Hopefully Samuels will have stricken his name from the database. He’s the only fed I trust and rely on. He said he would do all he could but he couldn’t promise anything. It all depends on those who handled the case, if they were dirty or not. Chances are at least one of them would have been and the name would have been passed back to Stone’s boys.
Maddox… what the hell have you done?
When I hear the roar of a bike in my driveway, Tucker steps in front of me and radios to his companions who are circling my property. “We have company. Be ready.”
I peer at the window at the fifteen bikes turning in my front yard so as to be facing the right direction when they need to escape. Stone is leading them but only he and two others enter my house without permission.
“We were wondering when you’d be back,” Stone yells and it echoes around my home, bouncing off the windows and white walls.
I descend the stairs and greet him at the bottom.
“We’re to keep you here until Nastya arrives.” He glances at the cleaning crew who are working through the living area and whistles loudly. “Fuck off upstairs.”
The two women and one man all nod and take their things up to my room. At least I’ll have something clean to crawl into later if I’m not dead.
“This isn’t necessary,” I growl, annoyed that I’m being forced into staying. “If you simply called when she arrived, I’d have come. I have nothing to hide.”
“Well then this should go easily enough.” Stone grins and walks to the refrigerator.
“The feds emptied it,” I say when he peers inside looking for beer.
“Those fuckers.” He nods to the guy on his left. “Go down the hill and get a crate and something strong. We’re gonna need it.” We share a knowing look. “Especially if the psycho bitch is coming. Didn’t you tap that?”
I nod, fighting back my grimace.
“Yeah?” He shakes his head. “Me too. Fucking crazy and I know crazy… or at least I thought I did.”
Nastya wasn’t bad, she was just different. Rough, aggressive, liked to be in control and use her teeth a lot. Liked being spanked and called me Daddy. It was a bit weird. Still satisfied me enough to go back a couple of times. Never again.
“She call you Daddy?” he asks and roars with laughter when I nod. “Yeah, I had to toss her out of my bed. Couldn’t be doing with that shit.”
I don’t reply to that because my mind is now elsewhere. “Why have you brought your entire club to my house, Stone?”
“I don’t trust the feds not to turn up again. They’ve scattered to watch the area. My club has been tossed too. They know we’re working together so it’s just a matter of time before we all go in.”
That makes sense. “Please don’t leave blood stains on my walls.”
“Can’t make promises when I don’t know your position in this.” He smiles dangerously. “Seems a bit suspect to me that you’re trying to get out of your deal weeks before the feds are called.”
“I had nothing to fucking do with this.”
“That’s why you won’t give us a name?”
Shit. “I’m not giving you a name because it’s not the idiot’s fault. They were doing what any normal person would have done when finding a crate full of drugs and weapons.”
He nods thoughtfully. “But you know we can’t let it slide. If word gets out that all they gotta do is call the pigs to get out of a deal, we’ll be out of business by the mornin’.”
A good point.
We sit in silence for a while, I take my phone out of my pocket and look for messages from Tempest. I told her not to get in touch, but I hate the fact she hasn’t. It’s better this way.
We don’t speak again to each other until his buddies returns with alcohol which I accept easily. I need something to take the edge off.
“Where’s that pretty little thing you’ve been keeping to yourself? Tempest was it?” Stone asks suddenly as I sip my whiskey and clear my throat to help ease the burn.
“We aren’t together,” I lie. “She was a fling that ended.”
His eyes narrow but he doesn’t reply as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway has my body becoming solid cement.
Nastya is here.
Tucker moves to me, uneasy at the situation. He’s not out of his depth but he is outnumbered.
“You know the rules,” Stone says, and Tucker, his men, myself, and Stone’s men all place our phones on the TV stand.
We’re patted down for wires and other devices as Nastya’s heels click on my wooden floor.
“Sargent,” she announces, her tone saccharine and fake.
She approaches me on three-inch pumps, her legs narrow and long. She’s only an inch shorter than me with the heels. Her dark red hair is pulled back so tight into a high ponytail that the skin around her small eyes seems stretched.