“How the hell are you going to work like this?” I mutter. “You’ll have to stay in the office and keep out of sight, or they’re going to think the club managers are getting into brawls.”
“You beat up guys three times your size every week,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, with padding and boxing gloves,” I say, dabbing at his eye as the blood continues to flow. “How many of them were there?”
“Three.”
“Did you run?”
“Like hell. Didn’t do any good.”
“Fuckers.”
I go to the freezer and grab some frozen peas, wrapping them in a towel as I place them gently against his swollen face.
“What did you mean?” he asks, leaning back from me and frowning.
“About what?” I ask.
“You said you ‘just need a few more days’? What money do you have that I don’t know about? This isn’t your problem, Jax. I’ll deal with it.”
“By placing bets? Like hell you will. I’ll have ten grand by Sunday, maybe more if I can manage it.”
“Where from?” he asks, grimacing as he tries to raise his eyebrows.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What the fuck?”
We both turn to find Seb and Ben at the back door. Their eyes are wide, a bag dangling from Ben’s hands as he stares at Scott, looking like he wants to kill someone.
Seb and Ben are my younger brothers, and I always think of them as such. But right now, they look like dangerous men ready for revenge.
“Calm down,” I say immediately, putting out a hand. “Getting angry isn’t going to fix anything.”
“Who the fuck did this to you?” Seb demands, following Ben into the room as they drop their bags to the floor and come to loom over Scott. He looks small and pathetic, and I hate it.
“We’ll go and fuck up whoever it was,” Seb says darkly, and there’s a spark in his eyes that’s so like our father it makes me feel sick.
“Stop it,” I say, my voice echoing around the kitchen. “You want to end up like dad, or worse? We’ll deal with this the right way. We’re not thugs, and you’re not going to fuck anyone up.”
“I’ll be okay,” Scott says, his voice cracking. “I just need to get patched up.”
“What’s happened?” Seb demands again, looking at me. Ben slowly turns to me, too, and I glance at Scott, who sighs resignedly and nods.
“Scott owes someone some money. A lot of money. And they got tired of waiting for him to pay up.”
“Shit. Who?” Seb asks.
“A guy named Nick Monroe,” Scott mutters, and my heart sinks a little further as Ben and Seb exchange a worried glance, their bodies tensing.
“How the fuck did you manage that, Scott? Are you stupid? You don’tgamblewith Nick Monroe. He’s a fucking psychopath.”
“Not helping,” I murmur, and Seb and Ben square their shoulders.
“How much?” Ben asks.
Scott’s pitiful look at me makes my stomach turn, but I know my brother. He doesn’t want them to know how much debt he’s in. I’m desperate to tell them, to share the burden of the ridiculous number, but it wouldn’t make any difference for them to know. It’s not like they could ever get close to two hundred grand together anyway.
