Illusive (Storm MC 5)

Smiling, I leant against the doorframe, and folded my arms across my chest. “Nice to meet you, Griff. I’m Sophia.”

He gave me a nod and turned away from me again.

As he took another step, I called out again, “And Griff?”

Stopping again, he turned his whole body this time to look at me. His lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed on me while he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah?” he said, his voice all kinds of gravel, the kind of gravel that made me thank God for men.

“Tell Josie, anytime she needs something, just call out, okay?”

Blowing out a breath, he nodded again. “Will do.”

And then he was gone, and I couldn’t help but hope like hell that I ran into him again. Soon.

4

Griff

Fuck, it’s too early in the morning for this.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table, fumbling when I couldn’t grasp it. Frustration punched through me and I squinted my eyes open to see where the phone was. Locating it, I snatched it up and eyed the time. Just after five in the morning. Then I saw the name on the caller ID, and that jolted me out of bed.

Scott.

Fuck.

“What’s up, brother?” I asked as I stretched. Jesus, the workout I’d given myself last night had left me in a world of hurt.

“There’s been a fire at Trilogy. Can you meet me there?”

One of Storm’s restaurants.

“Yeah. Any idea how bad?” I asked as I began pulling clothes on.

“Not sure yet,” he answered, and I heard Harlow’s voice in the background. Scott said something to her and then came back to me. “See you soon,” he said before ending the call.

I finished throwing on clothes and headed out to my bike. The minute I stepped foot outside, the humidity stuck to me. Fuck, this summer was brutal – not even six in the morning and already a scorcher.

As I sped off towards Trilogy, I thought the only good thing about leaving for work this early was the lack of traffic. My home in Bulimba wasn’t far from where Trilogy was in The Valley, but peak hour traffic more than doubled the time to get there some mornings. The lack of traffic today meant I pulled up outside the restaurant just over fifteen minutes later.

Surveying the damage from the fire, I estimated the restaurant was as good as fucked. I found Scott talking to one of the firies. When they’d finished their conversation and we were alone, Scott confided, “Looks like arson. They found empty fuel containers, and while they won’t voice their suspicions, I know we sure as fuck don’t keep fuel containers on the premises.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, my brain scrambling to figure out who would set fire to the restaurant and what their motive would be.

A vein pulsed in his neck as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You and I have got some visiting to do today, brother. Nash and J can keep digging for the info on Ricky’s deal, but I want us to figure this fire out.”

I nodded. “Agreed.”

“Wilder can take the lead on dealing with the staff and insurance.”

“I’ll go over it with him, make sure he’s up to speed,” I said, wanting to take some of the load off Scott.

“Thanks,” he said as he kicked some debris on the ground in front of us. Looking at me, exhaustion clear in his eyes, he muttered, “When do you think all the shit will let up? Because I’m getting fuckin’ tired of it landing in our laps. It feels like just when we sort out one issue, another one flares up.”

It was a question I’d asked myself often lately. “No idea, man. But I hope it’s soon because every time we get dragged into shit, it’s taking us away from the one thing we really need to be putting time into. And that concerns the fuck outta me.”

“You’re talking about the club, yeah?”

Nodding, I said, “Yeah. There’s still a divide between the boys and us. Marcus made damn sure of that before he died, and as much as I hate to admit it, we’re really fucking struggling here to come back from that.” The motherfucker had spread so many lies about Scott and turned most of the club against him. My unwavering support of Scott after Marcus’s death had caused them to doubt me as well.