“What gives?” Scott asked, cutting to the chase.
King’s face broke out in a grin, and he turned to Kick. “That’s what I fucking love about Scott Cole – that no-bullshit, tell-me-how-the-fuck-it-is attitude.” Turning back to Scott, he said, “I thought it time I paid your club a visit to put to rest this shit about your father.”
Scott’s body remained taut. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no shit to put to rest, King.”
King’s eyes widened a little. “I’ve heard differently. It would seem some of your boys believe we had something to do with Marcus’s death. And as much as I don’t make it my business to ever answer unfounded accusations, I feel it in me to ensure you know I had nothing to do with it.”
I’d never known King to go out of his way like this. And it seemed Scott hadn’t, either. He remained silent for a beat, and then said, “I appreciate that, brother, but I never doubted you in the first place.”
King assessed him closely before finally nodding once and saying, “Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.” He turned and looked around the room. “Anyone else got doubts over this?” His deep voice cut through the silence, and all eyes were on him. We had about ten members in here today, some of whom I knew to have their suspicions about King’s involvement in Marcus’s death. However, none of them came forward which seemed to piss King off.
He jerked his head for Scott and I to follow him outside. When we had some privacy, he said, “I call bullshit, boys.” Pointing his finger at the clubhouse, he added, “Someone in there has been talking, and I don’t fucking like what I’m hearing.”
I should have known the conversation with him a few minutes ago had gone too smoothly. King wasn’t a man to let shit go, and he’d been breathing down our necks for a few weeks about this.
“Are you saying that you and I have a problem?” Scott demanded.
King’s eyes flashed a warning. “No…not yet. But what I am saying is that you and I are going to spend some time together and figure out which one of your boys I do have a problem with.”
Scott’s jaw clenched and he cursed under his breath. “I appreciate you wanting to get to the bottom of this, but we’re in the middle of something at the moment and my attention needs to be on that. For today at least.”
King’s brows raised and I caught a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Kick and I can help you with that, and then we can all work on this. I’m not going home until I have what I came for.”
“And I take it you came for more than just a name?” Scott asked, his gaze shifting between King and Kick.
“You would be correct,” King confirmed.
Fuck.
As if we didn’t have enough problems to worry about. It looked like we were about to be down a member or two.
* * *
“What have you heard, Jimmy?” Scott asked with the kind of patience he wasn’t known for. We stood in Jimmy’s living room, and my patience was waning due to the stench in his house. A mixture of cat piss and rubbish that should have been taken out days ago made my stomach roll.
Jimmy was one of the locals who had a finger in everything. If it involved drugs, guns or *, Jimmy was bound to either be involved or know something about it. Storm had an easy relationship with him, and he often fed us information when we came calling, but today he’d clammed up. Scott had been questioning him for a good ten minutes and had come up with nothing. I was surprised his patience was still at a high.
Jimmy’s beady eyes flicked from Scott to King who stood in the background. He’d remained silent but King’s presence could never be misconstrued – he radiated a don’t-fuck-with-me energy. Everyone who came in contact with him knew it, and didn’t dare question it. I figured it was the reason the Sydney chapter remained a strong force in not only their city, but throughout the country.
“I’ve told you what I know - nothing,” Jimmy replied, but his voice sounded off. Not quite the Jimmy we knew.
Scott stared at him with distaste, but before he said another word, King pushed past him. Grabbing Jimmy’s wrist, he dragged him to the table in the kitchen and shoved him down onto a chair. Grabbing a handful of his shaggy hair, he yanked his head back, and snarled, “You’re a lying piece of shit, Jimmy. And you’re wasting our time. Either you open your mouth and let the words Scott wants to hear fall the fuck out, or I shove my gun down there and we all stop wasting our time here. Your choice, motherfucker.”
The fear on Jimmy’s face matched the fury on King’s face. The seconds ticked by, and if panic were a sound, the silence in the room would have been drowned out by Jimmy. He squirmed under King’s hold, and muttered, “Dude - ”