“You need to get to the Vault.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Davis is here, and he’s fucking wasted,” Memphis answered.
“It’s barely eight o’clock. Did something happen?”
“Fuck if I know. He came in sauced and just kept at it,” he explained. “Now, he can barely keep his fucking head up, and he’s refusing to let one of us take him back to the clubhouse.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I’d barely ended the call when I was out the door and in my truck. The drive to the Vault was a blur of red lights and quick turns. Davis getting hammered wasn’t anything new. He’d always been a heavy drinker, but usually, he had the sense to consider his surroundings.
He had no business doing this shit at the Vault.
And Memphis’s tone had my gut twisted into knots.
I didn’t bother looking for a parking spot. I simply pulled up to the side of the building, cut the engine, and charged inside. The noise and lights faded into the background when I spotted my brother slumped over one of the back tables. His head washanging forward, and there was an empty bottle of cheap gin next to him.
I’ve seen this show before, and it never ends well.
“Jesus.”
I walked over and gave him a hard nudge. “Davis. Wake up!”
No response.
“Davis!” I huffed again as I shook him a little harder. “Wake the fuck up.”
Davis lifted his head a fraction and glanced up at me with glassy eyes. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t make out anything he was saying. It was just garbled noise, and that annoyed me even more.
“What the hell are you saying?”
He squinted at me like I was the one who didn’t belong there, and he was pissed that I’d disturbed his beauty sleep. He tried again, slurring his words even more, then laughed under his breath and dropped his head back on the table.
Motherfucker.
I scanned the room, and my frustration spiked to a new level when I saw that a couple of the girls were watching. Memphis stood in the corner, monitoring the situation, and I had no doubt that he was ready to step in. I leaned in with my mouth close to Davis’s ear and barked, “You can’t be doing this shit, man. We kick assholes out for this kind of shit. You know that.”
I felt someone step behind me, and when I looked up, I wasn’t surprised to find Seven standing there. “He’s not going anywhere like this.”
“No. He’s not.”
“Let’s put him in the office,” Seven suggested. “He can hang out on the couch for a bit. Sleep it off until we can get some coffee in him.”
“That’s a good idea.”
We each took an arm and lifted Davis to his feet, hauling him toward the back. He mumbled something unintelligible, but he didn’t resist. He just fell limp, letting his feet drag behind him as we continued to the office.
When we got to the office, Seven helped me get him over to the sofa, and Davis was out the second his head hit the cushion. I looked up at Seven and grimaced. “Sorry about this, brother.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s his ass that got in the bottle.” Seven cocked his head. “Gotta tell ya, it’s been a hell of a night.”
“It sure has.” I motioned my head toward Davis as I said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Seven nodded, then turned and headed back to the main floor. I grabbed a blanket and threw it over Davis before turning out the light. I got an uneasy feeling as I closed the door, but I shook it off. Davis had gotten carried away. In a few hours, he’d wake up with a pounding headache and a mouth full of regret.
I lingered outside the office for a moment, and when I was sure Davis wasn’t going to stir, I made my way out to the main floor. I wasn’t on the schedule tonight, but I figured I’d give Seven and the others a hand—not that they needed it. It was Tuesday, which meant fewer people and fewer problems.
