Page 104 of Parrish

Instead, I cradled the bottle of Johnny Walker blue and drank myself to sleep alone.

“Dammit, Uncle Jack, open the fucking door,” Nico shouts, bringing me back to the present and the fucking horrible hangover that’s got me by the balls.

“Nico?” I call, glancing at the clock on the cable box. What the fuck could the little shit want at this hour?

“No, it’s fucking Santa Claus,” he hollers back. “I got your cowboy’s, here. You going to let us in or what?”

Sitting up, I let out a stream of curses as my head continues to pound and I rake my brain trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. It hits me as I start for the door that the cowboy’s he’s referencing are in fact the men Scout sent up here. I almost forgot about that fucking mess and that I agreed to give them a place to hang their leathers while they wreak havoc on the cocksuckers who tore up Scout’s old lady’s café.

Not bothering to go up the stairs to grab a shirt, I pull open the door wearing a pair of sweat pants and greet my fucking guests with a disgruntled scowl firmly planted on my mug.

Welcome to the house of Hell, boys.

I hope you enjoy your stay.

Be sure to leave a five fucking star review.

“A wake-up call would’ve been nice,” I tell Nico, before glancing at the four men standing behind him.

“Check your phone,” he replies. “I called you six times.”

Ignoring him, I swipe my hand over my face and focus on the guy wearing a pair of sunglasses. He removes them, revealing eyes the color of ice. I might be shit at remembering at names, but I never forget a face and I sure as fuck don’t forget eyes like that. I glance down at his patch and make a mental note that the brother with eyes like a glacier is called Mac.

Next to him stands the treasurer of the Charon MC or at least that’s what his fucking patch says. Not as tall but just as menacing as Mac. Before I can divert my eyes to read his road name off his kutte, he extends a hand to me.

“Thanks for opening up your place to us,” he starts as I shake his hand. “I’m Arrow, you might remember Mac from the B.A.C.A. runs and this here is Tiny and Bash,” he says, pointing to the other two men.

With a nod, I release his hand and step aside to invite them in.

“Don’t mind the place,” I say as they file into my house. “My wife is in the hospital and well, I don’t even know where she keeps the fucking broom,” I admit as I motion for Nico to close the door behind him.

“Scout told us about your wife. We appreciate you letting us crash here,” Arrow says, hitching a duffle bag over his shoulder.

“What’d you take the first available flight?”

“Yeah,” Mac replies. “Scout wanted us to move as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah, well, before anyone lights a match under their ass, I’m going to need coffee. Then you guys can fill me in on what the fuck you plan on doing here.”

Turning to Nico, I notice him staring at the empty bottle of booze.

“Nico,” I call. Startled, he looks back at me and raises an eyebrow.

“Rough night?”

“Make a pot of coffee,” I order.

“A pot of coffee?”

“Did I say it in Chinese?”

“You don’t have a Keurig?”

Before I can tell the kid to fuck off, he waves a hand in my face.

“Never mind,” he says. “Up until a couple of months ago you were still using a flip phone. I’ll go make the pot of coffee but for Christmas I’m getting you a self-serve machine.”

Shrugging off his kutte, he drapes it over the back of the couch and rolls up his sleeves. I shake my head as he disappears into the kitchen.

---