips his gun between me and Rory.

  “On the ground,” he yells at the sexy biker who’s already started to recapture my heart. “Ma’am, back in your car.”

  “Back in yar car, Frankie,” Rory calls to me as he drops first to his knees, then lays flat on his stomach. His hands flat on the ground above his head. I don’t understand what’s happening. He didn’t do anything wrong. Then I realize that if he’s on the ground, Mollie and Macie are in the truck by themselves.

  “The babies,” I protest.

  “What babies?” the deputy asks.

  “They’re in the backseat,” Rory answers. He’s so much calmer than I’d be in this situation if I were alone.

  The deputy peers into the back of the truck. “Whose babies are they?” he demands.

  “Ours.” I find myself lying because Rory has no family here in the states. Whatever’s happening, those girls don’t need to be caught in the crossfire. With him in lockup, the next call would be CPS. I can’t let them end up with Child Protective Services. They’ve already been through enough with their mother abandoning them.

  Rory twists his head to look at me, but I refuse to look him in the eyes, fearing what he might be thinking of me right now. As far as I know, the Lords are clean—well, cleanish. And I could certainly be his alibi since I was there when he picked the truck up.

  “Why he got ’em instead of you?” The more the deputy speaks, the more weasel-like he sounds. The man seriously talks through his nose. Not to mention, hello? Can anyone say the most sexist comment I’ve ever heard? Because women are always supposed to have the kids?

  The one benefit to his comment is that it gives me the chance to think up a plausible excuse. “His weekend,” I answer.

  “Get back in the car. Wait ’til I tell you it’s okay, then you can get your kids.”

  “Yes, deputy.” I do exactly as he orders, climbing back in my car until the jackass has Rory handcuffed, pulling him up from the ground by the handcuffs behind his back, not even bothering to place his hand onto Rory’s bicep to help him stand. I don’t know enough about police procedure to know if any of this is legal, but it feels wrong, a bit over the top, cruel and unusual.

  Once he has Rory locked in the backseat, the deputy, with his gun still drawn, motions me out of my car. I walk slowly so as not to startle him until I reach the driver’s side door, which is still open, to unlock the back doors. Then, as fast as I can, I pull each girl’s carrier and hoist their diaper bag over my shoulder.

  My entire body shakes, no matter how many slow breaths I try or swallows I take. No one has ever pointed a gun at me before, and he won’t put that ugly piece of steel away, using it instead of his hand to shoo me back to my car. And with baby carriers in my hands. As I walk the fifty steps back to my car, I try to angle the girls in front of my body the best I can in case he discharges that weapon, it’ll hit me and not them.

  With Mollie and Macie hooked safely in my backseat, I do something that I never in my life thought I’d ever do and head for the Brimstone Lords compound.

  Situated several miles outside of town, cut out of the side of an incredibly tall hill, it’s never been a secret, their location. Out of the way, sure. But never a secret.

  A large chain-link fence with a two-car width chain-link gate on rollers keeps the unwanted from getting in. A young, hottish guy wearing a black leather vest halts me.

  “I need to see Duke Ellis,” I tell the kid, who scoffs.

  “What you need is to turn this wreck around and head back down the mountain.”

  Number one, my car isn’t a wreck. It’s only two years old. Number two, we don’t have time for this highly entertaining—not—banter. “Please call him or Caitlin if she’s home. Tell them Frankie Cardone is here and it’s an emergency.”

  “Listen, I told you—” Whatever he’s about to say he can shove up his ass. I see a man mounting his bike and it’s one of the men who’ve come in to pick up Gunner or Diesel when their parents are working late. I hop out of the car, waving my hands in the air as I call out to him. There’s nothing ish about him. This guy is hot with a capital H. All that sumptuously dark hair, and deep soulful eyes darker than his hair. If I was five years younger… I have to stop myself from going down that road. What I need is to get his attention. Shoot if I can’t remember his name.

  “Hey…” I call out. “Hey there…”

  “Miss Frankie?” he hollers back.

  “Yes,” I shout. Thank god. “Yes, it’s Miss Frankie. I need to see Duke Ellis; it’s important.”

  “For god’s sake, Dutchy, let her in.”

  The man at the gate, Dutchy, rolls open the gate to allow me inside. As I drive onto the property, I see Duke make his way out of a pretty home with a white wraparound porch. I stop my car not too far from him and jump out.

  “Jesus, Miss Frankie?” he asks, staring at me with surprise written all over his gruffly handsome face. “What the fuck you doin’ here? Weren’t you s’posed to be havin’ dinner with our man Scotch?”

  “Scotch?” I ask. “You mean Rory? Yes. We had dinner.” I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to people calling him ‘Scotch.’ “He picked up the truck today. We had dinner. Then out of nowhere, a Sheriff’s Deputy pulls him over, draws his gun, says the truck was stol
en, then put Rory in the back of the cruiser.”

  “Fuck,” he says, wiping his hand over his hair. “The babies?”

  “With me. I lied—said they were mine and it was his visitation.”

  “Good call. Take ’em into the house. Doc’s in there with the kids.” This he says to me before turning to the guy whose name I can’t remember. “Hero,” he says to him. Hero, that’s right. Seriously—drop dead gorgeous. Remember Frankie, no other man will ever be Rory. But boy, if any man could get me over Rory, it would be him. One look at Hero and I’m ready to flirt my ass off.

  “On it,” Hero calls back, running into the clubhouse. Duke mounts his bike and takes off, not quite like a bat out of hell.

  After unhooking each girl from the seat restraints, we walk up to the blue house. My mind is spinning. Caitlin Brennen-Ellis looks every bit like the wife of a biker when she throws open the door. Tight, white Harley tank and painted-on jeans. Her hair is tied in a knot on top of her head. She is straight up badass.

  “Frankie?” she asks, then her eyes drop to Mollie and Macie and her voice drops. “This can’t be good.”

  5.

  Rory

  Duke, Boss, and Chaos, along with Sgt. Tommy Doyle of the Thornbriar Police Department have been here for fucking hours as we wait for them to release me. I bought the truck. I have the paperwork. Deputy Dipshit continues to live up to that moniker by continuing to be a total dipshit, dragging his feet until he hears back from the dealership, which closed hours ago.

  Thank god Frankie had been with us. Though her getting out of her car when a man had a gun drawn wasn’t smart and we’ll be discussing that when I get out of here. But the fact that she didn’t panic and had the presence of mind to drive to the compound—I’m sitting in a jail cell for no goddam reason, yet I can’t wipe the smile off my face. She told the deputy they were our girls and got them to safety.

  How many other women would’ve even gotten involved let alone thought so fast on their feet?

  Since the men are already here, but I’m still due my one phone call, I use it to call Caity, as I don’t have Frankie’s cell, something I mean to rectify as soon as I get home. Hopefully she’ll still be there, though if she’s not, I understand. It’s getting late and she has to work tomorrow.

  “Hello?” Caity answers.

  “Are my girls with you?” I ask without pretense.

  She laughs into the line. “All three of them.”

  “Then I must have the wrong number because I swear I only have two.”

  “She’s been here for hours. Since she doesn’t want to scare the girls, she’s decided to stay the night.” Caity must cover the phone because it becomes muffled, but I hear her say to her daughter, Jade, “Yes, sweetheart. You can change Mollie if she needs it.”

  Scare the girls? They’ve lived on the compound since Thursday. In the trailer since Sunday. More like she doesn’t want to admit she’s scared to go home. Frankie never could admit when she was scared. It was always a guessing game with her. I laugh under my breath at Frankie thinking she could get away with her antics. Then I laugh more picturing little Jade changing my baby girl and actually missing changing her myself. Mollie’s little smile. The way she watches me as I clean her up, with those wide, innocent eyes. I’m fucked, totally fucked, and it’s all those wee babes’ fault. How the hell did a brother of the Lords end up missing wiping an ass? And I can’t believe that Frankie is willing to stay for my lasses.

  Caitlin’s voice is clear again, but it drops to a whisper. “What I think, Rory MacGregor”—she’s been talking with Frankie, all right—“is that if you want three instead of two, then don’t fuck this up.”

  Christ, what has Frankie been saying? “Can you put her on the line?”

  “Sure. Hang on.”

  The phone rustles and then I hear Frankie’s soft, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Frankie.” I only have a minute left, so this has to be quick. “The girls okay?”

  She sighs and I can hear the smile when she says, “They’re fine. Sleeping.”

  “Thank you for getting Duke here.”

  “Oh, Rory,” she says my name and sniffles.

  “Shh…” I try to comfort her and it’s frustrating not being able to hold her to do it. My Frankie always felt better in an emotional situation when I was able to hold her to get her through it. It wasn’t a hardship.

  “A-Are you okay?” she hiccups as she asks.

  “Yeah. No tears now. I’ll be fine. Home tonight, I’m sure. I need to make sure you—” The phone cut off. Dammit!

  A deputy leads me back to my cell and I lie down on the hard, wooden bench now picturing Frankie with my girls and ruminate on what Caity said. If I wanted three instead of two… Frankie is old lady material if any woman ever was. Then there’s the fact that no one can deny that she still has feelings for me. Sniffling on my behalf? If she didn’t care, I guarantee there’d be no sniffling from Francesca Cardone.

  Hours pass with my brothers and Tommy trying to get me out. Middle of the fucking night they finally let me go. My truck I’ll have to pick up from impound when it opens. For now, they had a prospect drive Duke’s truck down. Even though I’ve been in lockup all night, I’m exhausted and I just want my girls.

  I pull into Duke’s spot, cut the engine, and hand him the keys. Caity steps out wearing a satiny robe that shows off her figure. Our prez is a lucky man.

  She kisses her man before anything and then looks to me. “Frankie took the girls home.”

  Lifting my eyebrows, I ask, “Home?” Because I don’t know her address.

  Immediately, she shakes her head. “Your home. We piled the kids in my truck and went to get the crib. They were missing their home and toys.”

  “Thanks, Caity.” I turn to walk back to my trailer when Duke stops me.

  “Yer off tomorrow. Already got Shifty to swap days,” he says to me, though he’s not looking my way. Who could blame him? With his old lady in that robe, hair mussed with sleep? If Frankie doesn’t have a satin robe, she needs one.

  “Thanks, brother.” I take off on a jog to get home.

  When I open the door, Frankie is sound asleep on the old pull-out sofa. After locking the door, I sneak through the living room to the girls’ room. Mollie and Macie lie sleeping, sharing a crib. They’re snuggled next to each other, holding hands under the soft, wide-weave yellow blanket. They look so peaceful.

  Carefully, I bend in to kiss first Mollie’s and then Macie’s head. Macie moves a little but settles back to an even sleep.

  I pull off my boots first, ripping my shirt over my head while walking back into the living room. Last to go are my jeans before lifting the blanket and sliding into bed next to Frankie. The first time in eight years. And I can’t help it, I roll into her. She sighs as she snuggles back into me. Her warmth puts my body at ease the way only she ever had the power to do, working out the ache in my muscles from spending hours on a hard bench and if I’m being honest, working out the ache somewhere else, too. This woman was my everything and now here I am, lying next to her again. Once I know she’s not waking up, I drop my arm over her waist in the exact spot I used to rest it when we lay in bed, press my groin against her sumptuous ass, and drift off to sleep.

  The alarm on her phone goes off way too fucking early, and she screams the softest scream I’ve ever heard when she sees me lying next to her. I prop myself up on an elbow and use the hand on that arm to push the hair from my face because I still have my other hand splayed across her stomach with no plans to move it until she forces me.

  “What are you doing here?” she bites out.

  “Told you I’d be home middle of the night.” Even bleary-eyed, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world—and I’ve traveled the world.

  “But you’re in bed with me.”

  “Yeah, it’s my bed, at least until I get some real furniture up in here. Where exactly did ya expect me to sleep?”

  “Jail,” she snaps.


  “Have to say…” I pause to chuckle. “This is much better.”

  “Rory.” She uses the tone as she shifts to look at me.

  I know that tone and press my hand to cover her mouth. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m here for the girls,” she tries to protest, but I know better, even if she doesn’t for now. And if she doesn’t, then it’s my job to make her see the light.

  “Yar here for more than just that and ya know it.”

  “Okay… you did nothing wrong. He pulled you over for no reason. I didn’t want you losing custody of the girls because I’m guessing he saw your vest through the window.”

  “First, it’s a cut,” I correct her. An old lady needs to know these things. “Second, Rodrick has it out for the Lords. He’s been harassing the brothers for a while. Don’t know his game yet, but I trust that motherfucker about as far as I can throw him. Still, this is a sparsely populated county and he can get away with shite that would be harder to get away with in the bigger ones with more people.”

  “But how can that be? I mean, I know I said he saw your vest through the window, even I had a hard time convincing myself of that. It was just the only thing I could logically come up with.”

  “He saw me with ya. Today… at the daycare. When ya asked what I was looking at, it was him. He was watching us. I didn’t wanna scare ya so I blew it off. Now, I still don’t wanna scare ya but ya need to know. And I told ya, it’s a cut not a bloody vest. That’s important.”

  “Cut, whatever.” She swats my words away and the motion dislodges my hand from her stomach. “There are more important things going on right now.” And I can’t help think there’s double meaning in that as she glances down quickly and her cheeks pink. Christ, she wants my hand back. I want my hand back. Before she can pretend she doesn’t want it, I drop my hand back in its rightful place and press slightly to make my point.

  “Right, lass—” I’m about to lay down the law, tell her how it is now and how it’s going to be for us from this point on, when she licks her bottom lip. It glistens in the low light and I’m not a strong enough man to resist those plump lips when they’re wet. Never have been. Whether she forgot or subconsciously did that shite on purpose, I bend in to take her lips hard, tugging that bottom wet one into my mouth. She opens hers wider to gasp, which I capture while forcing my tongue inside her mouth to taste her.