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"Ohhhh," Billie said, shrugging.
"Yeah, that probably makes more sense," I agreed. "I mean Malc isn't known for being particularly loquacious."
"...Right here," Malcolm said.
"The beginnings of your sentences keep getting lost, huh, buddy?" Billie said, pressing the side of her head to his. "That bad tequila, just snatching the words away from you."
"... Gave it me."
"Oops, there goes the middles too," she said, shooting me a guilty look. "Don't worry. We are leaving in just a minute. You want to go wait outside?" she asked as I dropped money into the book the server left, and started to collect our things.
"...'S good," Malc said, something we all took for agreement as we got up from our table.
Billie tucked herself under one of Malc's arms, and Gracie the other while I moved in front to create a path to move through.
"We need to drop him off first," I declared as I saw the big Henchmen SUV pulling down the street. "I don't want to be in the car with him if the tequila decides to make a reappearance."
"These shoes are new," Gracie agreed, looking a little green at the idea of having puke on them.
"Ladies," Rowe said, hopping out of the car when we walked Malcolm over to it. "What'd you do to him?" Gracie and I must have both shot a look in Billie's direction, because Rowe's gaze went there. When he spoke, he had that frustrated, but unsurprised tone parents used on troublesome kids. "Billie?"
"It's not my fault. It's the tequila's fault."
"And who gave him the tequila?" I asked, watching as Rowe took Gracie's place, helping his best friend climb into the SUV.
"I'll drop him first," Rowe said as we all shuffled in. "If he throws up in here, it will be the prospects who have to deal with it. And Dezi doesn't lift a finger if he can help it. I don't understand," he said once we were on the road. "Wasn't Malc supposed to be your DD tonight?"
"Yeah. We were a little surprised when he came in and started double-fisting drinks," I agreed.
"That's not like him," Rowe murmured, mostly to himself as he turned down the main street of Navesink Bank.
All the guys in the MC drank. They maybe even drank more than the average person. But Malcolm had always been someone with pretty impressive self-control. I'd never seen him tipsy, let alone wasted. Clearly, Rowe hadn't either.
"...'M tired," Malcolm mumbled from the backseat where Billie was letting him lean on her shoulder as she pet his head.
"We're home," she told him as Rowe pulled into the gates.
Before we could even attempt to wrestle Malc out of the car, one of the new guys, Dezi, moved in to brush me out of the way, reaching for Malcolm's arm himself.
"Nearly beating someone to death, barely skirting charges, and now getting trashed? I think the big guy and I are gonna be good friends," Dezi declared, taking most of Malc's impressive weight without more than a slight exhale of breath. "I'll handle this. Get the girls home safe," he said, shooting Gracie, who he hadn't met yet, a wink.
"Princess too," Rowe declared, making Dezi sigh out his breath.
"The fuck?" he grumbled, shaking his head, but turning and leading Malcolm away.
"So, Rowe," Billie said, leaning between the seats of the SUV between Rowe and me. "Any idea who had Malcolm drowning in tequila and Chris Stapleton?" she asked.
"Chris... oh, fuck. He didn't sing, did he?"
"I think all the dogs in the neighborhood howled along," I agreed, reaching into my bag. "Don't worry. I made him take off his cut before he got on stage," I told him, placing it on the center console, so he could bring it back to Malcolm.
"Good thinking," Rowe said, giving me a nod.
"So, what's her name?" Billie asked, voice going sing-song.
"I can't..."
"Listen, either you tell us now, or we get it out of our cousins. But someone is going to tell us," I told him.
"Fine. It's Holly. Holly and she works at the diner he goes to all the time. And she bakes cookies. That's all I know. Malc isn't exactly the kind of guy who shares shit like that."
"Fair enough," I agreed, relating to that trait. God, if my friends and family knew half the shit I had going on...well, they would probably lock me up in the glass room and never let me leave.
"The diner, you say," Billie said, hatching a plan.
"Girls," Rowe said, voice holding a warning.
"We just want to look at her," Gracie said.
"Somehow I doubt looking is all you'll do."
"What? Us? Having bad intentions?" Billie asked, pressing a hand to her chest in mock outrage.
"Just be nice. She's got some shit going on it seems like."
"We're always nice," Gracie insisted.
Though we were all in silent agreement that anyone who hurt our big guy was in a world of hurt from us if she didn't have a good excuse for herself.
