Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
THE AFTERNOONhad dragged. Finn looked at his watch. Four o’clock. Late enough that he could make his escape. He almost groaned with relief. He shut down his various applications and computer, then shoved the paperwork he hadn’t gotten to in the top drawer, locked it, then placed the key under the sticky-tape holder. Not exactly secure, and due to his increasing paranoiaRocky wouldn’t be happy if he knew, but the papers were just outstanding invoices, nothing out of the ordinary and of no value to anybody.
Finn pushed back from the desk, stood, and pocketed his phone. Mitch was no doubt out in the workshop, so he’d find him there and get them on the road back to the house. He smiled at the thought of heading home, something that was now very appealing—such anabout-face from never wanting to be in the place to suddenly having a reason to want to be there. Finn was even considering doing some improvements to the house to make it more livable. He reasoned it wouldn’t be wasted effort because it would add value he’d get back if—when—he sold the house. So what if he and Mitch would be more comfortable in the meantime?
The hall was quiet apart from thesound of the piped rock music coming from the showroom. Business was good and picking up, surprising in such a crap economy, but the shop usually had a customer or two wandering around, and, most important, they brought their checkbooks. Maybe splurging on personal indulgences such as luxury motorcycles was a way of getting through tough times? Finn chuckled.Maybe I should try it?
Raised voicessuddenly came from Rocky’s office, dowsing Finn’s good mood.Fuck!Finn stepped up his pace, thinking he’d get out of there before he, or the yelling, drew anyone’s attention. The shouting continued as he crossed the showroom and approached the back door—if anything, it got louder.
“Finn!” Finn stopped at Ginger’s call. He turned to face her and groaned.
“No, Ginger. I’m leaving.”
“Please,Finn. You can’t leave. He’s been an arsehole all day, and it’s just getting worse.”
Another yell, this time followed by a slamming door, and the couple of customers stopped their browsing and focused on the hall where Rocky emerged in a fury.
“Fucking fuckers! I’ll goddamn kill them!”
“Finn,” Ginger pleaded and gave Finn a shove toward his brother. Finn sucked in a breath and resigned himselfto getting involved in whatever had Rocky so worked up.
“Hey, Rocky, what’s going on?” He aimed for a casual tone, keeping half an eye on the customers.
“The fucking Brute Riders, that’s what’s going on. I’ll fucking kill them!”
The customers were starting to look uneasy, craning over the displayed motorcycles to peer at the commotion despite the salespeople trying to draw their attention away.
“C’mon, let’s go back to your office. You don’t want to have this conversation out here,” Finn said.
Rocky finally took in his surroundings, gaze darting around the showroom before settling back on Finn.Jesus!His pupils were constricted, and he was jittery. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, Finn nudged him back the way he’d come. Rocky tripped over his feet but thankfullydidn’t put up much resistance. Finn looked over his shoulder to see Ginger give a thumbs-up. He rolled his eyes, accepting of his fate: having to deal with his psychotic brother.
Together Finn and Rocky stumbled into the office. Finn flinched as the door bounced off the wall before rebounding and slamming shut, but Rocky ignored the racket, too focused on his own rage. He paced the small room,mumbling and swearing.
“Take it easy, Rocky. Let me know what’s going on, and we can sort it out.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Spittle flew as Rocky rounded on him.
“Okay, okay. Calm down.” Finn held his palms up.
“Where the fuck’s Stack? We’ve got to do something. There’s no way in hell they’re getting away with this shit.” Rocky fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone, pushing atthe screen and continuing to rant. He looked up at Finn, struggling to focus. “They killed him. They wrapped his bike around a tree. Made it look like a fucking accident. Left him there to die. And then Rabbit. What the fuck? Took his fucking badge. Skinned him like a goddamn carcass!”
Rocky’s statements didn’t link together in any way that made sense.Skinned someone? Left someone to die? Whatdid a rabbit have to do with anything?“Who? What are you talking about? What’s that about a rabbit?”
Rocky took a deep breath, his trembling more under control. “Russell Hutchins, the Rabbit. He’s one of us—wasone of us. Lucky just called. He’s been chasing down the car that took out Pete and heard a few things on the grapevine. Turns out the Rabbit was killed a couple of weeks ago, and thebastards took his badge. Sliced the skin off to take the patch tatted on his back.” Rocky’s laugh was hysterical, and Finn’s stomach churned. “Some fucking way to take a badge from a man. Lucky called his brother and got confirmation: the police recently identified the body and notified the family this week. His brother’s up in arms, blaming the whole thing on us. On us! Like we did it.”
“Ifsomeone killed him and cut the tattoo off his back, then it’s a good chance it’s club related.”
“Of course it bloody is, but we didn’t start this war. The fucking Brutes did.”
“Well—”
“I need to get hold of Stack. Lucky’s coming back, and we need to hit these guys where it hurts.”
“Where it hurts?”
“They’re not getting away with this. They think they can take out one of our men, and we’llsit by and do nothing? Well, they’ve got another thing coming. Once we get there, they’ll wish they never messed with the Soldiers.”
“Rushing out and retaliating without a plan is reckless—”
