Page 39 of Petty's Crime

I sling my arm over my forehead and breathe a heavy sigh. “Cobra was there as well. Why don’t you fuckin’ ask him what went down? This is my job, Brit, not a chance to get my rocks off. And one of us needs to take working seriously.”

Her eyes widen. “I can’t help that no one wants to employ a felon.”

Knowing I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep, I swing my legs over the sofa and sit up. “You haven’t even fuckin’ tried.”

Sparks now fly from her eyes. “How do you know? You’re not here half the time.”

And she wasn’t there for seven years. But sensibly I keep quiet. Instead, I get to my feet and go into the kitchen. The coffee maker isn’t even switched on, so I do that myself and proceed to make a drink.

As she hadn’t tried to molest me today and I’m grateful for that, I make her a cup too, then look into the fridge for the makings of breakfast, only to find she must have used everything from our initial grocery run the day before yesterday. There’s a box of cereal in the cupboard so I pour myself a bowl of that, offering one to her politely, not surprised when she lifts her nose in the air and declines.

“What are you doing today?” She takes her coffee and leans back against the counter.

Glancing to make sure it’s a genuine enquiry rather than a trick question, I wipe the milk off my mouth with the back of my hand. “I need to check in with Prez, then this afternoon and evening I’ll be working again.”

“You work too damn hard.” Her criticism, though, is voiced with confusion rather than ire. “You’re in a fucking outlaw motorcycle club. Shouldn’t you be riding around causing mayhem?” She shakes her head as though I’m a disappointment to her, which I probably am.

“Nothing’s handed to you in this world for nothing,” I remind her, while thinking how the state has housed and fed her for the last seven years.

Do I bother telling her that all the Devils work for themselves? We own the businesses and take a cut of the money coming in. A decent cut if I’m honest. It’s not the same as working for the man, and a damn sight better than taking the risks that drug dealing and gun running can bring. Pulling my weight in our security business is just a different way of having my brothers’ backs. But loyalty was never one of Britney’s strong points.

She’s looking at me as if she can’t comprehend the man I’ve become. In the end, she seems to give up trying to puzzle it out. Shrugging, she just asks, “What the fuck am I supposed to do when you’re out most of the day and most of the night?”

I bite back the response she could do what any wife or partner would—either try to get herself a job, or busy herself here, tidying up. Looking around, it’s clear she did fuck all yesterday. If she’s looking to me to bring in the money, then she should play her part.

I force myself to see it from her side. She’s moved to a city where she’s never lived before, and doesn’t know anyone. Opening my wallet, I take out some cash. “Get the prospect to take you to a mall and buy yourself some new clothes.” Isn’t that something any woman would like?

Her face doesn’t show much pleasure in my suggestion, but she’s quick enough to grab the bills from my hand.

“And what about this evening? You’re leaving me all alone again?” She’s pouting now.

It’s been too long since I’ve had to think about the comfort of someone else. Again I try to put myself in her position. I’d probably get myself out and go to see what’s around, but without a driver’s licence, it’s hard for her to do that.

Despite my misgivings I offer a suggestion. “I’ll talk to Prez, see if you can go to the club for the evening. But,” I focus my more serious stare on her, “no fuckin’ messing around, Brit. They won’t put up with snide remarks or your brand of humour.”

“Oh I can behave so I don’t upset your friends’ fragile egos,” she tells me. The grin she’s sporting shows she’s got exactly what she wanted.

It’s not fragile egos I’m worried about. If Britney shows her true self around them, I’m probably more likely to come home to a corpse.Or,I frown,it’s me her behaviour will reflect on, and I’ll be the one getting a beatdown.

Although part of me wants to receive an answer in the negative, as it turns out, when I ask Red, I find Britney made enough of a positive impression the first time I took her to the club for him to be totally okay with her going back without me by her side. Cher, his old lady, had taken to her enough to feel sorry that she was being left on her own after only just moving to a new town, and would welcome the company of a new old lady.

Shaking my head, wondering why the world can’t see Britney as I can, then remembering I wouldn’t be in this situation if she hadn’t fooled me in the same way, I arrange for a prospect to ferry Britney around, and then bring her to the club.

Part of my day is spent in a meeting while we brainstorm trying to find Saul. With him putting the snakes in RoseLyn’s house, it’s not that we’re taking things more seriously, it’s that finding him quickly has become more vital. Fuck knows what the asshole will do next. A phone conversation with Utah shows they’re embarrassed and annoyed that they haven’t been able to do more to help find him. Though, apparently, they have suspicions about a cop who could be helping him and feeding him information.

As soon as they’ve firmed up on it, they’ll let us know who and we can take over the investigation.

I sneak in a ride on my bike to clear my head, and at three thirty, reluctantly swap two wheels for four, and head to the hotel where RoseLyn is hiding out.

Being forced out of her home is taking its toll on her. Instead of the happy, carefree woman I’m usually met with, she’s downbeat and looks tired, as though she’s been unable to get a good rest. She’s also fidgety and eager to leave for the casino, and seems restless until it’s time to go.

Once she’s at the casino though, she’s more back to her usual self, which probably is down to Kylie. As I lean against the wall outside the dressing room, I hear their voices from inside, the insults sliding off me like water from a duck’s back and making me smile.Seems I’m still fooling someone, projecting the kind of man I want the world to see. Someone who’s strong and so fucking sure of himself, he’ll take no shit from anyone.

She exits the dressing room transformed into someone else, and goes on stage at the allotted time. As always, I can’t help the gasp of shock when she opens her mouth and that astonishing voice comes out.

I force my eyes away, and scan the audience, mentally comparing every face to the image of her ex I hold in my head. After walking around, he’s not here, I’m certain of that.

While I make sure to keep her in sight, I find a quieter spot at the rear of the auditorium and take out my phone. I call Roller.

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