Page 28 of All Wrong
Nick glanced around as he made his way to the bar. It was less than half full, which wasn’t surprising because it was a Sunday night. Bikers, like everyone else, had jobs they had to show up for in the morning.
By the time he planted his ass on a stool, Liam already had a shot poured out for him. Nick took it, tossed it back, and set it down for another.
“Haven’t seen you around much,” Liam said.
“Been busy.”
Liam nodded. “So I heard. Kyle stopped by the other day. Said you asked him to visit The Zone and talk to the kids about bike mechanics and shit. It’s a good idea.”
Itwasa good idea. Kyle McCullough—a fellow biker and cousin-in-law to the Callaghans—was a legend when it came to designing and building custom bikes, and the kids, even the punks, respected him. Kyle believed—and Nick agreed—that learning a trade was as valuable and honorable as getting a degree. Not everyone was cut out for the classroom, and kids shouldn’t be made to feel less worthy because of it.
Besides that, Kyle was living the dream. Not just because the man created legendary customs, but because he’d somehow snagged a woman like Celina Connelly. Pure, wholesome goodness that one, the opposite of Kyle’s bad-boy biker persona.
How did something like that even happen? Nick had tried dating a librarian once, and it had ended badly. He’d been staying in his own lane since.
Liam moved down the bar when two guys got up close and personal, sticking their chests out and pawing at the floor like angry bulls. Liam’s massive, inked hands reached out and grabbed each of them around the neck.
“Oi! Not in ’ere, mates,” Liam barked, his cockney accent growing stronger. “Ye know the rules.”
Though both men were bigger than Liam, they immediately took a step back. It didn’t matter how big or strong they were, Liam would wipe the floor with both their asses, and they knew it. He didn’t tolerate any shit in his place. Out in the parking lot, they could eviscerate each other, and hewouldn’t blink an eye, but inside was a neutral zone.
“Fightin’ over a woman, no doubt,” Liam said, shaking his head as he returned to wipe down the bar in front of Nick. He swapped out the shot glass and plonked down an ice-cold longneck, which Nick accepted gratefully.
Nick waited patiently. Liam was like God—he saw and heard everything. He knew why Nick had come and would tell him what he wanted to know when the time was right. In the meantime, Nick drank his beer, pretended to watch the UFC match on the screen, and tried not to think about Corinne McCain.
It took the better part of an hour before Liam said, “Word has it, Torres has been shooting his mouth off, telling anyone who’ll listen that he busted you for dealing to kids.”
“He tried,” Nick said. “Didn’t stick.”
Liam laughed. “I bet he did. Everyone knows he’s full of shit. You’d no sooner deal to kids than you’d cut off your own wanker. Word got back to Scythe though, and he ain’t happy. He’s right livid someone’s dealing on his turf. And the fact that they’re hitting up kids? Made him positively mental.”
“He doesn’t know who’s behind it then?”
Liam shook his head. “No, and that’s got him raging even more. Said he was going to bring it up at church.”
Church. The MC’s version of a high-level staff meeting. The good news was, Scythe was the president of one of the biggest and best-connected brotherhoods in the Northeast. Nothing happened without his knowledge. He had eyes and ears everywhere, from the suppliers to the peddlers, and he got a piece of all of it. Someone cutting him out wouldn’t sit well.
Nick finished off his beer and slapped some bills on the counter.
Liam shoved them right back. “On the house tonight. You find anything, you let me know.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CORINNE
By Friday, Corinne was at the end of her rope. Any hopes she might have had of Becci rising to meet the challenge of her new position were dispelled quickly and thoroughly. Becci seemed to think her primary responsibility was pushing grunt work off onto Corinne. Every day, Corinne found herself working through lunch and staying late to keep up with her work and the tasks that Beccino longer had time to dobecause of all the meetings and training that Mr. Gehman wanted her to attend.
Management seminars. Leadership workshops. All the things Corinne had been attending for years,sometimes on her own time, while still managing to do her job.
On paper, it sounded perfectly legit, but in reality, it was absolute bullshit. There was no legitimate justification for taking an entire afternoon to watch a one-hour presentation that was available online and could be viewed anytime.
And speaking of the she-devil …
“Corinne, the Johnsons want to talk to someone about setting up retirement accounts. Could you handle it?” Becci asked, peering around the frame of Corinne’s office door—the door that Corinne had closed in an attempt to slow the constant interruptions and get work done.
Corinne looked at the small clock on her desk, surprised to see that it was close to noon. She began locking up the stacks of files that had been piling up through the week. Every time she stepped out of her space, even if it was only to visit the restroom, another file magically appeared. In direct contrast, the number of files onBecci’sdesk had been shrinking at a similar rate. But only the accounts that held less than the threshold amount marking them as VIPs.
“Not right now, no. You’re going to have to handle it.”
