Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Opening his eyes, Vicious shielded them from the sun blasting in through the window. A jackhammer had taken up residence in his head. The memories of the previous night were blurry, to say the least, and his mouth felt like cotton had been stuffed in it.
Rolling over, he checked the time and groaned. He needed to get his ass up and moving if he wanted to stop by the clubhouse before heading into work. Tonight, he was working security at the strip club, but before he went in, he wanted to stop by the clubhouse and check in with Sherlock. He’d asked the brother to get him information on Sabin Rousse.
Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair. Tossing the rumpled sheets aside, he wondered how he’d made it home in one piece. Putting his feet on the floor, the room steadied. “Fuck,” he groaned.
Stumbling to the bathroom, he turned on the water and stepped in. “Son of a fucking whore!” he shouted as icy water hit him. Letting loose another string of curses, he forced himself to stay under the spray. If anything, the cold water would finish sobering him up. His body remained tense and shivering until the cold temperature turned warm then hot. Resting his head against the shower wall, the hot spray beat against his tired, sore muscles. “I’m too fucking old for this shit,” he growled, knowing damn well he would be shitfaced again later that night.
When the water started cooling, Vicious snapped it off and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and quickly dried off. Dressing in his normal attire, he picked up the discarded towel and haphazardly ran it over his hair, somewhat drying it. Once again, he was gearing up for a night of dealing with drunks and assholes. Not the evening he wanted, but he was up on rotation at the strip club and wouldn’t be a pussy and whine. Maybe the Bloody Scorpions would show their punk asses. Vicious relished the thought he might get a piece of one or more of them.
Sooner than later, the chapter would have to take the fight to that gang of thugs. Sometimes, you had to remind others of their place, and the Scorpions’ place was beneath the Royal Bastards. Pulling on his leathers, he reminded himself he had shit to do.
Cracking his neck, he pulled out a 9mm pistol and the holster, placing it at his back. He checked the pair of SIGs before slipping the double-shoulder holster on. The last pistol he stowed in his front pocket was a little two-shot derringer. Swiping up his boot knives from the dresser, he headed downstairs for coffee.
He found his clothes strewn on the floor of his living room. One boot was on the kitchen counter and the other was in the dryer. Scratching his head, Vicious was starting to worry what the hell he might have gotten into the night before. Opening the small cabinet above his coffee pot, he found his wallet and keys. “Jeez, asshole, you must’ve been deep in the hole last night,” he mumbled to himself.
Putting the coffee pot together, he cleaned up the living room. He’d have to ask Player what the fuck went down the night before. His house being messy gave him anxiety. The need to have things orderly was a habit from his childhood, something he’d tried many times to change but had failed miserably. It wasn’t a bad habit to have, but it had been almost crippling when he was younger.
Twenty minutes later, Vicious walked out onto his back patio drinking a hot cup of coffee. Lowering himself into a chair, he crossed an ankle to a knee while watching boats putter around the harbour. With the weather continuing to drop, it wouldn’t be long before boats weren’t moving around anymore. The young couple that lived next door waved as they loaded into their kayaks. Why they would want to paddle around in the freezing cold eluded him, but the couple also jumped in the icy water with friends at the start of the new year. Something about polar bears . . . crazy, that’s what that shit was.
His other neighbour was an older woman who rarely spent time at her houseboat. When she did stay, she was noisy with her yippy little dogs. The little beasts never shut up. Vicious had threatened to take them swimming more than once.
Even with the crazy polar bear couple and the yippy dogs, he loved living on the water. He loved the houseboat with its quirky design, like the door in his bedroom that was the actual entrance to the second-floor front patio. Why the designer put the entrance in the bedroom puzzled him. To Vicious, it would have been easier to have stairs outside. What did he know? He wasn’t a contractor.
Finishing his coffee, lost in thought, he barely heard the phone ringing. Cursing at the intrusion, he pushed out of the chair, tossed his remaining coffee in the water, then walked back inside. Grabbing the phone, he answered in a clipped tone. “What?”
“Hey, jackass, I wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”
“I’m alive, Player. I’d love to know what I got into last night.”
“Good. Now, get your ass to the clubhouse and maybe I’ll fill you in on your night.”
“Be there soon.” Hanging up, Vicious pulled on his boots before grabbing his jacket and heading out.
Walking into the clubhouse, Vicious found Sherlock and Player in what looked like a deep conversation. When Sherlock looked over at him, Vicious walked to the bar. “Did you get that information I asked for?” he asked Sherlock.
Sherlock picked up his phone and showed Vicious. “Yeah, I have everything right here. I’ll send it to you.”
Player snagged Sherlock’s phone and looked at the file he had open. Shaking his head, he handed it back. “Vicious, you of all people know better. That girl will be nothing but trouble. Haven’t you had enough damn drama lately?”
Vicious stared at Player like he had two fucking heads. “You trying to be my mother, Player? ”
“Nah, brother, but sometimes I think you need one.” Player chuckled at the look Vicious gave him. Women and Vicious never ended in the best of ways. He fell in like for a week or two while they fell in love until stalking charges were filed. Vicious tended to attract the crazy bitches.
“Is this another crazy one?” Player laughed, walking behind the bar to grab a beer.
“Nah, I think she’s level-headed.”
“That’s scary.”
“What the fuck are you saying, asshole?”
“I’m saying you like the crazy bitches.”
“I like sex with the crazy bitches. They’re fucking fun.” Vicious chuckled. Opening his phone, he looked over the information Sherlock sent to him. “Grab me a beer, Player.” He ignored Player grumbling about him wanting information on the girl, then he took the beer and walked off to read over the info.
Dropping down onto one of the leather sofas, he took a pull on the bottle. He would have left the female alone if his brain wasn’t screaming at him to protect her.
All Vicious could think was the brother did not disappoint. Sabine Roussin worked at a small but busy auto repair shop a few blocks from Old Montreal. Her brother had been her only family since the age of seventeen, and there was a ten-year difference in age between them. Children of abusive parents rarely got free, but somehow, things had worked for Sabine and her brother. Until he died recently, leaving her alone. Vicious didn’t know what was worse, losing family you knew or never having a family at all. He’d take never having one. Less heartache that way. The last name danced across the edges of his mind. He was sure he’d heard it before, but from where eluded him.
“What is it with you and women in distress?” Player asked Vicious as he dropped down on the opposite sofa, raising an eyebrow as the brother ignored him. “Vicious?”
Looking at Player with a bored expression, Vicious continued to ignore him. He didn’t need to explain himself. He was simply interested in knowing more about Sabine Roussin.
“Before you move on to this chick,” Player tapped a finger on the phone, “you might want to stop fucking the club girls and strippers at every turn.”
“I haven’t been with anyone since the night of the poker game.” Admitting that was hard. “Wait, was I with someone last night?” Vicious couldn’t remember, and that was fucking scary shit.
“Holy shit, what’s wrong with you? You sick or something?” Player asked, laughing. “And no, you were too damn drunk to fuck anyone last night.”
“Shut up, asshole. I’ve been working a lot is all.” He ignored the comment about him being drunk. Vicious knew he’d been drunk by the hangover he had. “Plus, this one right here.” Vicious held up his phone with a picture of Sabine and made sure Player looked at the image. “This is the one I want.”
“Good luck, brother.”
Vicious didn’t need luck—he just needed a way into her life.