Chapter THREE
“WHERE THE hell 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 footsteps echoed 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’d seen 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 effort to 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. “And the 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 deep breath.
“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’t come 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 over his 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 AND Ross 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 afternoon with 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?”
“Hiding in plain sight, maybe.”
“Fuck, there they are!”
Mitch automatically slouched in the seat of the sedan, even though there wasn’t a hope in hell anyone would see him through the tinted windows of the car and on the busy street. There was something about seeing Pete walking along the footpath with Rocky Cummings that made his skin crawl. Rocky must have been twice the size of Pete, something that only highlighted the power imbalance between the two. What the fuck was Pete doing with a creep like Rocky? How did he get involved with one of the most notorious gangs in the area? Why the hell didn’t he stay in Melbourne where he was out of sight and out of mind? Mitch sure didn’t need his thoughts filled up with his ex-boyfriend.
Mitch straightened and tried to ignore the strange feelings surging through him. He was a professional and had a job to do.
“That must be the brother.”
Mitch looked away from Pete—jeez, he was getting sloppy, focusing on Rocky and Peter and not taking in the whole scene—and took in the bloke following the two men. From a distance the kid looked nothing like his brother, apart from the shock of fair hair. Rocky kept his buzz-cut, but Mitch knew enough to know his natural coloring was also that glorious shimmering blond that formed a halo around his brother’s head. It didn’t seem fair that the men in a family of criminals should be graced with hair that belonged on an angel.
Rocky and Pete stopped at the stairs that led to the entrance of the pub. The young guy caught up to the two men who’d been walking a couple of meters in front, and he and Pete started talking. Rocky said something, then turned to enter the hotel, leaving the two of them there. The guy put his hand on Pete’s shoulder, and something stirred low in Mitch’s belly. The touch and the way Pete dropped his head as he listened to what the other man had to say reminded him so much of himself and Pete. How many times did we stand like that?
Mitch swallowed hard and tore his gaze away from the men. “What do we know about the kid?”
Ross checked his notes. “Finley Robert Cummings, better known as Finn to his family and friends. Age twenty-three. He’s spent the last four years living in Melbourne. He went to La Trobe University and attained his bachelor degree in financial management and accounting.”
“What the fuck did he come back here for, then? Sounds like he could be making something of himself instead of getting drawn into Rocky’s world.”
“Maybe he never left.”
Mitch’s attention snapped to Ross. “He’s got ties to Melbourne gangs?”
“Not that we know of. And he has been checked out.”
“Doing work for his brother from Melbourne?”
“The intel doesn’t show that either. From what’s been found out so far, he’s hardly been in contact with his brother or anyone else in the club since he moved down south. Phone records, internal searches show nothing. He hasn’t even been back to Sydney to visit since his other brother’s death.”
Ross consulted his notes. “Yep. June. He was found dead of a drug overdose. Carl Junior was two years older than Rocky. When Carl Senior wrapped his bike around a tree, Carl was voted in as club president and stepped into his boots.”
“It’s convenient for Rocky that the two men both died in a short space of time, paving the way for him to take a shot at the leadership position.”
“I think he’d been angling for a while and managed to secure the votes of those members who weren’t happy with the direction the club was taking and wanted to go back to the old ways. Both deaths were ruled accidental by misadventure, but there’s always been some suspicion that Rocky played a role. He’s a psychopath with Machiavellian tendencies.”
“I’d like to review his profile. Let’s meet with Rowena when we get back to the office. We need to know Rocky backward and forward, especially now that Peter’s involved.”
Ross turned to give Mitch his full attention. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”
Mitch raised a brow. “What? Me having contact with Pete again? Of course not. We ended things eighteen months ago, and I’ve hardly given him a second thought since.”
“Doesn’t mean it won’t be hard, mate. The two of you, you’ve got a past. You put a lot of emotional energy into that man, so no one expects you to be unaffected,” Ross said.
Mitch bristled. “I can do my job.” And, it’s not like I have any choice.
Ross shrugged, giving him the benefit of the doubt, and Mitch was glad the subject was dropped. He just hoped he was right and he could keep his past personal life separate.