Slay (Storm MC 4)

“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.”

“Good. It’s way past fucking time we worked this riddle out. Whoever the hell this Blue is, he’s damn good at covering his tracks. I’ve never had my boys come up blank when looking for someone.” I drank the rest of my coffee and started heading out of the kitchen. I gave Scott one last glance. “Going back to Ricky: I’ve known him to kill for less than what Marcus has stirred up. Don’t fuck around with this.”

&nbs

p; Scott acknowledged that with a quick nod. “I’ll be in touch,” he promised, and I left him and Nash to it. As I walked to my car, images of Ricky flashed through my mind. Sick, twisted images I’d done my best to forget. They’d always be there, though, because the filth of Ricky himself was stained on my soul, and as much as I’d tried to eradicate him from it, we’d seen and done too much together for me to ever be able to completely forget.

***

I found myself at Layla’s bar again that night. I’d discovered her business a little over a year ago and came nearly every night. It was a small bar in The Valley, tucked away in a laneway and afforded me the quiet I needed after a long day. The staff left me alone as well, so that was its final selling point. Up until last night, I’d hardly spoken to any of them. As I entered, I took in how quiet it was for a Friday night. Not good for Layla if she had no cash in the bank.

She was behind the bar and gave me a nod when she saw me. As I headed towards her, she motioned for me to take a seat in my usual corner. I did as she directed, figuring she was going to make good on her offer of a free drink.

A few minutes later, she placed a scotch on the table and slid into the seat across from me. I knocked half the drink back before giving her my attention. Fuck, she really was beautiful. Long, wavy, dark hair framed her face, and curves a man could grip onto filled out her body. She wore tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt. It hugged her breasts and distracted the hell out of me.

“We had some big spenders in here today,” she said, her eyes firmly on mine.

“Good to hear.”

“Figured you might know something about that.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s unusual for us to ever have that type of customer, and then, when one of them mentioned the name Blade, I figured you must have sent them. So I asked them, and fuck me if they didn’t tell me they work for you.”

Her irritation confused me. “I did mention your bar to some of my guys. Thought they may be interested in an out of the way place to relax after work.”

“Did you also fund their little jaunt in here?”

I shrugged. “They were owed bonuses.”

“Fuck,” she muttered, her eyes flashing annoyance at me.

I threw back the rest of my drink. “What’s the problem here, Layla? You need customers and my boys need somewhere to drink. It’s a win-win for everyone,” I said, still not understanding the problem.

“I don’t like owing people, Blade, and now I owe you for two things.”

“Consider the first debt paid.”

She frowned. “How?”

I held up my empty glass. “You bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, like that covers it.”

“Get me another if you must, but after that we’re square.”

She pushed her chair back and stood. “Don’t do shit for me anymore, okay? I can look after myself.”