Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Vicious opened his eyes, listening to the sounds of the house. The distinct sound of his front door gently closing alerted him someone was inside who shouldn’t be there. Slipping from the bed, he quietly pulled on his leather pants and grabbed the Glock from the bedside table. Glancing over, he saw Sway sleeping soundly. Easing across the floor, Vicious headed downstairs. Knowing the layout of his houseboat, he didn’t need the lights on. Stepping off the bottom step, he stood still. Listening. Searching for any slight sound.
“Vicious?”
Turning his head slightly at the sound of Teller’s voice, Vicious went on alert. There was no reason for the brother to be at his home. No reason Teller should know where he lived. What he did away from the club was his business. He’d always lived that way and always would.
If the Prez knew, then Player and Joker told him. Betrayal on the basic level was all it took to topple a friendship. Looking at the man’s silhouette against the moonlight seeping in from the door blinds, he was curious why Teller was there. “What can I do for you, Teller?”
“I want your cut.”
“Of course, you do.” He padded across the wooden floor, his bare feet barely making a sound. Picking the cut up off the sofa, Vicious tossed it at Teller. He watched the man through hooded eyes. “Anything else you need?”
“Vicious,” Sway called out as she descended the stairs. She saw him standing with the moonlight at his back. All she could make out was his silhouette. “Is everything okay?”
Turning his head toward her, he watched Sway come downstairs. “Go back to bed, baby. I’ll be up in a minute.”
Squinting her eyes, Sway tried to see if someone else was in the house. She thought she heard voices. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Vicious waited for Sway to head back upstairs before looking back in Teller’s direction. If he said one damn thing in a disrespectful way about her, Vicious would drown the fucker in the marina.
Teller watched as a very naked woman headed back up the stairs. So, that was why Vicious had used Sherlock to dig into the auto repair shop. And why he had reportedly been stalking a dark-haired woman. “Your ol’ lady?” Teller asked Vicious.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah.” Vicious was pissed on many levels. His friends betrayed his trust, and his National President put him in an awkward position by bringing a brother in from another chapter to be President. And now, his cut was being taken from him because he refused to let the asshole beat his ass. Vicious thought this crap was behind them. Behind him. But it was feeling just like it had before.
“Lock up when you leave, Teller. I’m going back to bed.”
“You’re on a thirty-day suspension from the club.”
“Was that voted on?”
“No, motherfucker, I decided. I don’t have to get permission. I make the fucking rules.”
Vicious turned on Teller. Two long strides and he had the man against the wall. “No, you don’t make the rules. That’s been your fucking problem since day one. It’s not the minority that rules but the majority.” Letting go of Teller, Vicious stepped back. “Why did you even come to Montreal? All you’ve done since arriving is argue and delegate. You’re not a brother. You’re a fucking dictator. Heavy on the dick.”
“I wasn’t given a fucking choice. You don’t say no to Jameson.” There, he said it. He fucking opened his mouth and said what everyone should know already. When Jameson called, you didn’t say no. You didn’t argue and you didn’t cower, especially when you had nothing else.
He appreciated the opportunity that was given to him. It was just a hard row to plow when you had no idea who you could trust. Everyone in the chapter had been together since the chapter came into existence. The original members looked at him, Blackjack, and Double Tap like they were the three musketeers. Truth was, they didn’t know each other any better than they knew the others. Jameson had handpicked them to come in and help make changes within the chapter. “Take it as a compliment or look at it as a challenge. Either way, the three of you are going to Montreal.” Teller remembered that statement very clearly. There had been no arguing, no questioning.
He had Knuckles from the New Orleans chapter to thank for it. Years back, Teller had saved the patch holder from being shanked in prison. When he got out of jail, Knuckles was waiting on him, and the rest was history. It took years moving up through the ranks to be given the chance to prove himself, if that’s what you wanted to call it. Teller just hated feeling like he was a fish on a hook.
For two fucking years, he’d felt backed into a fucking corner. At every turn, he felt that if he wasn’t a relentless hard ass, they’d gut him. His old man was a hard ass and a lifer. No one gave him a choice. Not one person in his fucking life had ever given him a choice. Just once, Teller would like the fucking option to say no. Dropping down into a chair, he rubbed a hand over his face.
Vicious looked at the stairs and sighed. Cracking his neck, he took a seat across from Teller. He knew the statement was the truth—you didn’t say no to Jameson. “Here’s the deal. No one, and I mean no one, wants your position. Not even me. Everyone in the club was ready for change. We’ll have your back if you have ours.” Vicious kicked his legs out, stretching. “You can’t change the fact you’re an asshole.” He watched as Teller chuckled. At least the man was laughing.
“I don’t know what brought you here and I don’t care,” Vicious told Teller flatly. “We all have a past. Fuck, there’s not one brother who doesn’t have demons and ghosts haunting them. I’m not saying tell us your fears, motherfucker, but try to trust us. At least me. Because if you trust me, I’ll trust you.”
Teller wanted to trust someone, and Jameson said he could trust Vicious. “Jameson is my father.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“No, serious. He had me when he was two.”
Vicious busted out laughing. He laughed so hard, he cried. Wiping at his face, he shoved out of the chair. Who knew the brother had a sense of humour? “How about a whisky?”
“I could use a shot.”
The two men talked until well past dawn. They discussed issues they saw within the chapter and with the businesses. Vicious opened up about his concern that Jerome and Dawson were behind things that concerned the chapter.
For the first time in two damn years, they were on the same page. Vicious pitched his idea of the chapter purchasing a funeral home. Teller liked the idea. It would bring in money and give them a more efficient way of disposing any bodies. By the time Sway came downstairs dressed for work, Teller was heading for the door.
Teller stopped long enough to apologize to his brother’s ol’ lady. “Sorry I interrupted your evening.”
Vicious held his arm out for Sway as she approached him. “Teller, this is Sway. Sway, this is Teller. He’s the chapter President, and someone you can always go to if I’m not around.”
Teller was almost speechless at Vicious telling his woman that she could trust him. Those words went a long way in solidifying trust. “It’s nice to meet you, Teller.”
“Likewise.” Heading for the door, Teller pointed to the cut he left on the chair. “I’m leaving that with you. You’re fined two hundred dollars for punching me in the face.”
“I hear ya.” Vicious wrapped an arm around Sway as Teller closed the door behind him. He could have sworn he heard the brother laughing as he walked away.
“How about coffee before I take you to work?”
“I wouldn’t mind a cup.”
Kissing her smartly on the mouth, Vicious slapped her ass before heading to the kitchen. “Cream and sugar, right?”
Vicious headed to the kitchen and started the coffee. Sway watched through hooded eyes as he moved with ease around the space. Everything he did was precise. “Yes,” she answered as she followed him into the kitchen.
Vicious could feel her eyes on him. He’d rather her eyes on him while he fucked her instead of while he made her coffee. Fucking Teller owed him the two hundred dollars for taking him away from his woman. He heard Sway’s feet padding across the floor. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as she looked at him across the small kitchen counter. Turning to face her, he leaned against the counter, holding out his hand, silently asking her to take it. Vicious remained quiet, riveted to the spot as he came to terms with the fact that he loved her.
When she moved around the counter and took his hand, he wanted to tell her those three little words. Instead, he kissed her as the coffee pot hissed in the background. When he broke the connection, his reward was a sassy smile from Sway. “I want to take you somewhere today.”
“Where?”
“The clubhouse to meet the Bastards.”
“Will they be okay with that?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’m good with going.”