Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  The Outcasts to the left and the cartel to the right. Hero sits at the head and Blaze and I stand behind him to the left and right. Hero gives Mad Man the floor first to get his grievances out, then he looks to Perez for rebuttal. That’s not what I’m here for, though. I listen closely to Balfour and by the shite he and his men are spewing, I’m a hundred percent sure Perez doesn’t speak the language either.

  Ya have to be pretty stupid to go against the Anguino Cartel and that’s exactly what this idiot plans to do, and screw the Outcasts over, framing them for the job they’re about to pull, at the same time by double-crossing the cartel. Clearly, they don’t go into the entire plan. No need, considering they’re all in on it. But from the jokes they make, I get enough to understand.

  When we’ve heard both sides out, I lead Hero and Blaze out of the room to fill them in on what I overheard. Shite’s about to get real. No way were we getting out of here without guns drawn.

  “Ready, brothers?” I ask. We ain’t going back in there ’til I know where their heads are at.

  Both men nod and say, “Ready.”

  We make our way back inside and Hero casually takes his previously occupied seat. “Here’s what we’ve decided.” He looks to Perez. “You are going to let him out of the contract. Shake hands. Part ways. This is the end of it. No retribution.”

  “And why would I do that?” Perez asks.

  “Because we’ve got information that we think you’ll find very useful and the Outcasts were the ones smart enough to bring us in. You have my word we’re not trying to screw you over.” Hero points around the room. “My guess, with these men and the ones you’ve got situated around the rest of the property, you’ve brought enough firepower to completely decimate a small country.” Perez laughs, but Hero is unamused. “So we’re not about to fuck with you.”

  Perez turns to Balfour. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s bull,” he says. “I think you should put a bullet in his brain for suggesting this farce in the first place.”

  “That’s an option,” Perez answers. Then he turns to his men to converse in Spanish. Finished with them, he turns back to us. “We will accept your offer.”

  The Outcasts sigh and murmur amongst themselves as Mad Man and Perez sign the contract. Once that business is finished, Perez’s men lift their weapons, ready to fire. “Now, Sen͂or Hero, you better hope you wow me with this information.”

  There are so many ways this could end. It’s a risk trusting the cartel to keep their word, but if it’s one thing I know, they hate traitors as much as they hate competition. As the Outcasts are getting out of the game, they won’t be competition and once they know about the traitors in the mix, god willing Hero, Blaze, and I will make it home alive.

  I step forward. “While you were hashing out terms of separation, I was listening to your friends, there.” I point to Balfour. “You should know, they have men in place ready to abscond with—” I look at the Scotsman. “What was it, forty million dollars in guns and heroin?”

  Balfour’s mouth drops open and then all hell breaks loose. His men draw their weapons and begin firing. Perez’s men return fire. The Outcasts drop and draw, as do Hero and Blaze. It’s utter chaos and out of the corner of my eye, I see one of Balfour’s men aim for Perez. God help me with what I’m about to do, but a marker from Perez would go a long way and so, I send my love to Frankie and the wee ones, then I throw myself on top of Perez, knocking us both to the floor. I know the second I’m hit. Pain burns through my leg, but it doesn’t feel like the other times I got shot, so I know it’s a flesh wound. I look at the blood and realize it might be a little more than a flesh wound. Cartel men and Outcast men flood in. Someone takes out Balfour, a bullet right between his eyes, and he drops.

  Two of his men are subdued and one is as dead as he is. Time to fucking go home.

  If it were only that easy. Mad Man needs us around for the cleanup, and Perez wants us around to organize the takedown of the rest of Belfour’s men. Men in poor knockoffs of Outcast cuts that up close anyone can tell aren’t legit. However, in the fray, Perez would’ve certainly gone after Mad Man and the boys before figuring out they’d gotten it wrong. Can’t lie, it was a solid plan. Though, Balfour clearly underestimated the Outcasts’ intelligence by reaching out to us for help.

  How do the men with old ladies explain this to them? We may not get home in time for me to take Frankie to Bald Head. I have a new bullet wound. How’s she gonna react when I can’t answer the questions she’s bound to have?

  8.

  Frankie

  Mollie and Macie are on their way with me to meet Brighton for dinner at the new sushi place that just opened up. I was skeptical when Brighton first suggested we try it out. I mean, we live in the mountains of Kentucky, nowhere near the ocean. If I get gut-cramping food poisoning, who’s going to watch the girls? They’re my responsibility. But she assured me that it’s safe. The fish is simply farm raised instead of wild caught.

  I owed this to her, though. We haven’t been hanging out much since Rory came back into my life. He has this way of keeping me occupied even when we aren’t together, the same as he did back eight years ago. Now even more so with the addition of the girls. Plus, with him away on business and me staying at the clubhouse, between our work schedules and the fact that she won’t step foot on Lords property because she finds them intimidating, Brighton and I talk on the phone, but we haven’t had any real girl time in weeks.

  She’s waiting in the parking lot for us when I turn in and she waves big like she’s picking me up from the airport after I’ve been gone for three months. “Hey, chickee,” she shouts as I climb out of the car and she walks over to hug me. “I’ve started to forget what you look like.”

  I open the backdoor to unhook Macie’s carrier. She does the same for Mollie. “Hi, beautiful,” she says to her. “I hold you in no way responsible. No, I don’t… you’re just a cute, innocent baby with a biker for a dad who has kidnapped my best friend’s heart. Yes, he has. So, I owe your daddy a punch in the gonads.” I punch her arm. “Ouch.” She sets Mollie on the trunk of the car to rub the spot out.

  “Do not talk to Mollie about her daddy’s gonads,” I reprimand.

  “Uh, sweetie, she’s going on five months old. She has no idea what I’m saying, just that I say it softly. I never thought these words would leave my mouth, but maybe you need to reacquaint yourself with daddy’s gonads. It might put you in a better mood.”

  “I’m in a fine mood,” I snap. “Can we please go in and eat?”

  She laughs as we walk inside, each of us holding a carrier. We get situated at the table and the waitress takes our drink orders, then we each take charge of a baby to feed while we peruse the menu. I kind of feel bad about taking up one of the six-person tables in the center of the restaurant, but all the four-persons are taken and we need chairs to set the carriers on.

  When the waitress drops off my tea and Brighton’s Coke, we order a battalion’s worth of sushi. The place is decorated with stereotypical Japanese watercolors, lanterns, and what we know as Fu dogs, but are actually called “komainu,” “lion dogs”—I googled it one time for shits and giggles.

  My eyes grow huge when she brings our trays of spicy tuna, salmon, baby octopus, eel, California rolls, and seaweed salad just to name a few. I’ve just loaded the perfect spicy tuna bite with pickled ginger and a hint of wasabi dipped in soy sauce and am ready to cram that sucker into my mouth when the bottom drops out of the entire evening.

  One second I’m laughing with my best friend, having a good night, and the next the Sheriff’s Deputy Rodrick—the same douche canoe who hassled Rory and has been hassling me, walks up to our table, thumbs hooked over his belt, one intimidatingly close to his gun holster and the other to his baton . He stares down Brighton and me, looming.

  “Little late to have them babies out, don’t you think?” he asks and I look around at the other families with children of all ages in the restaurant.


  “It’s dinner time, so no. Not too late,” I reply, not sarcastic but still a little shocked, I suppose.

  “Got a smart mouth there, missy.”

  “Excuse me?” Brighton asks, and I kick her underneath the table because I don’t want her getting on this guy’s radar.

  “Deputy Rodrick, is there a reason you’re here at our table? Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “Your man not with you tonight?” he asks back instead of answering, looking toward the hallway with the restrooms.

  “My man?” I blink at him in confusion. “No. He’s out of town on business. I’m just out with a girlfriend. Have I done something? Because I’m still not sure what’s going on here.”

  “Not keeping real good company. Could get you into trouble.”

  “You mean Brighton?” I point to her, this time very shocked.

  “I mean the Lords. You still heading up to that clubhouse every night.”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Brighton asks, not taking my under-table kicking for what it is. “You following her? That’s harassment, deputy.”

  “Brighton,” I hiss, but her distraction gives me enough time to slide my phone from my pocket and call Tommy Doyle. As one of Boss’s best friends, an unofficial brother of the Lords and a Sergeant on the Thornbriar Police Department, Rory made sure I had Tommy’s number programmed into my phone before he left because, ‘ya can’t have enough friends looking out for ya.’ Thank god he did. Brighton glances over to me for just a second and keeps the deputy occupied while I talk to Tommy. “Where are you?” I ask with a tremor to my voice.

  “Maryanne and I are on our way to that new sushi place. Grand opening.”

  Oh, thank god. “Are you close?”

  “Just turned in the lot, why?”

  “Because I’m sitting in here trying to enjoy my sushi and Deputy Rodrick is harassing me and my friend. I don’t know why. We’ve done nothing.”

  “Comin’ in now.” He disconnects and in the next moment I hear the bell over the door jingle and I look up to see Tommy Doyle walking with swift steps over to our table.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” Tommy says to us, and Rodrick startles. “Deputy, there a reason you’re here with these ladies? Know you’re not exactly friends.”

  “You should head over to your own table, Officer Doyle. This has nothing to do with you,” Rodrick says back.

  “It’s Sergeant, and last I checked, this is my town and these are my friends. So I think you’re wrong.”

  “We went ahead and ordered,” Brighton says to Tommy. “You and Maryanne just need to order your drinks.” Brighton knows Maryanne Doyle quite well. They went to the same church as kids—benefit of being small town, I guess. Brighton isn’t known for pleading faces. She says what she wants and if you aren’t on board with that, she figures something else out, which means Rodrick’s intrusion must really shake her because as she looks at Tommy, all I see is pleading.

  Tommy, of course, smiles his good ol’ boy smile and says, “And you made sure to get the octopus. You know that’s Maryanne’s favorite.”

  The bell over the door jingles again and Maryanne walks in. Tommy no doubt gave her an order to hang back for a couple minutes. Brighton and I wave her over as if we’ve been expecting her and we move the platters to accommodate the two fresh plates for Tommy and Maryanne.

  After hugs and cheek kisses, the Doyles smile and pile their plates with food. The waitress comes over to take their drink orders. All the while Deputy Rodrick stands close to our table with his hands on his hips, his pinched face and looking ten kinds of pissed. We pretend to ignore his presence, but I’m aware of every move he makes and doesn’t make—as in how he doesn’t leave.

  He probably stands there for two more minutes before the deputy finally turns to leave and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “Sorry if we ruined your evening,” I say to Tommy. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Girl, ruin our evening? Please. Good food with good people—ain’t much better than that. You did exactly the right thing by callin’ me.”

  Maryanne stuffs a California roll in her mouth, chews and swallows, then points her chop sticks at me. “Just yesterday Elise and I were hanging down at Lady’s shooting the shit and there was nothing wrong with her car. Then when we leave, he’s pulling her over for a busted-out taillight. I swear he did it. It was too convenient. She don’t have a busted taillight when we go in, she does when we come out, and he’s right there pulling us over?”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Brighton says, rolling her eyes.

  “Huge ass ticket, too,” Maryanne goes on. “We went back inside, where Boss was covering for one of his bartenders to tell him what happened. The man lost his mind.”

  “Why us, though?” I ask. “Why go after innocent women, most of whom have children with them?”

  “He’s obviously got some issue with the Lords,” Tommy says. “Easiest way to force a man’s hand to step outta line is to go after his woman. I’ve sworn to uphold the law and there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Maryanne safe. Especially not now.” A sly smile spreads across Tommy’s face.

  “What?” Brighton asks. “You’re not—”

  “That’s what I was shooting the shit with Elise about. Tommy and I are expecting,” Maryanne says, absolutely beaming.

  “Oh my god.” Brighton and I squeal so loud, we startle the girls, who’ve been sleeping this whole time. Luckily, they settle back just as quickly so I can stand and walk around the table to give both Tommy and Maryanne hugs of congratulations.

  “Seriously,” Tommy says. “Last I’m gonna say about it tonight because I want us to enjoy ourselves, but you ladies be vigilant when you’re out and about around the county. Make sure your man knows what’s going on at all times. We’re here to protect you.”

  Maryanne beams at her husband and I’m still so happy for her, for them… but I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m the odd one out here. Brighton isn’t connected to the club, so she should be safe, but if Rory is my man, he’s not here, is he? He’s off doing business for the club and holy shit—I just offered that information up to Rodrick.

  I’m so stupid. Single Woman Safety 101: Don’t tell asshole men when there isn’t a man around. It sucks that we have to consider these things, but we do and I’ve totally blown that all to hell.

  At the end of the night, to be safe, we escort Brighton back to her home and then Tommy and Maryanne escort me and the girls back up to the compound before they turn off for home.

  A different prospect works the gate tonight. Jack or something, I think. I haven’t been around him much, but he knows my car and my face enough to wave me through without hassling me and I continue on toward Rory’s home. Tomorrow is Saturday, so the girls and I have a whole lot of nothing to do, which sounds completely wonderful. Maybe they’ll even let me sleep in a bit.

  Fat chance, but a girl can hope.

  Once inside, I lock up and then proceed to our nightly routine. Bath time when needed, which happens to be tonight. Fresh diapers. Jammies. And finally, bedtime. I wait a few moments to make sure they’re actually settled before hopping in the shower myself, and I ready for bed as well. There’s just something about stretching out under the comforter on cool sheets at the end of a long day. I use the remote to flip on the television and check email on my phone when it rings in my hand.

  I sigh and press answer happily. “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey back,” Rory says. “Missing ya.”

  “I miss you too. When are you coming home?” These past few weeks have been long ones. I was pretty pissed when I found out he’d be gone longer than I first agreed to, but between the weariness in his voice and the million and one apologies for having to stay away, I couldn’t hold onto it. Now I just want him home because his face needs my kisses and his body needs my hugs—I’ve decided.

  “Be there tomorrow some time. We stopped for the night. How’re t
he babes?”

  “Sleeping. I’m just in bed watching History Channel.”

  “In bed, eh? Then I got something for ya.” He chuckles, and I know I’m in trouble with this guy. A series of photo texts begin popping up on the screen, then disappear. I go to my texts to open them and…

  “Why are you sending me pictures of random ugly dudes?” I ask.

  He laughs harder. “They’re dick picks. See that first guy.” The guy is wearing a cut that reads, Devil’s Outlaws. “He was a dick.”

  They probably hear my laughter inside the clubhouse, I laugh so hard. “Second guy was a bigger dick,” he goes on. “The third”—the third is the picture of a shorter possibly Mexican man wearing a linen suit and an arrogant scowl—“is a major dick,” Rory finishes.

  “Oh, poor baby.” I continue to laugh. “It must be difficult to be around such massive dicks. Maybe I have something to make you feel better.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Frantically, I search the internet, but all I can come up with are a series of cow udder pics that I save and text to him.

  “Uh, Frankie… not exactly what I had in mind, lass.”

  “What? You sent me dick pics, so I returned the favor with tit pics.” We both continue to chuckle.

  “Any chance of me seeing the ones attached to Francesca Cardone?” he asks sincerely then.

  “Do whatcha want to do, but don’t let it get caught on film. You know the rules.”

  “It’s digital.”

  “And the internet is forever.” We had that same rule in place eight years ago, too.

  “Does that mean what I think it means, mo leannan?” There’s a definite smile to his voice. Well. I didn’t mean for our conversation to turn this corner.

  “It means we have a lot to talk about when you get home. And for full disclosure, I had another run-in with Deputy Rodrick. I called Tommy Doyle and he came right away, but what happens if Tommy’s not available?”