“What if . . .” Vicious held up a hand when Joker tried interjecting. “What if it’s not the Scorpions attacking us? Let’s say it’s someone else behind the strikes and they want us to think it’s the Scorpions.” He watched as Teller and the others mulled it over.
“You said it yourself, Teller. The attack on the strip club was weak. It was just enough to stir us up, but not enough for an all-out battle. Each time they hit us, it’s small and awkward. Almost like the ones doing the strike aren’t sure about what they’re doing.”
“You could be on to something. The question is, who would want to stir shit up?” Teller took a swig of his beer as the others thought the question over.
“Someone who wants to run Montreal,” Joker interjected.
“That doesn’t narrow it down, Joker.” Vicious waited for Teller to weigh in.
Teller tipped his beer toward Joker. “No, but it gives us food for thought.”
Yes, it did, Vicious thought. They’d have to give that idea some thought. What was the likelihood a third party was stirring the pot between them and the Bloody Scorpions?
Chapter Seven
Opening his eyes, Vicious shielded them from the sun blasting in through the window. A jackhammer had taken up residence in his head. The memories of the previous night were blurry, to say the least, and his mouth felt like cotton had been stuffed in it.
Rolling over, he checked the time and groaned. He needed to get his ass up and moving if he wanted to stop by the clubhouse before heading into work. Tonight, he was working security at the strip club, but before he went in, he wanted to stop by the clubhouse and check in with Sherlock. He’d asked the brother to get him information on Sabin Rousse.
Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair. Tossing the rumpled sheets aside, he wondered how he’d made it home in one piece. Putting his feet on the floor, the room steadied. “Fuck,” he groaned.
Stumbling to the bathroom, he turned on the water and stepped in. “Son of a fucking whore!” he shouted as icywater hit him. Letting loose another string of curses, he forced himself to stay under the spray. If anything, the cold water would finish sobering him up. His body remained tense and shivering until the cold temperature turned warm then hot. Resting his head against the shower wall, the hot spray beat against his tired, sore muscles. “I’m too fucking old for this shit,” he growled, knowing damn well he would be shitfaced again later that night.
When the water started cooling, Vicious snapped it off and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and quickly dried off. Dressing in his normal attire, he picked up the discarded towel and haphazardly ran it over his hair, somewhat drying it. Once again, he was gearing up for a night of dealing with drunks and assholes. Not the evening he wanted, but he was up on rotation at the strip club and wouldn’t be a pussy and whine. Maybe the Bloody Scorpions would show their punk asses. Vicious relished the thought he might get a piece of one or more of them.
Sooner than later, the chapter would have to take the fight to that gang of thugs. Sometimes, you had to remind others of their place, and the Scorpions’ place was beneath the Royal Bastards. Pulling on his leathers, he reminded himself he had shit to do.
Cracking his neck, he pulled out a 9mm pistol and the holster, placing it at his back. He checked the pair of SIGs before slipping the double-shoulder holster on. The last pistol he stowed in his front pocket was a little two-shot derringer. Swiping up his boot knives from the dresser, he headed downstairs for coffee.
He found his clothes strewn on the floor of his living room. One boot was on the kitchen counter and the other was in the dryer. Scratching his head, Vicious was starting toworry what the hell he might have gotten into the night before. Opening the small cabinet above his coffee pot, he found his wallet and keys. “Jeez, asshole, you must’ve been deep in the hole last night,” he mumbled to himself.
Putting the coffee pot together, he cleaned up the living room. He’d have to ask Player what the fuck went down the night before. His house being messy gave him anxiety. The need to have things orderly was a habit from his childhood, something he’d tried many times to change but had failed miserably. It wasn’t a bad habit to have, but it had been almost crippling when he was younger.
Twenty minutes later, Vicious walked out onto his back patio drinking a hot cup of coffee. Lowering himself into a chair, he crossed an ankle to a knee while watching boats putter around the harbour. With the weather continuing to drop, it wouldn’t be long before boats weren’t moving around anymore. The young couple that lived next door waved as they loaded into their kayaks. Why they would want to paddle around in the freezing cold eluded him, but the couple also jumped in the icy water with friends at the start of the new year. Something about polar bears . . . crazy, that’s what that shit was.
His other neighbour was an older woman who rarely spent time at her houseboat. When she did stay, she was noisy with her yippy little dogs. The little beasts never shut up. Vicious had threatened to take them swimming more than once.
Even with the crazy polar bear couple and the yippy dogs, he loved living on the water. He loved the houseboat with its quirky design, like the door in his bedroom that was the actual entrance to the second-floor front patio. Why the designer put the entrance in the bedroom puzzled him. ToVicious, it would have been easier to have stairs outside. What did he know? He wasn’t a contractor.
Finishing his coffee, lost in thought, he barely heard the phone ringing. Cursing at the intrusion, he pushed out of the chair, tossed his remaining coffee in the water, then walked back inside. Grabbing the phone, he answered in a clipped tone. “What?”
“Hey, jackass, I wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”
“I’m alive, Player. I’d love to know what I got into last night.”
“Good. Now, get your ass to the clubhouse and maybe I’ll fill you in on your night.”
“Be there soon.” Hanging up, Vicious pulled on his boots before grabbing his jacket and heading out.
Walking into the clubhouse, Vicious found Sherlock and Player in what looked like a deep conversation. When Sherlock looked over at him, Vicious walked to the bar. “Did you get that information I asked for?” he asked Sherlock.
Sherlock picked up his phone and showed Vicious. “Yeah, I have everything right here. I’ll send it to you.”
Player snagged Sherlock’s phone and looked at the file he had open. Shaking his head, he handed it back. “Vicious, you of all people know better. That girl will be nothing but trouble. Haven’t you had enough damn drama lately?”
Vicious stared at Player like he had two fucking heads. “You trying to be my mother, Player?”
“Nah, brother, but sometimes I think you need one.” Player chuckled at the look Vicious gave him. Women and Vicious never ended in the best of ways. He fell in like for a week or two while they fell in love until stalking charges were filed. Vicious tended to attract the crazy bitches.