He laid on the bullshit and I dug deep for the patience needed to deal with him. “I can probably come up with half of it by tomorrow,” he said.
Failing to find any patience, I took one last stride in his direction, pulled my arm back, and smashed my fist into his face. I welcomed the blood that flew at me; I fucking lived for that blood. Not giving him time to catch a breath, I backed the first punch up with another one to his gut. He doubled over in agony, expletives streaming from his mouth. My mind wasn’t even processing his words; it was intently focused on delivering more pain to him. I continued to land punches on his face and body until he collapsed onto the ground and curled himself up into a ball, trying desperately to shelter himself from me.
“Stop!” he screamed, drawing me from my violent haze.
I pulled back, caught my breath and demanded, “You got the money now, motherfucker?”
“Not all of it, but—”
I didn’t give him time to finish that sentence. Bending down, I reefed him up, and slammed him backwards against the wall. Moving close, I snarled, “There will be no negotiations. Either you’ve got the fucking money or you don’t.”
“And if I don’t? What happens then?”
Narrowing my eyes on him, I asked, “This the first time you’ve ever owed King money?”
“Yeah, why?” He was doing a damn good job at appearing unaffected, but his tells were there and I could read them all.
“I just thought I’d educate you a little, because it seemed to me like you were under the impression there are options here. When you owe King that kind of money, you pay.” I paused for a moment to let that sink in. When he showed no signs of understanding, I elaborated. “You either pay up or King finds another way to encourage payment.”
His brow furrowed. “Not sure I’m following,” he said.
Fuck me.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you're a dumb cunt, aren’t you?” I muttered. Seriously, how this fucker managed to get through life astounded me. I reached for the back of his head, grabbed a handful of his hair, and pulled his head back. Leaning close to his face, I asked, “You like breathing, motherfucker? You like your family members breathing? 'Cause if you fuckin’ do, you better pay King his fuckin’ money.” I let his hair go and smacked the back of his head. “You following now?”
Before he could reply, his friend cut in. “Whatever he’s short, I can put in.”
I turned to face him. “Someone with some fuckin’ brains. And what about the money you owe?”
Nodding furiously, he agreed to pay up. “I can cover it all. Just leave our families out of this.”
I could smell his fear. That got my blood pumping almost as much as using my fists. “Your friend can’t come up with his money till tomorrow, but I’m not waiting till then. You good to cover him in the meantime?”
“Yes,” he said. “No problem. I’ll go now and get it. Should I meet you back here?”
I chuckled. “Not fuckin’ likely, dickhead. We’ll all get the money.”
Resignation crossed his face, and he nodded.
Griff ended his phone call and joined back in on the conversation. “We good to go, brother?” he asked me.
“We are.”
“Thank fuck, because we have more shit that’s just come up and you’re needed on that.”
My happy levels spiked at the thought. Looked like my week was taking a turn for the better. If I had to be in Brisbane, at least I would be having some fun during my stay.
* * *
As I entered the bar of the clubhouse, I took in the familiar surroundings. It was still the same as it had been six months earlier, and wasn’t much different from two years ago when I walked away from it all for the peacefulness of the nomad life. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and most of the boys were at work, so the bar was fairly empty. Even the pool table in the back corner was empty. I liked the quiet and the lack of people.
“Havoc,” Nash grinned as he came towards me. Slapping me on the back, he said, “I heard you were in town. It’s been awhile, asshole. How the fuck you been?”
I’d been back for two weeks and had met with Marcus at a local bar where he’d detailed some jobs he had for me. This was the first time I’d seen anyone else. My preference was to take care of shit on my own and Marcus had no issues with that.
“Same old shit, different day,” I said, thinking that nothing much changed in my life anymore. I spent my days either dealing with assholes, or on my bike. Both were enjoyable, but lately it had started feeling a little empty. I didn’t want to think about what that meant so I did my best to avoid thinking. Easier said than fucking done.
“You ready to come home yet?” Nash asked the question that my father and sister kept pestering me with—the question that irritated the fuck out of me.
“No.”
Nash didn’t push it. “Fair enough, brother.” He paused for a moment, his gaze travelling to my shirt. “You been dealing with some shit today?”