“Dude, are you nuts?” The fellow licked the rolling paper and paused long enough to add, “Scram!”
“Not happening,” Markie said, snatching the joint and the lighter.
“What are you doing?” Draegan smacked Markie on the back of the head. He glanced at the bewildered one who looked like he’d just lost his best friend.
Completely dumbfounded, the stoner said, “He stole my—”
“I can see that,” Draegan said, plucking it from Markie’s fingers and throwing the lighter and the joint in the sink. Before anyone turned on the water, the three punks blocked the counter, butting their hips against the basin as if they thought someone in the McCall party would try to wage a war.
“Grief,” Mac muttered, walking around Harley.
“Let Draegan deal with him,” Harley said, following him through the terminal.
“What was up with that?” Mac asked, seemingly concerned.
“Markie hates to fly.”
“So he’s what…seeing rats on planes and scoring pot in a public restroom?” Mac threw up his arm. “Come on, Harley. He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be in an airport bathroom trying to find ganja.”
“Ganja?” Sable joined them, her gaze working from one man to the next. “What are you two up to now?”
Harley gave his woman a heated gaze fuck and then slipped his arm around her waist. “Same question, pretty lady. What were you and Mac up to when Markie cried wolf?”
“Want me to tell you or show you?”
“Since you’re sitting between us on the next flight, I’ll hold you to the showing.”
“Forget that,” Mac said, acting all wound up. “She owes me a satisfying finish.”
“I can handle both of you—anytime, anywhere.”
Harley stopped abruptly, gaining his bearings. He remembered a club he and Allister had joined the last time they were in Atlanta. The Throne Room, an exclusive club for members only, had some awesome private suites. They were the equivalent to a small New York City boutique hotel room. “How long before boarding?”
“Oh that’s why I came to find you. There’s a problem with our plane. We’re on an hour delay.” Sable didn’t have a clue, but her announcement was like an unexpected hand job in the middle of an afternoon matinee.
“Just an hour?” Mac glanced up at the sign pointing to the VIP club. “You thinking what I’m thinking, little brother?”
“I am, big brother,” Harley said, leading the way.
Mac’s and Harley’s phones buzzed at the same time. Harley frowned as he read the final part. “Markie burned one with the strangers.”
Mac immediately typed out a message. Allister’s text hit before Mac could send his. Apparently Allister and Markie were in a war of words.
“Are you reading all this?” Harley asked, more concerned than amused. “What’s up with Markie these days?”
Mac shook his head. “No idea.”
“I may have one, guys,” Sable said. “Markie was traumatized when Vin Vance abducted him. He was beaten, maybe even abused more than we know. He’s coming around, but he’s not quite himself yet.”
“He keeps saying he needs to get laid,” Mac said. “Maybe that’s what it is.”
“This goes beyond basic needs, man.” Harley stopped long enough to check the signs, making sure they were headed in the right direction. “Since when does he do drugs in a public place?”
“Since when does he do drugs at all?” Sable asked. “You guys need to sit him down one on one and find out what happened. He’s been erratic for several weeks now. The women have noticed it. Serena mentioned it to Draegan. I just assumed he had talked to you.”
“Draegan protects him,” Mac said, looking guilt ridden.
“Don’t start that shit.” Harley pointed at him. “Markie could’ve died. Yes. He could’ve been tortured and killed and there wouldn’t have been a thing we could’ve done about it, but never forget the most basic underlying truth here. He put himself in a terrible situation. He’s a grown man and knew better.”