“Nothing’s going on, so you don’t need to worry. I was just sorting out some stuff that needed sorting.”
He turned silent for a beat. “Have you spoken with your mother yet?”
“No.”
“You need to.”
“I will.”
“Lily,” his tone became more commanding, “call her tomorrow.”
“God, you’re so freaking bossy, even all the way from Brisbane,” I muttered. “Fine, I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Let me know when you’ve spoken to her.”
Jesus, the man was relentless.
I changed the subject. “I spoke with Cherie again today.”
“Fuck,” he growled,
but I cut him off.
“Before you go all hard-core president on me, I’d just like to point something out here. Me sharing what I know with you is like you getting involved in my problems with my mother. In the same way that you’re trying to help me, I’m trying to help you.”
I waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, I continued, “I don’t want a thing to do with your club business, King, so get that idea out of your head. But what I am going to do in future, whether you like it or not, is tell you stuff I think you might need to know for the sake of your club. And what you need to know today is that Wolf’s father committed suicide three weeks ago and he’s struggling. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. And you can come home and tell me to keep shit to myself or whatever you want, but you need to know, before we get married, that if I have information I believe is important to one of your club members’ wellbeing, I’m going to pass it on. That’s just basic care for a fellow human.”
Silence again, and then—“You finished?”
“Yes.”
“Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
We ended the call and I wondered if he’d listened to what I’d said. Like, really listened. I hoped so, but if nothing else, he hadn’t argued with me over any of it.
Who knew what thoughts ran through King’s mind? I certainly didn’t. What I did know, though, was that he surprised me more often than not, so maybe he had taken in what I said and maybe he would act on it.
9
King
Late Wednesday afternoon, Havoc turned up at the Brisbane clubhouse with the information I’d been hunting for weeks.
“Found your guy, King,” he said as he entered Scott Cole’s office where Cole and I had been going over our plan for the night.
“Where?” I asked, feeling more fucking hopeful than I had all day. I’d come this fucking close to Kent earlier, but someone had tipped him off.
“I dropped him off at the warehouse about half an hour ago. He’s restrained and waiting for you. A word of caution though: he’s Salvatore Bianchi’s cousin.”
Fuck, that was why we’d failed to locate him. Bianchi was a kingpin with a network of allies that stretched to every fucking corner of the country. If he wanted to hide someone, you’d never find them.
“How did you find him?” Cole asked.
Havoc unscrewed the lid of the whisky bottle on the desk. “When you’ve been on the road for as long as I have, you meet a lot of fuckin’ people. And if you give them enough liquor, soon enough they start talking.” He poured a drink and threw some down his throat before looking at me and saying, “You’re lucky he’s still alive. The motherfucker gave me enough hell that I wanted to take my own fuckin’ knife to him.”
Scott eyed me. “You want any help on this?”
I poured myself a whisky and drank it in one gulp. “I’ll take Hyde.” But first, I had someone to see. Glancing at Havoc, I said, “Good fucking work, brother.”