I followed silently. Once we were inside, he offered me coffee and as he made it, I asked cautiously, “Everything good with you and Harlow?” Being in Scott’s home wasn’t something I experienced often. And being alone with him even less. There was a distance between us that, as much as I’d tried to close it, had hardly changed since we’d met last year. We were both too stubborn and moody for our own good. I inwardly grimaced: a trait we shared with our father.
He glanced at me before giving his attention back to the coffee. His voice was off when he finally spoke. “No, we’re going through some stuff at the moment. It’s fucked.” His hands stilled and his gaze hit mine. What I saw there made me suck in a breath. Whatever was going on, Scott was having a tough time at the moment because his face was a mask of torment. His eyes were hard when he added, “Everything’s fucked.”
I let him get it out and then let him finish making coffee. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t force it. A few minutes later, he placed a mug in front of me and said, “Marcus’s first coke shipment hit the streets this week. Seems this has pissed some of your old friends off.”
“Who?” Actually, I had a good idea who he was talking about but needed to know the name. It wasn’t a name I wanted to hear, though.
“Ricky Grecian.” His stare penetrated me; he knew what this name meant to me.
I acknowledged it with a quick nod. “Figured that would happen.”
“What does this mean for Storm?” He asked the question but he had to know the repercussions. Everyone in Brisbane knew Ricky was a man to be avoided at all costs.
I humoured him regardless. “Let’s just say Ricky will twist your balls till you wished you didn’t fucking have any, because the thing about him is he likes to play with his opponents for a while. He’ll eventually try to take you out but he likes to have some fun beforehand.” I paused before adding, “Ricky’s a sadistic fuck. Has Marcus got this covered?”
Scott raked his hand through his hair, the look on his face indicating he clearly didn’t think so, but he replied, “He says he has but I have my doubts. And the division in the club at the moment won’t help us.”
“Where are you at with all this?” It had been a few months since Griff took over as Vice President, and I’d watched as the club had slowly begun falling apart. The support Marcus and Griff had at first was beginning to take a hit. I suspected this had to do with the direction Marcus was taking the club; he’d made a lot of promises in order to gather support, but the reality of it wasn’t as rosy.
He drank some of his coffee and took his time answering me. “More of the boys have come to me with concerns about how Marcus is handling stuff. Problem is they haven’t voiced that to him so he thinks they’re all behind him, and still will be behind him, when shit goes down with Ricky.”
“You need to deal with that, and soon.”
He blew out a long breath. “Fuck, Blade, what the hell do you think I’m trying to fucking do? I’ve got J and Nash helping, but even between the three of us, with all the other normal club business we’ve got to take care of, shit’s going slow.”
“I’m telling you, don't fuck around with Ricky. Put your other shit to the side and take care of this first. Otherwise, you might not have a club to even worry about.”
As we sat in frustrated silence, glaring at each other, a voice boomed from the front door. “Scott, why is this fuckin’ cat still at your house giving me grief?”
I turned to see Nash entering the kitchen a moment later. He lifted his chin in greeting before looking at Scott with a perplexed gaze. “What’s up with the cat?”
Scott shrugged. “Fucked if I know. Monty seems to like it here more than next door. Lisa’s over here visiting Harlow half the fuckin’ time so I guess her cat just follows. What’s your problem with him?”
“He has it in for me! Tries to attack me every fuckin’ time he sees me,” Nash grumbled.
“Jesus Christ, Nash, he’s a fuckin’ cat, for god’s sake. Get your shit together. We’ve got more important things to worry about at the moment,” Scott snapped.
“Fuck you, asshole,” Nash muttered.
I cut in, “I don’t have time to sit around talking about a fucking cat. Nash, where are you at with that lead on Blue you mentioned to me the other day?”
He scowled before answering me. “We’re thinking Blue could be an old Storm member who’s now living in Western Australia. He had a heart attack years ago and moved back home. But he was tight with Marcus before they had a falling out, so, we’re figuring, even if he’s not Blue he might have an idea who is.”
“You going to check it out?”
Nash nodded. “Yeah, heading out tomorrow.”