— Chapter 14 —

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"Suck a dick, Marcus."

Elliot surprised me with his words, and they weren't even aimed at me. It was strange, somehow—I'd never heard him be so bold. Not when we first met, or the night I almost ran him over, or when he was being picked on for the broken glass a few nights ago. He had never stuck up for himself before this point.

So the fact that he was being so bitter to Marcus, and right in front of the big guys behind him, felt almost refreshing. I was impressed.

"Nice to see you too, Elliot," Marcus waved back, offering Elliot a wicked smile.

If I wasn't annoyed before, I was definitely annoyed now. The fact that he'd been around Elliot to begin with didn't sit right with me, and it definitely pissed me off that they'd laid their ugly hands on him.

But I couldn't help but notice the way Marcus answered him. He wasn't at all bothered by the insult he'd gotten—shit, he found it funny. The two of them had met before.

Letting out a scoff as he rubbed his wrist, Elliot turned his glare away and trudged away in the direction of the bar. I turned to Marcus with a flat tone of voice.

"You two know each other?" I asked.

Marcus snorted, running his fingers through bright-red hair. "Yeah, I know the little shit. You could say we're old friends."

Chains mentioned beside me, "doesn't look like it."

Pulling something out from the back pocket of his black jeans, Marcus shrugged briefly in response. An envelope, thick and white. "Whatever," he said, shoving the envelope to my chest with an indifferent expression.

Taking it from him, I watched as Marcus's darkly-colored eyes rested on me. "It's all there. Interest and everything. We good now?"

Passing the envelope to Chains for him to count the money inside, I replied coldly, "depends. Are you planning on setting your boys on me every time I come to collect on what you owe?"

"Ah, that..." he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Let's just call that a misunderstanding, alright?"

"A misunderstanding?" Chief frowned, after having been stoically listening through the whole conversation. He was never much of a talker.

Marcus shook his head. "Look, I already told these idiots off for it. They have a habit of thinking with their fists. It won't happen again."

Chains handed the envelope back to me and confirmed, "it's all there."

Without taking my gaze off Marcus, I took the thick envelope and shoved it in the pocket of my jacket, briefly clenching and unclenching my jaw.

"We're good," I said.

Marcus loosened up and offered a smirk. "See? I knew you'd understand. And, you know, considering how much I value our business, I've got some news for you."

I exhaled, eager to get it all over with. "Out with it, then."

He shrugged, briefly flicking his gaze to the Chief and Chains beside me.

"I don't really think it's the kind of stuff that should be getting out in the open just yet," he said simply.

"Is he serious?" Chains scoffed to me, annoyed.

I shook my head, hardly interested either. "I'll deal with it. Go get yourselves some drinks or something."

"You two can join them," Marcus nodded to his buddies, making it sound more like a command.

Chains rolled his eyes, nodding his head to Chief. As the two of them begrudgingly walked off towards the bar with Marcus's goons not far behind, I rested a bored look back on the red-haired guy in front of me.

"Well?" I asked.

Marcus shrugged and answered with his own question. "You watch the news this morning?"

I frowned.

"I'll take that as a no," he said. "A biker was hospitalized last night. Curved his motorcycle around a lamppost in the middle of heavy traffic. He's been put on life support—there's a good chance he won't make it."

I clenched my jaw. It always made me sick hearing that a biker had gotten into an accident—whether they were a Stray Dog or not.

"What happened?"

Marcus exhaled sharply. "Street racing."

Fuck.

After pursing my lips into a thin line for a brief moment, I exhaled, "keep talking."

He looked at me through thick lashes. "From what my boys are telling me? Somebody's going around organizing races. The stakes are high, and the bets are through the fucking roof."

"They're racing on city streets?"

He nodded. "The races are impossible to get into without an invite. The Stray Dogs are still the biggest group in Boston—even if you're not one-percenters anymore. And you made it clear to every biker gang in this fucking city that street racing is banned. So if you're only hearing about this now, I'm guessing whoever's running it doesn't plan on letting you ruin it for them."

I took in his words.

"Like you said. The Stray Dogs don't race anymore. I made fucking sure we got cleaned up—and we're staying that way," I said coldly. "Let the cops handle it for once. This has nothing to do with us."

"Are you sure about that?" He shrugged. "My guy said that the other racer he saw last night was wearing a Stray Dogs vest. But if you're so fucking sure you're clean, then I'll just—"

I gritted my teeth. "Who?"

"See?" He smirked. "Interested now?"

The scowl on my face deepened, making Marcus let out a sharp exhale.

"Look, I don't know, alright?" He said. "I just know what's on the fucking rumor mill. That's why I wanted to talk to you about this alone—you can't trust any of your own bikers right now."

I can't fucking believe this shit, I thought to myself.

With a bitter look on my face, I asked gruffly, "if this guy of yours knows so damn much, did he tell you where the fuck the next races are?"

"No. Just that the route changes often and that the nights are picked at random. Whoever's running this shit? They're being smart about it," he expressed. "The police don't know a Stray Dog was involved last night. At least, not that I know of. You need to get control over your boys before the cops find out about this shit—or you'll all be fucked."

Tensing my shoulders, a dark expression fell on my face. I'd made it damn clear three years ago that the Stray Dogs were going clean after I became VP. Whoever was running the races was doing it behind my back—and they'd gotten one of my own bikers just to rub it into my face.

The fact that it was being done on busy streets was the worst part. The lives of innocent people were being put at risk by idiots chasing money and an adrenaline rush, and the biker that had been hurt last night was just the beginning. It pissed me the fuck off.

"Where are they getting their invites?" I asked him, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

Marcus furrowed his brows in thought for a moment before answering with, "I don't know. But everything my guy heard about this, he heard in Crave. It's not much, but it's a start."

Crave. I knew the place—it was a club in the heart of the city. It closed for renovations months ago. I hadn't realized it had reopened.

Turning my focus back to Marcus, I spoke lowly, "do some more digging and keep this quiet. I don't want anyone finding out about this for now, you hear me?"

"Of course. What are you going to do?"

I felt my cigarette packet inside the pocket of my jacket and answered with a flat tone. "You said he heard this all this at Crave. I'm going to pay a visit."

Marcus offered me a smirk. "Alright, if you say so. But—between you and me—you might want to take Angela with you. She seems to know her way around the place."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

He offered me a grin.

"Weird," he remarked, feigning surprise. "I could've sworn I saw her getting real comfortable with one of my guys there the other night..."

I passed him a scowl. "I'd be real fucking careful with your next words."

He raised his hands in surrender, plastering an innocent look on his face. "Yeesh. Touchy subject. Alright then—suit yourself."

Marcus began to turn away from me, but I took a hard grip on his shoulder before he could.

"One more thing," I warned him with a dark tone. "Lay a hand on my bartender again, and I'll break your jaw."

His dark eyes hesitated on me for a moment. Enough for me to know he'd gotten the message before he moved out of my grasp.

Resentfully, he scoffed, "Whatever. I don't want anything to do with that little shit, anyway."

Fucking prick, I thought to myself as I recalled our conversation from a few nights ago.

Having parked my motorcycle outside Joe's, I just wanted to say hi to Elliot and maybe have a drink or two for the night. I still hadn't made sure for myself that he was okay, either. He had a strange habit of getting himself in messy situations.

I'd been ignoring Angela's calls all day. To be honest, it wasn't the first time I'd heard she'd been cheating on me—I'd caught her in the act once a few years ago. But I wasn't much better myself.

Nothing ever really came out of it. That's just how our relationship was. One of us would cheat, the other would get pissed off, then we'd fuck and go right back to pretending it never happened.

The two of us had basically grown up together. She knew everything about me, I knew everything about her, and at some point, we must've gotten bored with it. But considering how close we were, neither of us felt like breaking it off—so we just made it open, if that was the right word. I still trusted her more than anyone and that fact never changed.

I just needed my space to think.

Trudging into the busy bar, the classic rock music and chatty patrons came to remind me just how much I hated loud spaces—and exactly why I never showed up on Saturdays when the place was most rowdy. It tended to make me fidgety.

A few people passed surprised glances in my direction, but I had already turned my focus to the bar. Part of me was expecting to see Elliot there already, tending to a customer with a soft gaze and his pretty, pale-brown hair tied back loosely in his usual half-ponytail.

But I came to find Eve standing back there instead, pouring drinks with an amused grin for the two bikers before her. Another guy was working the bar, too, though I didn't know him enough to recognize him.

"Hell must be freezing over," Chains chuckled to me, after pulling himself away from the fancy blonde he'd been chatting up. He had red in the sides of his eyes. "You do know it's a Saturday, right? The hell are you doing here?"

Meeting the side of his fist with my own in a casual greeting, I shook my head and shrugged. "Just didn't feel like staying home tonight. You high?"

He admitted, "Like a fucking kite."

"Yeah—enjoy that walk home, big guy," I said with an amused look. "It's a good eight degrees out there."

"Shit," he whined out. Plastering a lazy smile on his lips, he looked hopefully at me and asked, "Feel like lending me cab money?"

"You still owe me for the last time."

"Come on, you know I'm good for it," he pleaded jokingly, leaving a grin on his face as I pulled out my wallet. "You're awesome."

Passing him the cash, I muttered, "You better not spend it on drinks, you hear me?"

"I would never," he feigned dramatically, slurring a syllable. "Thank you, Edgy."

I passed him a mean smirk. "You deserve the fucking headache you're going to wake up with tomorrow morning—just for that stupid nickname. I hope you know that."

He laughed at my words. "Whatever."

Passing a look to the bar, I couldn't help but draw my thoughts back to Elliot. He was always working on Saturday nights—he said he'd be here.

"Hold on," I said to Chains, though he probably wasn't paying much attention considering the smile he was passing to the blonde from earlier.

Eve offered me a friendly nod as I approached the bar counter. Returning the gesture with a brief wave, I asked, "Isn't Elliot supposed to be here tonight?"

"Can you believe it?" She chuckled. "He called in sick last minute. First time the kid's done that since he started here."

I frowned. "Sick?"

"Maybe it was urgent. Who knows," she said, resting her palms against the countertop. "Can I get you anything?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm good. Thanks, though."

Eve offered me a polite smile and went back to her work. Chains, however, tilted his head beside me as I turned around, clenching and unclenching my jaw.

"Elliot?" He frowned, confused. "The bartender from the other night?"

Too busy in my own thoughts, I mumbled with disinterest, "You know him or something?"

"Isn't his old man an ex-cop?" He blurted, the words gathering my attention. "Yeah, I think he is. Why? I mean, looks like you've been spending quite a bit of time around the guy lately."

I rested my gaze on him. "Ex-cop? What else do you know?"

"His father busted me for speeding once. I had my l-license suspended and everything," he explained, "but other than that, uh... not much."

Yeah, I thought to myself, seems like nobody knows a damn thing about him.

My gaze moved blankly between the booths and the loud customers drinking freely in the bar. There was an itch at the back of my mind that I couldn't scratch— too much was going on in one space.

The bright lights, the buzzing music, the clinking of drinks, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol. But the volume was the worst of it. The overexcited chatter, the excessively loud laughing... it made me antsy, tensing my muscles and shallowing my breathing. The sideways glances being passed to me weren't helping the situation, either.

Seeing that I'd turned away to leave, Chains frowned, "Where the hell are you going now?"

"I can't hear myself thinking in here," I answered with a flat tone. "See you at the meet tomorrow. You know, assuming you're not hungover enough to miss it."

"Ah," he coughed. "Right. The meet. Yep, I'll... definitely be there."

I passed him a doubtful look, but he rested his hand on my shoulder and squinted slightly to look at me.

"You been sleeping well lately?" He then asked me, skimming the tip of his finger back and forth beneath his eye as a gesture to my dark shadows.

I'm fucking fantastic—I slept for two hours last night, would've been the honest answer. Sarcastic, but still honest.

Instead, I shook my head at the concern in his eyes and brushed off his hand. "I'm fine, Chains. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

I pursed my lips and began to walk away, feeling dizzy and eager to get away from all the noise. I wasn't going to tell Chains that I'd spent all of last night thinking over what Marcus told me. I still hadn't even decided if I was going to tell Chains and Chief what I knew to begin with.

I was already halfway out the chipping doors by the time Chains said, "Bye, Edge."

The outside air was much calmer than the rowdy mess I'd just stepped out of. Briefly flicking my gaze between the heads of bikers that were outside to smoke and chat about their motorcycles, I lit up a cigarette with my rusty lighter and drew smoke into my lungs. I'd tried to stop the habit a few times before, but, well... let's just say I wasn't a quitter.

Pulling out my phone, I let out a calming exhale and rested against the side of the building while I took the time to wind myself down. To a certain degree, sounds weren't usually a problem when I had time to prepare for them—but not even I had that kind of control all the time.

I found Elliot's name in my contacts. After a moment of hesitation, I couldn't help but scoff at myself.

So he'd skipped work—why the hell was that any of my business?

But, still... he had told me he'd be here. The situation seemed out of character for him. Eve had said it herself—he'd never done this in the past.

Fuck, I thought, inhaling from the cigarette between my lips.

Tapping the call button before I could talk myself out of it, I exhaled another cloud of warm smoke and listened out as a ringing sound filled the air. Once, twice, three times, then...

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. If you'd like to leave a—"

Double fuck.