Devil on Your Back (24 page)

SETTLED AT
the dining table with my coffee, I look over the sorry sight in the living room the next morning. Some of the boys must have continued the drinking last night, given the dozen or so pre-mixed bourbon bottles on the counter. Bronx is sprawled over one of the armchairs, and King lies fast asleep facing the back of the sofa. Jackets, helmets, cuts and clothing are scattered over the living area like a washing machine has spewed its contents
Exorcist
style.

Ty wanders in from down the hall, and my curiosity piques at where he’s been. He rubs sleep-messed hair on his way into the kitchen, wearing no more than a pair of jeans and a sated smile.

“Good night, was it?” I ask, and take a sip of my brew.

He flicks the button on the kettle, and looks over at me with a cocked eyebrow. “What you sayin’ there, big guy?”

“You look happy this morning.”

He chuckles, and shakes his head. “I slept on the floor. Couldn’t sleep with these bastards snoring, so I headed up there during the night.”

I nod, unconvinced. “What are your plans now?”

Ty beats a spoon inside a mug, and shakes it off over the sink. “I have a few ideas. I think Malice wants to discuss them this morning . . . if he remembers,” he adds with a sly grin.

“Typical,” I muse. “Dad’s off protecting his honor, and all the bastard can do is get drunk.”

“Hey,” Ty scolds. “We deal with stress in different ways, and that guy’s been holding it together for far too long.”

I nod. “I guess.”

Sonya wanders in, her hand trailing across my shoulders as she passes. “Morning, boys.”

“Morning,” we each mumble.

She sets about pulling out the makings for breakfast for everybody, humming a tune as she goes.

King stirs on the sofa. “Can’t an asshole sleep in peace?”

“Fat chance of that,” Bronx grumbles, and stretches his limbs over the sides of the seat. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever you get yourself,” I snap, aggravated that he’s assuming my woman is going to cook for him.

“Toast, eggs, and porridge,” Sonya calls over top of me. “What’s your preference?”

“Eggs,” he shouts back.

King moans on the sofa. “Levels, people. Levels.” My guess? The dozen bottles are solely his.

I watch him rouse, a little concerned about the fact; the man hardly ever drinks to oblivion. Something is seriously wrong.

“Hard night?” I ask.

He lifts a finger, and points to Bronx. “His fault.”

The kid just grins.

“Greetings!” Alice roars from the door, and chuckles as King slaps his hands over his ears.

“Malice,” Jane tuts, slapping him on the arm as she passes him to take a seat at the table. “Cut it out.”

He grins, and heads into the kitchen to start coffees. Before long, the house is humming with the somewhat comforting sound of ‘breakfast’. A normal, everyday, regular old thing that after the last few weeks is exactly the mundane, settled activity I need.

I finish my brew and watch them all interact. Half of this crowd didn’t know the other yesterday, but it hasn’t stopped them coming together and getting along like a well-practiced unit. It’s nice that in a world so full of cut-throat assholes ready to hang, draw and quarter you for a quick buck that there are genuine people amongst it still—even more so in the heart of the chaos.

The girls tidy up in the kitchen after everyone has eaten, setting up to make cookies with Mack while the men all congregate around the table. King pulls a chair at one end, and Alice at the other. All casual airs subside, and a tense formality takes its place.

“Plans moving forward,” King announces. “Let’s get them discussed, clear, and sorted so there’s no misunderstandings down the line.”

Everyone nods. “How did it go last night?” Alice asks. “I can’t remember if I asked already, or not.”

Bronx smirks. “You did, but you were hardly in the state to talk about it.”

“It was interesting,” I say, meeting King’s tired eyes.

He exchanges a look that reads ‘in my own time’ and answers Alice. “Carlos had only one request, which to be honest was reasonably predictable.”

“And?” Ty prompts.

“In exchange for leaving this grievance where it is, and giving you guys your space, he wants help recovering the distribution Tigger lost.”

A collective grumble sweeps the table. Alice fidgets, rubbing the back of his neck, and Bronx lays his arms across the table, dropping his head between.

“How?” Ty asks, apparently the details man.

“However we see fit,” King answers. “As long as it’s done.”

He holds my gaze in a kind of stand-off while the boys talk. The fact he didn’t mention the cut our club will receive hasn’t gone by unnoticed. Guilt forces King to look away first.

Callum leans back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head. “Your usual M.O. of smash and grab isn’t going to swing this time, boys,” he tells Alice and his buddies. “You’ll need to think outside the box.”

“We are,” Alice snaps, glaring at the V.P.

“Thoughts?” King prompts, massaging his temples.

Ty swallows, and crosses his arms on the table. “Like you’ve said, violence will get us nowhere. We need to work from the inside out.”

“Plan?”

“Send one of us in to the new supplier, undercover. The guys who took the channel from Carlos are a relatively new bunch. They’re cocky, and still ten-foot tall and bulletproof. They haven’t been around long enough to know who to trust, who to watch, and”—He stares at the other two—“who we are. Perhaps if we can infiltrate, we can cause errors—make them lose money, and want to get rid of distribution back to Carlos.”

King nods slowly. “Try and get them to lose faith in the channel.”

“Exactly,” Ty agrees.

I drum my fingers on the table top. “Who do you propose?”

Ty looks me square in the eye and replies, “Bronx.”

The kid’s head snaps up from his phone upon hearing his name. He stares wide-eyed at Ty. “Me?”

“You’re the best mix of brains and brawn we’ve got,” Ty answers. “No offense, Malice.”

“None taken,” Alice says. “I wouldn’t want to try and get that kind of an idea past Jane, anyway.”

Relief floods me that my boy didn’t put his hand up, but at the same time I have a deep-seated unease about Bronx’s future if they go ahead with this.

“Who are these people anyway?” I ask.

King presses his thumb and forefinger into his closed eyes as he speaks. “Bunch of European bastards, I’ve heard. That right, Ty?”

He nods in response. “That’s right. Their boss is a guy called Edward, or Eddie, however you like it. Story is, four of them moved over here a few years back looking for a fresh start, and they’ve been bringing people in ever since.”

“Smashing, fellas,” Callum quips in his best posh voice.

“How do you plan to get on the inside?” I ask, ignoring him. “You’re not going to get in, and get close to the top without it taking time.”

“No,” Ty agrees. “It’s a long-term strategy. I’m not sending Bronx in there blind. I’m going to do my research before he even steps foot in their neighborhood.”

Bronx visibly relaxes; his shoulders drop, and he slides down in his seat. I haven’t seen these guys in action, but the trust they display for one another is nothing like I’ve ever seen. Not once have I spotted them eyeing each other up, second-guessing what the other says. They’re solid, and loyal as fuck.

Bottom line—Alice trusts them with his life, therefore there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, too.

“I’ll get in touch with Carlos, let him know so he doesn’t get antsy when it looks like nothing’s happening.” Everyone nods at King’s suggestion. “As much as I’d love to hang around for a while,” he says, “I’ve got a club to run and unfortunately, that doesn’t allow for many holidays.”

“You ridin’ back today?” Callum asks.

He nods. “Get rid of this headache first, and yeah, I’ll be good to go.”

“I’ll join you then.”

Ty stands, and brushes his palms over his thighs. “Well, I better get a start on this. I’ll grab the laptop from the car.” He turns, and addresses Alice and Bronx. “Ready for some brainstorming?”

Alice nods. “Sure.”

Bronx gives him a thumbs up, engrossed in his phone.

Ty walks away from the table, heading for where Ramona now plays cars with Mack.
Must be a tiny laptop if it fits in one of those cars.

The rest of us excuse ourselves, and I follow King out to the porch. He takes a seat and sighs, resting his head in his hands. The bastard looks tired: mentally and physically. I stand opposite him, resting against the railing.

“Why didn’t you tell them about our cut?” I ask.

With his head still buried, he answers. “I know that they’re your kid’s bunch, Vince, but we don’t know for sure how well we can trust them. I’m doing this shit for you, and for our club—not them. If we let them know about the cut, how do we know they wouldn’t try to take us out of the equation?”

It’s an ugly truth, but the truth all the same. “What’s going on with you, man?” I ask carefully.

He lifts his head to face me, still rested in his hands, and smiles. “All peachy here, brother.”

“I don’t suffer fools, King. Spit it out.”

Looking down once more, he reaches out and fidgets with a leaf at his feet, crackling the dry plant matter between his fingers. “I worry.”

“About?”

“Everything. Nothing. Something.”

“Well that’s kinda cryptic.” I smirk, but he stays impassive.

“What if I fail, Lynch? What if I fuck this money thing right up and fail everyone?”

I scratch my head, as though the right words will uncover themselves with a little convincing. “Okay, so I can’t say you won’t fuck things up—we’re all human. But what I do know,” I tell him honestly, “is that no matter what happens you won’t fail us.”

“How do you know that?” he asks, lifting his head. “How do you know I won’t?”

“Because no matter what you do, man, you do it with heart, and that’s what counts at the end of the day. Fuck, if you didn’t care then you wouldn’t be here stewing over shit that hasn’t happened yet.”

He nods slowly, taking it in piece by piece. “I guess you’re right. It’s just so fuckin’ hard keepin’ up appearances for everyone, you know? I’m a club president—a role I never asked for, but got. I’m not allowed to be weak.”

“You aren’t weak, King,” I say carefully. “You’re human.”

“I’m weak,” he murmurs.

“Listen up when I say it, ’cause I ain’t repeating myself without bashing it into your skull. You are not weak. Admitting you’re strugglin’ is
not
being weak. I, of all people, should know.”

“I guess so.” He sits up straight, and scrubs both hands over his face. “You have a point there. I never looked at you like you were any less of a man when you went through your shit.”

“Now chin up, realize that by sittin’ here we aren’t getting anything achieved, and get back on that horse.”

He smiles, and nods, then rises to his feet. “One foot in front of the other.”

“Exactly.”

KING AND
Callum left a little after lunch, despite the fact King still complained of a sore head. I pushed a blister pack of Advil into his pocket before they left and ensured he had plenty of water in his bags. Leaving Callum with the strict instructions to make sure he stopped every hour or so for a drink, I chose to be inside with Ramona and Mack as the others saw them off.

An hour later, and us girls are still spread out on our bellies, lying on the living room floor as we color dragons and knights in full armor. Ramona fills in a flag with a light shade of blue while I select a different shade of red for my dragon’s wings.

“How long will Dad be gone?” Mack asks, oblivious to the fact we’ve both stopped coloring as he intently makes a knight’s helmet orange.

I meet Ramona’s panicked stare, and step in when she flounders for a response.

“We’re not sure, honey. He might be away for a while this time.”

“Because he’s been naughty?” Mack asks, his crayon still moving rapidly over the paper.

“Yeah, baby,” Ramona says softly. “Because he was bad.”

“Where is he?” Mack finally stops coloring, and looks up at us.

“He’s gone home to his daddy.” Ramona chokes up.

“Will his daddy send him to his room?”

I nod, and smile sweetly at the poor kid. “Probably.”

His little brow furrows while he thinks this over, and then resumes coloring. I look over to Ramona to find her pushing up to her haunches. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her chin crumples as she watches Mack finish his knight.

“You keep coloring, sweetheart,” I tell Mack. “Mommy and I are going to make a snack.”

He nods without looking away from the paper. I tip my head at Ramona, gesturing she should follow. Her feet scuff the carpet as she trails me to the kitchen.

“It’ll get easier,” I assure her once we’re safely out of Mack’s earshot.

“I don’t even know why I care,” she replies, hugging her arms to herself. “He’s been nothing but a headache for us, and yet I still worry about him.”

“It’s natural when you love someone.”

She frowns, and shakes her head at me. “But I don’t. I’ve never cared about who he spends his nights with, or what he does—only that he’s a good father for Mack.”

Her revelation surprises me a little, and I make no bones about showing it. “I know you loved Bruiser, rest his soul,” I say, “but we’ve always assumed you do what you do for Sawyer because you love him too.”

She shakes her head again, and walks to the fridge. “I thought I did at the start.” Ramona pulls a carton of juice out and goes to fetch a glass. “But I realized a little after Mack was born that it wasn’t love, it’s always been pity.” She pours the orange into the tumbler, and replaces the carton. “I can see the damn boy under all this bullshit, and that’s what frustrates me.”

“We all can,” I assure her. “We all see the kid behind it. But something Vince said recently, which I have to admit is right, is that it’s his cross to bear, Mona. He chose this life; he chose to always do the controversial thing and hurt people in the process. All of this is nobody’s fault, let alone responsibility, but his own.”

She nods, and takes a sip of juice. “I guess. But I can’t turn off the fact I care.”

“I know.”

“Who you talking about?” We both startle at the sound of Ty’s voice. Neither of us had seen him come in.

“Sawyer,” Ramona answers honestly. “I was just wondering what’s been happening since he got handed over.”

“You shouldn’t worry yourself over it,” Ty scolds. “He’s big enough and ugly enough to look after himself.”

Ramona snorts. “Big enough, but he’s certainly not ugly.”

The admission seems to unnerve Ty, who reaches into the cupboard for one of our freshly-made biscuits, failing to hide the scowl on his face. He chomps on the chocolate disc, leaning back on the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles, a deep-set frown squarely in place.

“We never asked King if it’s safe for you to go home,” I point out to Ramona as I pull out a small plate for Mack.

Her eyes flick to Ty, and then rest on me. “No. I didn’t think about it.”

“We can always call,” I suggest, setting out some crackers. “No rush now though.”

The subtle body language between these two isn’t lost on me. Ty finishes his biscuit with firm bites, and Ramona’s gaze roams everywhere about the room but on him—despite the fact the boy’s eyes haven’t left her face since we stopped talking.

“How are you getting on?” I ask Ty, eager to break the tension.

“Slow, but making progress.”

I pass Ramona, and take a cheese slice from the fridge. “Have you got a plan? I mean, I know you’re going to send Bronx in, but do you know how?”

He shrugs, still watching Ramona. “I have ideas, but I need to gather the info first.”

“How are you doing that?” Ramona asks.

“Background checks. Tracking movements, connections, and usual transaction habits. The better I know them, the better I can predict what could go wrong.”

She twitches a smile, and her eyes dance over him as he stands. “Sounds like you really care about Bronx’s welfare.”

Ty closes the gap between them, and stands a mere foot from her position beside me. “I look after everything I care about.”

My
skin heats at the underlying message in his words, and I can only imagine how turned on this must be making her. Vince saves us all by choosing that moment to enter the house with the others in tow.

“What’s to eat, beautiful?” he calls across the living room.

I smile, and dart from the kitchen with the plate of food before I feel any more as if I’m imposing on a private moment than I already was. “Nothing for you, handsome.”

Vince slaps my ass as I pass by and place Mack’s snack on the table. “Mack, sweetheart. Food is on the table, buddy.”

He drops his crayon, and leaps to his feet with limber skills that I could only wish to possess. “Thanks, Sonya.”

“Anyone got any washing they’d like done?” Jane asks, crossing the room to the laundry with a basket in her hands.

Everybody either shakes their head, or mutters a ‘no’.

“Would you like some help?” I ask, unsure what to do next.

Jane shakes her head and smiles. “No, thank you. I’m good.” She vanishes into the laundry, leaving me at a loose end.

Vince takes a seat at the table with the guys, and they get to talking more on the business at hand. Ty’s eyes track Ramona as she walks from the kitchen to where I’ve decided to settle myself on the sofa. The boy has it for her bad, and I nudge her knee once she’s seated beside me.

“You have quite the admirer, there.”

She looks to me, and blushes. “Maybe.”

I pick up the TV remote and flick through the channels, trying to find us some background noise to stop any of the boys eavesdropping.

“Do you really think he likes me?” Ramona asks.

I smile at the clear admission she hasn’t stopped thinking on it. “Seems pretty obvious to me.”

Her fingers fuss with the hem of her leggings. “I feel like it’s wrong after Bruiser, even though all we had was a kind-of affair. I mean, I felt really strongly for him, but I can’t say for sure I loved him like you thought I did. We’d never made a commitment to each other or anything.”

“I understand that, but you can’t hide yourself away.”

“Like you did?”

My face pales. “Yeah, like I did.” How’s that for being called out?

“You don’t think the club would look down on me if I was seen with someone else?”

I shake my head. “Half of them have no idea what you and Bruiser got up to, and besides, most of them aren’t really in a position to be throwing stones.”

She seems slightly placated by the thought, and relaxes her posture. “He’s cute.” Ramona smirks.

I glance over her shoulder at the men, and nod. She’s dead right—the boy is good looking. Despite the shock of dark hair that’s styled longer on top, Ty’s trimmed beard and sharp dress sense give him an unobtrusive air of sophistication. He comes across as upper class in appearance, but certainly fits in with this rowdy bunch just as well.

My eyes track to Vince, sitting on the far side of the table and facing me. I wait for him to look my way, but the seconds turn to minutes and I give up. He’s far too engrossed in what they’re discussing to even acknowledge I’m in the room. Some reality TV program has since absorbed Ramona’s attention, and Jane is still busy banging about in the laundry.

I glance around, hoping to see something I can occupy my time with, but everything is in place. There’s not even a sign of a dust-bunny for me to capture. I could sit with Ramona and watch the petty dramas of people I don’t know, but sitting idle isn’t a task I do well with.

On the second sweep of the room, I spot Jane’s low bookcase. It houses two-dozen or so worn paperbacks, and I move off the sofa to investigate. The spines are creased, indicating the collection is well loved, and I run my finger across the rippled titles as I browse. A crime thriller snags my attention, and I pick it up to read the back cover.

The premise grabs my interest, and I figure it’s been a fair while since I’ve had the opportunity to just sit back and read. The noise level in the living room—taking into account a television competing against four talking men—is far too high to concentrate. I gather up the book, a bottle of water from the kitchen, and relocate to the spare room we’ve been sleeping in.

Sunlight warms one side of the bed. I position myself so the book and my head are out of the heat, but my legs hang over the edge of the mattress, soaking up the rays. The story intrigues me from the get-go, and I soon lose myself in the book, only realizing how much time passes by the changing light.

Warm afternoon hues lick the walls of the room, and I finally close the book at the end of a chapter to take a breather. I set the story aside, and rise from the bed to make a toilet stop. As I cross the hallway, I can’t help but notice the men have moved. Rest stop complete, I decide to detour via the living room and check out what everyone is up to.

Ramona has fallen asleep on the sofa, her head lolled at an awkward angle to rest on her shoulder. Mack is engrossed in the cartoons that now play, curled up in the corner of the armchair with his favorite tiger teddy. Jane sits out on the porch with the men, playing with Rocco between her feet as he tugs on a rope toy like the puppy he most certainly isn’t. The mood out there appears to have lightened, and the guys are laughing with each other as they swap stories.

Pausing in the entranceway to the hall, I watch everybody for a while, pain spreading in my chest when it becomes obvious how invisible I am. They’re so settled, going about life as usual, and not even missing me in the slightest.

I’m not needed here.

Panic takes hold, and I dart back to the spare room, intent on finding escape in the story again. Only it never happens. It’s not for the lack of suspense in the book, simply that my heart’s no longer in it.

I’m distracted, thinking about how happy everyone was without me. As much as I can see the ridiculousness of it, I can’t stop feeling cheated by Vince. Why didn’t he come get me when they’d finished discussing the club business? Does he not want me there?

An overwhelming home sickness takes over, and I flop onto the bed, cursing the fact I came down on the back of Vince’s bike. If only I had the truck then I could head home, back to where I’m wanted and where I’m needed—even if most of the time it’s only to do the housekeeping.

The alarm I’m feeling is ludicrous. I’ve been reading for an hour or two, tops. Nobody has actually said anything to indicate they’re excluding me on purpose, but still I feel redundant. If I were here, or back at the clubhouse, I wonder if it would really matter. Have I been of any use to Vince on this trip other than being a plaything at night? After all, they never cashed in on my connection to the southern chapter—they didn’t need to.

I want to believe having me here has made a difference to Vince’s trip, but my stupid insecurities have me wondering what it is that makes me so special. Why would he want me for anything more than a bed-warmer? What benefit could I have possibly brought just by being here at the house the whole time?