Page 16 of Rough Road

The crates they were sitting on were full of guns - rifles, shotguns, automatics of every make and model. They brought him comfort. He stood up. The man in charge. And it was time to take control, time to right the wrongs.

“This isn’t about the club or the business.” His voice came with confidence. “It’s about me. They want me.” The plan sat somewhere just out of his grasp, but he had their attention and he needed to keep it. “And I want Fiona and London safe.” A couple of random nods. “I need to go in.”

“You plan to just walk in the front door?” Hamilton stared at him. “They’ll kill all three of you.”

That wasn’t the endgame plan. Sedotal didn’t want Grier dead. Not until he made him suffer. He wanted to take everything. Fiona and the baby. Jez. The club. Then he would kill Grier and not one minute before. And he didn’t have the club yet.

“No. He needs the connections that Fiona has. The names, the computer, won’t do any good without her.” This was thinking out loud, spit-balling. “And she won’t give them anything if they hurt the baby.” Yes. He knew that. But the damned plan. He just couldn’t get a hold on it. “She won’t let them hurt the baby.” God, he needed sleep, to clear his head, figure out what to do. “I have to go in.”

Hamilton shook his head. “No.”

“She needs me.” She would be waiting for him. For him, not for Hamilton or Sage or Dave. She would be waiting for her husband to save her. He would walk in, take back what belonged to him and those he belonged to.

“She needs us.” Hamilton put a hand on his shoulder. “But we have to go in smart. He’s not going to leave her unguarded, not even for a second. You can’t give yourself up if it doesn’t get her out. There’s a better way.”

Grier closed his eyes, tried to focus. “No. It has to be me. I’m what they want.”

“You’ve been out here for three days watching that damned building. You haven’t eaten, you haven’t slept, you’re on the edge and you’re about to fall over.” He banged the front wall of the truck, the wall behind the cab. The truck started and Grier lunged for the door, but Hamilton caught him, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground. He couldn’t get any purchase, couldn’t move. So, he stopped.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Hamilton.” He growled the words and they had absolutely no effect.

“Maybe, but not today.” Hamilton shoved him down onto the crate and stood over him. “Today, you’re going home, and you’re going to sleep and eat and for God’s sake take a shower. Then when your head is clear, you’re going to figure out what to do. Jim and that fucking Kye are watching the studio. There’s nothing you can do right now.”

He’d left Sage with Kye. “Where’s Sage?”

Hamilton shook his head. “You sent him to try to get into their security system.”

When? When had he done that? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Why would he think Sage could break into a security system? He listed the things he knew about Sage. Ex-military. Army ranger? Was that right? But before that… he’d been a computer hacker, sentenced by a judge to either enlist or go to jail for a hack into an Air Force drone. Yes. That was why Grier had thought Sage would be able to get into the system.

Right. It was coming back to him. Sage was tech. Intel. Dave was surveillance, death without gunshots. Hamilton, an enforcer. Death with many gunshots. He closed his eyes. He needed… Fiona.

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Fiona stared at the man holding her baby. He’d waited while she cleaned herself up, brought a doctor to see her, medicate her, fix some of what Tyler had damaged. He’d given her the clothes she’d packed for her trip to Belize, and he’d rescued her from another beating.

He stared at her through Grier’s eyes, with Grier’s smile, even held London in that one-armed way Grier did, firm and secure but with a casualness Fiona had never been able to replicate. “I want you to call my son.”

Over the years, Fiona had learned a lot from her father. She’d watched him talk and talk until he gained the confidence of those around him. He used that same method when he was interrogating or torturing whoever was on his receiving end. They got the stories of his youth and somehow, he always managed to find some link between his story and the situation. Maybe it was a skill or a gift or maybe he was just a liar, but he knew what he was doing. Fiona, on the other hand, had no choice but to use silence and hope it worked.

“You look so much like your mother. Or you did until… I’m sorry about Tyler.” He walked a full circle around her. “He doesn’t understand the nuances yet of this… legacy of ours.”

Oh, dear God. He could save this line of shit. Nothing going on here had one damned thing to do with legacies or nuances. This was greed and evil. But she waited.

“My sons. Two sons. One I would have given my life for, the other who would gladly take it.” He held out his hand for hers then tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm. “Do you know which one’s which?”

She shrugged one shoulder as he handed her the baby and motioned for her to sit on the sofa in the room he’d brought her to. It was smaller than the studio room but furnished like an apartment, complete with a refrigerator and microwave. The furniture was 1970s tacky and about as comfortable as if it had been stuffed with concrete, but she sat and crossed her ankles, glad not to have to worry about being hit. How low she’d sunk.

Carr paced in front of her then came to sit beside her, his knees turned toward hers. “I loved Jezebel more than I loved my own life.” He smiled at her. “Loved your dad, too. Good man, that one.” Max Strong was a lot of things. A good man wasn’t one of them. He’d lied, every day of his life. Cheated. Ran drugs, guns, and women. Broke more laws than he kept. Killed men for smiling wrong or talking to him without the respect he felt he deserved. And goddammit, she missed him. But the last thing she needed was to sit in a room with this nostalgic clown while he waxed poetic about Max and Jez and a club he walked away from.

“What do you want?” She spoke slowly because the pain was there, always there and she couldn’t fight that and him.

“Just like your father. To the point.” He pushed his legs out straight and leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head. “You are exactly what I expected. Spitting image of your mom, Max’s attitude, his toughness.” He shifted and looked at her. “I can’t let you go. My boys have to work this out because there can only be one club here that takes it all.”

Jesus, now he was turning this into some pathetic folk song. Next to batshit crazy in the urban dictionary, they’d have an eight by ten glossy of this fucker. “And what am I, the prize?”

“You’re the tool. Your business is the prize. My son thinks he can use your computer to take over your business and your club, but you and I know that without you, without Max’s name behind you, there is no business. The contacts he built over the years, the men who trusted him, they won’t just fall in line unless you tell them to, unless you’re part of the package.” He nodded. “Did you know that in the old days when your dad and I disagreed, we fought it out the old-fashioned way?” He rubbed his hand over his jaw then sat up. “That bastard always won. So strong. Funny that he’s dead now and I’m not.” At least he had the good grace to look ashamed. “Well, not funny ha-ha obviously, but funny in an ironic sense.”

“Mm.” Not funny in any sense, but she had her baby in her arms and she’d be seeing Grier very soon, so arguing could wait, but she added Carr to her list and focused on Grier. Grier, who wouldn’t be dumb enough to come into this place without enough artillery and ammunition to blow it sky-high. Grier, who would save her from this and kill everyone in his path.