Whisky on My Mind (22 page)

Life was feeling a little too real all of a sudden. It was as though, by thinking of the future, far though it may
be, it was taking the shine off everything around her. She loved Sawyer—so much…but she wasn’t sure he would ever be able to give himself to her like he gave himself to the club. Did knowing that going in make it any more acceptable? There’d be no point in complaining about it years from now, expecting him to suddenly change. At this point, Whisky would usually stop thinking and try and push it away.

There had to be some way to make it work.

Something else seemed to be bothering Sawyer. She noticed that he was often distracted, and not just because of this whole coffee shop thing.

He spent long hours locked away in his office and on the phone. There were times he’d disappear for hours, not even telling the rest of the club where he was going. Things around the club were tense.

Things should be better. The explosion at the Switchblades’ club house had been big news. She didn’t bother to ask any questions about it—she was just glad they were no longer a problem and wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else again. She probably should have felt some kind of remorse for the tragic circumstances of the bikers’ death, but memories of how their club had been responsible for so much of the terror and drug-related violence in surrounding areas wiped most of that away. They were bad news and it seemed a lot of people were relieved they were gone. Most of them…there were a few members who survived the blast and, of course, a few more who happened to be away from the club at the time, but there weren’t enough members left to resume their reign of terror. The discovery of drug making equipment in the truck at the explosion site indicated to investigators that the club had either just received or were just about to dispose of a mobile meth lab, which being unstable was highly dangerous and extremely volatile.

The senator was now noticeably quiet, no thanks to the revelation of his son’s past activities and he seemed to have slunk away someplace to lick his wounds in private.

Considering the madness of the past few weeks, things should be back to normal, but something was wrong. She knew it—felt it in the air and no one seemed to be able to tell her what it was.

****

Sawyer disconnected the phone call and swore.

His life was falling apart.

It was one God damn thing after another. Things should be going back to normal, but instead everything was crumbling around him and he wasn’t sure how he was going to fix anything. He was tired. So damn tired of everything.

He knew this was his job—it wasn’t easy trying to keep things running smoothly, but just once, he wished he didn’t have to be the one everyone called when something went wrong. Could no one use their own initiative anymore?

The explosion had worked like a charm, Sorenson was no longer on their back, and business was back on track now that they didn’t have to worry about any further hijacks of stock, but then Whisky had got that freakin’ offer and everything was back to bein’ shit again.

He knew she wanted him to move out of the club house. And he always planned to, but things just kept coming up—the hijacks, the Switchblades
causin’ trouble…and yeah, putting someone on as a night manager would solve some of the problems with the bar…but he was responsible for the club and the rest of their business interests…he couldn’t just hand that over to someone else. It fell on him.

Lately he’d begun to resent the position he was in. He was angry all the time, and he hated that, too. The club was his family, but he also wanted a family of his own one day with Whisky and she’d made her feelings pretty damn clear on what she thought about kids being raised in a club atmosphere. He felt as though he were constantly being torn in half. How did you choose between your family and the love of your life? Deep down he knew she wasn’t making him choose…not really, she just wanted them to have some space…but he knew that club life didn’t work that way. Once you were in—you were in for life. There was no halfway and she didn’t get that.

And then there was the damn call.

The year before he’d put himself and the club in danger when the DEA had approached him to help set up an arms deal. It had been a one off thing and he’d been damn lucky it had gone off without
blowin’ up in his face. The DEA agent had originally wanted Johnny, but there was no way in his condition Sawyer was going to let them force him into something that, had it turned sour, would have left his reputation in tatters and all the sacrifices he’d made to drag this club from its criminal past would have been in vain. The guy was a legend. He didn’t deserve something like that hangin’ over the final days of his life. So Sawyer had taken one for the team—literally. Johnny hadn’t even known about it—no one did and that’s how he liked it. Unfortunately, the DEA didn’t quite grasp the concept of
one time deal
. Patterson, the agent he’d dealt with before, was callin’ in another favor…and this time the risk was huge.

“No way.
I gave you sonsofbitches the Switchblades—and look what happened there, they were out and back on the damn street within six God damn months,” Sawyer told Patterson as they met in the back room of an out-of-town bar.

“They had someone
workin’ with them. Someone influential. You and your little surprise fireworks show just ripped a hole in six months of surveillance work. You owe us, Riley.”

“I owe you nothing. This is your mess—you clean it up.”

“We know it was you. We know it was your shipment of stock in that truck.”

“You know shit—or you would have been
knockin’ down our door before now.”

“We’ve had the Switchblades under constant surveillance for months—you think we don’t know about this little vendetta they had going with the Black Mustangs?
The hijacks?”

“You saw them hijack our cargo and you just let them get away with it?” Sawyer asked incredulously, glaring at the stocky DEA agent.

The man shrugged, unconcerned. “We couldn’t reveal anything or they would have known we had eyes on ‘em.”

Holy shit,
Sawyer swore silently, his mind racing as he tried to figure the implications of this sudden revelation.

“We know it was the Black Mustangs setting them up in that explosion. We have enough evidence to implicate the entire club, Riley.”

“Bullshit. You would have done it by now.”

“You’re more use to us out of prison…for now.”

“I’m not doin’ anything for you assholes. Do your own dirty work.”

“You don’t have much choice. Either you help us…work with us…or we’re taking down your entire club. You’ll all go away for a long time. How do you think your old lady will handle trying
to run the Bar and Grill all alone? I know she’s got a lot on her plate at the moment…almost finished her degree…trying to get her own business up and running…it would be a shame to see all that hard work go down the drain. Of course, I can’t link her to anything at the moment…but the daughter of Johnny McKenna would have to have something in her background to tie her to the club’s past sins…I’m sure we can dig around and find something if we need to.”

“She’s got nothing to do with the club.” Sawyer growled. He knew the guy was just
pokin’ him with a stick to get a reaction, but his heart was thumping painfully at the thought of these bastards causing any trouble for Whisky…she was already on the edge, something like that would surely push her over and she’d leave…he knew it and it terrified him.

Fuck!

“Look, I get you’re pissed. I also concede there’s an element of danger in this request,” he said, and Sawyer’s loud snort didn’t faze him for long. “But we’re this close to implicating the guys who were funding the Switchblades,” he said, holding his finger and thumb a small way apart. “We just need you to call in a few favors—pull a few inside strings and get us a shipment of firearms. These guys will take the bait—they’re desperate. They were counting on the Switchblades’ next shipment and now that the club’s all but blown to shit they’re scrambling to find an alternative. You’re the only one in a position to pull this off.”

“Are you out of your freakin’ mind? Do you know what would happen if anyone worked out I was an informant to the DEA? I’d be a dead man,” Sawyer snapped. Not to mention the club would go down with him—Brick, Dog, Shaggy…all of them. The clubs they had an alliance with would all turn on them for
bein’ snitches. Something that wasn’t tolerated. Ever.

“Like I said…there’s an element of danger.”

“Then seems to me, you owe me something to make this worth it.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Riley. You’re not
that
indispensable. If the information about who was helping the DEA bust the Switchblades last year gets out…I imagine that won’t look too good for you or the club…all that fragile good-will most of the old rival clubs have out of respect for Johnny and the Black Mustangs goin’ legit might suddenly disappear, and then it’ll be all bets off. You’ll be patched over within a month by a bigger club and all Johnny’s hard work will go down the toilet.”

Damned if the prick didn’t just read his mind,
Sawyer thought uneasily.

Sawyer clenched his jaw and tried to remain calm. There had to be a way out of this. He needed to think it through and figure out a way to keep all his ducks in a row. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t see a way around any of it, and the bastard agent before him was smiling smugly as he, too, realized he was out of options.
God damn it.

Chapter 21

Whisky knew something was wrong and she hated that Sawyer was once again shutting her out. They’d come home from the Switchblade incident subdued but confident they’d finished the vendetta once and for all.

The footage of the Switchblades’ compound being swarmed by police hit national headlines. The media was claiming it as a huge win for the war on drugs, as the blast wiped out the truckload of narcotic equipment, and the raids on the rest of the club house afterward secured a manufacturing lab and massive haul of cocaine, packed and ready for shipment.

Sawyer was actually a hero, albeit one who would never be publically recognized. 

Things should be getting better, but they weren’t. Sawyer was moody and withdrawn, and often went out at all hours of the day and night—coming home wound up and tense.

Tonight she’d decided it couldn’t continue to go on this way. She was waiting up for him, seated on the sofa when he arrived home well after midnight.

“What are you still doing up this late?” he murmured.

“Waiting for you.”
She hated that he looked so tired and…defeated. It tugged at her heart but she couldn’t help him if she didn’t know what was wrong. “What’s going on, Sawyer?” 

He dropped his keys on the hall table, shaking his head wearily. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?
Don’t?
” she stressed once more in disbelief. “You’re going to stand there and tell me, don’t?”

“Babe, please. Not tonight.”

“Oh, sorry. Is this a bad time for you?” she asked sarcastically. “I wasn’t sure…you know, because I haven’t seen you in days and when I do you’re not talking to me, and nobody knows what the hell is wrong with you,” she snapped.

She watched him close his eyes and seem to count to ten silently. “I’m tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“Well too bad. I’m tired too. Tired of waiting up all night to see if you come home or not…tired of wondering if you’re even coming home at all. I want to know what’s going on with you.”

For a minute he opened his eyes and watched her. He opened his mouth as though about to answer, but then shook his head slightly and turned away. “Everything’s under control.” His voice sounded flat and empty.

“The guys are worried about you too. You won’t be able to shut everyone out forever,” she warned, sounding aloof. Inside she was anything but. She was hurting. She hated when he got like this—shutting her out when he was clearly going through something troubling. 

“I said I got it under control. Just leave it alone, Whisk.”

She watched him turn and walk from the room without a backward glance and felt numb. He’d retreated back into that old stony silent Sawyer, the one she’d met when her father was dying. The one who kept secrets from her.