Chapter THREE
“WHERE THEhell are you?”
Finn flinched at the sound of the front door slamming into the wall, followed by his brother’s call.
Jesus, not today. Surely he can give me one fucking day!
Finn stood from where he’d been digging around under the kitchen sink and rested his hands on the draining board. He took a deep breath and lifted his head. “In the kitchen.”
Heavy footstepsechoed across the floorboards before Rocky appeared at the doorway. He almost filled the space with his bulk, shoulders nearly touching the architrave on each side. At six foot four, he towered over Finn, but it wasn’t just his size that made Finn nervous. Finn knew enough about his brother to be wary.
Rocky scowled. It was his natural look. In fact, Finn couldn’t remember the last time he’dseen Rocky smile. Except maybe at the news their brother had gone missing.Nope, not going there.
“What do you want, Rocky?”
Rocky folded his arms across his broad chest, the leather of his jacket creaking. “What the fuck do you think I want? I want you to get your arse to work, that’s what I want.”
Finn refused to kowtow to his brother. He sucked in air through his nostrils and made an effortto stay calm.Show no fear. Don’t be pushed around.That was his mantra.
“I’ve just got back to Sydney. Surely I can have a day or two to settle in.” Finn spread his arms and gestured around. “Look at this place. I can’t live in a pigsty, so I need some time to get basic cleaning done and stock up on things. The fridge, for example, is a piece of unhygienic shit.” He kicked it for emphasis. “Andthe television isn’t even digital, so I can’t pick up a thing out here.”
Rocky lowered his arms and stepped into the room. “You don’t have to live here. I want you at the house anyway.”
Oh Jesus, no.This wasn’t the direction he wanted the conversation to go. Finn gave himself a mental kick for being an idiot and giving his brother the ammunition he needed to make his case. He took another deepbreath.
“I’d prefer to be out here. At least for a little while.” Finn stepped forward and patted Rocky on the arm. “But hey, I’m glad you’re here, ’cause I was getting bored with playing maid. How about you and I go get a coffee, and you can fill me in on what the plans are?”
Rocky shrugged him off. “Fuck knows why you want to stay out here in the middle of bloody nowhere but….” The “but” didn’tcome immediately. Hope flared in Finn’s chest. “But just because you’re living out here doesn’t mean you aren’t expected to show your face at the shop every day. I’ve put up with your shit long enough, and it’s time you started earning your keep.”
Finn swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He plastered on a smile and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Rocky turned to the doorway, then looked overhis shoulder. “Come on. Get what you need. We’re heading out.”
“Out?”
Rocky faced him, brows furrowed. “I’m not drinking your fucking coffee, but we can go and get a beer.”
Finn followed him, grabbing his phone and house keys on the way. A quick glance at the time told him it was 10:30 a.m., and in his book, most definitely not beer o’clock, but he wasn’t going to have that fight with Rocky.He’d pick his battles and take one small win at a time.
MITCH ANDRoss sat in the unmarked car parked on the street across the road from the small hotel. With its brick-and-tile facade, the Fury looked like any other ordinary suburban pub. Its public bar, poolroom, lounge bar, and small garden bistro meant it was popular with the locals—quieter during the day but filling up from early afternoonwith the after-work crowd. It was even popular with families on the weekends. Unfortunately it was also popular with the members of the Soldiers of Fury Motorcycle Club, accounting for the pub’s nickname.
“Why haven’t they been able to shut this place down?”
“The licensee isn’t club affiliated.”
Ross snorted. “Yeah, right. And Santa Claus is real.”
“Maybe I should say ‘not proven’ to be,”Mitch said. “Yet.”
“These guys must think they’re made of Teflon, tough and indestructible—”
“Isn’t that Tupperware?”
Ross rolled his eyes. “They think they can get away with murder, and it’ll just slide off their backs.”
This time it was Mitch’s turn to snort. “I’m sure they have.” Although the thought wasn’t funny, they often used black humor to deal with the crap they saw day in, day out.
Ross slapped his knee in obvious frustration. “Even the friggin’ name of the pub. The Fury? It’s like they’re trying to rub our noses in it. What happened to the good old days of criminals trying to stay under the radar?”
