Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (5 page)

All signs pointed to Padilla, who'd been just as inconsistent in his productivity as he'd been during our first disastrous drop-off, and it wasn't like Ortega was even giving him tasks that were all that difficult. The excuses ran from anywhere to his mom was in the hospital to they'd been up all night partying. At this point, the asshole was better off just not making excuses anymore.

One of these days, Padilla was going to cross the wrong person and then it would be all over for him—I couldn't wait for that day. Still, I knew I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy every second of getting to report all the ineptitude that Ortega had hitched his wagon to. Jesus, the man was nuts if he didn't regret patching Padilla and his boys into the Lobos. If we didn't need the Lobos' business, there was no way we'd put up with this bullshit.

Taking a trip up to Memphis wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon, but at least I could chalk all this up to one more reason why I wanted to see Padilla squirm. Maybe, if I was lucky, this sit-down would finally be the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.

By the time I stepped out of the shower, Isabelle was already holding a towel out to me from her perch on the counter. I took the towel from her, wiping myself off as I approached her, and wound it around my waist.

She pulled me in between her legs and ran her fingertips on the skin over my left pectoral where her full name was written in ink. A dreamy smile ghosted over her lips and I wound my fingers around hers so I could pull them up and brush my lips over her knuckles. Her tank top had ridden up a little, exposing the delicate angel wings on her lower back and I slipped my other hand around her waist so I could watch myself trace over the skin that held my initials through our reflection in the mirror.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Isabelle was telling me now, her ocean-blue eyes shining up at me and tugging at my insides.

"I'd rather be home with you, but duty calls, Iz. This'll be quick. Just business as usual and then I'll be back in time to make you dinner, okay?"

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "You're making me breakfast and dinner all in one day? Boy, you must really love me or you just really hate my cooking."

It was pretty much both.

"I just wanna take care of you, Iz," I told her instead. "Is that so terrible?"

"No," she replied as she leaned against my chest and wrapped her arms around my waist. "It's not. Please be safe today."

"I always am."

"I know, but you—"

She didn't get a chance to finish because her eyes were practically bugging out of her face and she pushed frantically against my chest to scramble off the counter. Her head was in the toilet before I could even reach for her and all I could do was pull her ponytail away from her face and rub her back as her stomach emptied itself. When her body was finally done, Isabelle straightened up and wiped her mouth, casting me a weak smile over her shoulder.

She didn't need to do anything to show me how strong she was. I already knew.

"Feeling a little better now?" I asked her, my hand still rubbing gently across her back.

"Ugh, I don't know. I mean, I know this is normal, but this just
sucks.
This is all your fault, you know."

My hands shot up in defense. "Guilty as charged. I guess this is what I get for not being able to keep it in my pants when it comes to you, huh?"

"I guess I could be saying the same thing to you," Isabelle allowed as she reached for her toothbrush.

I took that opening to finish up getting ready for this little road trip, threw on the first T-shirt and jeans I could find along with my cut, and then headed into the kitchen to put together a quick breakfast for Isabelle before I hit the road. By the time I set her breakfast down on the table, she was already settling into her chair with a weak smile on her face.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Iz," I grinned down at her and pointed to her oatmeal bowl, "Eat this," I pointed to her cup of orange juice, "Drink that," and then pointed to her massive prenatal vitamin, "And swallow that bastard down."

I bent down to kiss the side of her head, smirking as she eyed the vitamin warily, "Love you."

"Love you too."

"Have fun with Lex and my mom today," I called back to her as I headed for our front door. "Don't spend too much of my money, alright?"

Her light chuckle followed me out the door. "Oh, I don't know about that..."

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We arrived at the Warlords-owned and operated bar right on the dot and as Marcus stepped inside, I practically stopped right in my tracks when Heath gestured for me to follow after the Prez. That was normally the VP's place and the only way I could reconcile this new development was the fact that all the club's dealings with Padilla had virtually been through me. So, it was only fair, I guessed, that I act as second-in-command in this meeting.

Right in the back corner of the bar, Theo Wallace and three other Warlord members sat waiting patiently for us and when Wallace caught sight of our entrance, he waved us over with the flick of his wrist.

On almost every level, Theo Wallace was living my dream, at least where the MC was concerned. Son of Conrad Wallace, the Warlords' prez, and the current VP, he had the status, the pull, and the legacy behind him now to back up the air of superiority wafting around him. We'd known each other off and on through these last few years—Wallace had about five years on me, which gave him the advantage in his own club that I was still waiting for in mine.

Every time I saw him, there was something harder about him, a little colder, a little more ruthless, and I figured that change in his demeanor just came with the job title, too. I'd never admit it out loud, especially not where anyone in my club could hear, or any other club for that matter, but I admired Theo Wallace. Looked up to him. Wanted to be him. Wanted the respect and the stability that came with his position. I'd heard he'd settled down with his long-time old lady not too long ago, had a kid with her and another one on the way, so I guess I was slowly but surely catching up to him.

When we sat down at the booth where they waited for us, Wallace's eyes took careful stock of our seating arrangement, and with the seasoned intuition that only comes with years spent in this kind of life, he focused only on me.

"Sawyer," he nodded to me respectfully as he pushed an ashtray toward me.

"Wallace," I dipped my chin down in greeting.

"Heard you got a kid on the way now with your girl," Wallace shot me a genuine grin. "Congrats."

An easy smile spread across my face, something that just came naturally whenever Isabelle and our new family were the topic of conversation. "Thanks, man."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Caleb Sawyer finally settled down with one girl. She must have a magic pussy or somethin', huh?"

I knew this was all supposed to be easy, good-natured small talk before the real conversation started, and even though he was treading on thin ice now, I rolled with it.

"Hey, man," I jabbed a finger at him with a smirk. "That's my future wife you're talkin' about."

Wallace's ringed hands shot up in defense and he laughed heartily. "Alright, alright. My bad. You're having a pretty good year, you know. Knocked up a girl, movin' up in the world and in the club...you're on a roll."

Marcus bristled a little next to me and Wallace's eyes flicked to him for just a moment before shifting his attention back to me.

"I guess," I shrugged. "How 'bout you? Family good?"

Wallace's eyes darkened for just a moment and he hesitated, lighting up a cigarette instead of answering me directly. "They're fine. My kid was in the hospital again. Some kinda lung infection."

Shit. I'd heard his kid had been pretty much been in and out of the hospital since he was born—cystic fibrosis, I think—and suddenly, any lightness in the room dimmed to black.

"I'm sorry to hear that, man."

"Don't worry about it," Wallace batted a hand my way and leaned forward on his elbows as he spoke. "I didn't call you down here to catch up, Sawyer. We got a problem and since you and I have never had any problems before, I figured we should talk it out first before we move forward on this."

My eyebrows lifted and I glanced at Marcus out of the corner of my eye. "What's the problem?"

"Ortega's boy is dealing and his shit is cutting into my shit."

I cursed under my breath and cast a glance at Marcus to my left, who was a running a hand wearily over his grizzled face. If the Warlords were pissed enough, they could cut off their business dealings with us altogether. The problem was that we were in too deep with the Lobos and their cronies to pull all our deals completely. We depended way too much on the income from our long-standing business with Ortega to bail altogether. Still, losing our relationship with the Warlords could stand to be just as detrimental. After all, they were our business contacts in the North. We needed them just as much as they needed us.

Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

"So," Marcus bit out gruffly. "What are we doin' here, then?"

"I just wanted to give you a heads up," Wallace shrugged and ran a hand over his bald head. "But that doesn't mean I can afford to just let this go if your business deals interfere with mine, too."

"We can't control what Padilla does or doesn't do," I interjected quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation with as little heat as possible. I could already feel the steam pouring off Marcus in waves and I knew I needed to salvage what was left of our relationship with the Warlords quickly and efficiently.

"That's why I'm givin' you a heads up," Wallace turned to me now and seemed visibly grateful to not have to deal with Marcus, whose lips had curled up into a dangerous snarl. "I know all this business with the Lobos isn't your fault. If you cut ties with Ortega, we don't have a problem anymore."

I shook my head and lit up a cigarette before speaking again, mulling over what to do next. He was being pretty reasonable and logical about all this, but we just couldn't give him what he wanted.

"You know we can't do that, man. I'm just as pissed about this as you are. That dumbshit has caused too many problems as it is, but we gotta keep the cash flow goin'. We're in the same position as you're in right now and if there was a way we could stay afloat without the Lobos, we'd do it. But right now, it's just not possible."

Wallace's eyes darkened and he leaned back into the booth, creaking the plastic cushions to cut in through the silence that had taken over the meeting. "Then I guess we've got nothing more to say."

"What if we handle Padilla? Then there's no problem anymore."

Wallace eyed me carefully, searching for some sign of dishonesty for a few painfully silent moments. "How're you gonna do that?"

I looked briefly to Marcus, who just nodded in response, and then to Heath, who followed Marcus's lead. So, it looked like this was going to be on me then. Go big or go home, right?

"I doubt Ortega is going to be happy when he finds out his lap dog has really gone off the rails this time. Even if he doesn't care too much about the fact that Padilla's dealin', he definitely won't like that he did it behind his back to make a profit."

"So," Wallace stared back at me incredulously. "You're just gonna bring it to Ortega?"

"Look, man," I shot back quickly. "Ortega is just as smart as the rest of us. He knows when shit's worth hangin' onto and when it's not. He'll cut ties with Padilla so fast the asshole won't know what hit him. If the Cobras lose their patch, they can't afford to stay anywhere near here and it'll be business as usual then."

Wallace leaned back against the booth in thought and then nodded. "Alright. Fair enough."

With that, the meeting was over almost as quickly as it'd started. Marcus was on the phone with Ortega the second we stepped foot out of the bar to set up the next sit-down of the day. With a quick nod from my prez, I knew the arrangements had been made and then we were on our way to the Lobos' clubhouse in Raleigh. The entire ride over, I felt myself sweating bullets. Although it was logical and smart, the plan I'd devised literally from the seat of my pants could easily blow up in my face. And if it did, the repercussions, both seen and unforeseen, wouldn't be pretty.

"You sure this is gonna work?"  Marcus clapped a hand on my shoulder as we closed in on the Lobos' doorway.

"They can't afford to lose our business either," I reasoned. "I don't think Ortega is stupid enough to hang on, do you?"

Marcus just grinned and clamped down on his cigarette.

Over all, the sit-down with Ortega went better than I could've hoped for. It didn't take much rationalizing for the Lobos' leader to clearly understand the long-reaching effects a continued relationship with Padilla could mean for his club.

The real fun began, though, when Ortega called Padilla to get his ass over to their clubhouse.  Like the good little lapdog he was, Padilla came to heel in less than 15 minutes.

Padilla swung through the clubhouse doors and headed right for the table where his charter president was sitting. This had been a long time coming and I just hoped I'd get back to the table in time to snag a front row seat.