Then I got on my bike and drove it right back to Wilmington.
When I park outside of the Irish pub, I lift the seat on my motorcycle and hide my gun in the storage compartment with my cut. For one reason or another, Malcolm hasn’t demanded it back just yet. As I stand outside the bar, even I can admit I’m having second thoughts about this risky plan of mine.
All I know is that going in guns blazing is not going to make things better but worse with the Irish. So, I’m taking a chance.
A huge chance.
But that’s how much I already care about Maeve, even though I shouldn’t.
I open the front door and walk inside like any other customer. There are only five or six patrons sitting and drinking in the booths, at a table, or at the bar.
“What can I get ya?” the middle-aged, tall and lanky bartender asks me.
“I need to see Cormac.”
“Did he know you were coming?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then I doubt he’s going to want to see you.”
“Maybe if you tell him I know where one of his men is being held against his will, he’ll change his mind,” I reply, making his sunken eyes widen. I would never give up the actual location, but I knew that information would get his attention.
“I’ll, ah, be right back,” he says in a rush, tossing down his towel as he leaves the bar. He goes down the hallway where I know from before that the bedrooms are located.
There are two big men standing guard outside one of the doors. I’m guessing Cormac is hanging out inside. The bartender passes on my message to the men, and then one of them leaves to step into the room, then quickly returns, walking over to me at the bar.
“We’ll need to check you for weapons,” he announces.
“Check away,” I say when I stand up holding my arms out to the sides. The guard pats me down thoroughly before stepping aside and nodding his chin for me to go into the room where he left the door open.
Inside is a man in his early to mid-thirties standing behind a desk. His hair is red and he’s wearing a business suit with a vest, minus the jacket. I’m guessing he’s Cormac, the one in charge.
“Who has my man?” he asks. “How the fuck do I know you’re not lying?”
“Well, have you been missing anyone since last night? Perhaps another ginger? I’d say he’s about eighteen and goes by the name Rian.”
“Rian?” he whispers the name as he sinks down as if to sit and has to grab onto the desk when he realizes his ass is nowhere near the chair.
Interesting….
He’s not reacting the way Malcolm would react to one of his guys being kidnapped, cool, calm and composed, possibly furious. Instead, Cormac looks distraught, like it’s a close family member. Maybe the Irish have tighter bonds than the MC, which I find hard to believe. I watch his face as several emotions pass over it, giving him a minute to let everything sink in. When it finally does, the ginger goes from concern to anger in a heartbeat as he stands up straighter and pulls a gun on me.
I’m really getting sick and tired of people threatening me.
“Tell me where the fuck he is and who has him or I’ll kill you right here!” he grits out between his clenched teeth.
I’m not scared of him. I think Hunt was probably more likely to pull the trigger than this man. “If you kill me, then you may never figure out the answers to your questions.”
That realization has him slamming his gun down on the desk. “What the fuck do you want? Cash? Is this some kind of extortion?” he asks.
“I don’t want your money. All I want is to work out a truce with you.”
“A truce?” he repeats. “With whom? I didn’t know we were at war with anyone.”
“Cut the shit,” I tell him. “We know it was you who shot up the Knights’ bar the other night. You nearly killed three of our men, and now we have one of yours. If you don’t stop lying out your ass, then we’ll wipe you all out by the end of the week!”
“You’d like to think so,” he grumbles.
“I know so.” I don’t know shit, but I can pretend I do. Most likely, the Dirty Aces do have more men since we called in all of our chapters.
“So, what would this truce of yours mean for the Irish?”
“It would mean you would leave the former Knights of Wrath, now the Dirty Aces, the fuck alone. They’re not leaving town no matter how badly you want them to.”
“Then we still have a problem,” Cormac says.
“Yeah, you have a problem. Your guy Rian’s life is hanging by a thread, and your entire crew is about to become extinct. Looks like you’re going to do whatever the hell I say, doesn’t it?”
His dark green eyes blaze with anger. “If I don’t get rid of the Knights or Aces or whatever the fuck they are now, then there won’t be anything left of the Irish once they take all of our business away from us!”
“What business? Because I don’t see the problem with having two places to drink when they’re not even in the same block. You guys are across town from each other.”
“Not the bar!” he exclaims. “Heroin.”
“Heroin?” I repeat in surprise. “Jesus Christ. This has all been about heroin?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re a fucking idiot,” I tell him, causing his jaw to tick. “If you had just asked, we would’ve told you that the Knights are getting out of heroin after it killed their old president. It was a condition for us to patch them over to Aces!”
“Bullshit,” he says, eyes narrowed in disbelief.
“It’s the truth! We don’t deal in that shit. The only thing we touch is weed and speed.”
“That’s all?” he says. “Just weed and speed, even in Wilmington?”
“In all of our chapters, so yes, that includes
