Page 13 of Rough Patch

When Hamilton asked if she wanted someone gotten rid of, there wasn’t an easy way to tell whether he meant ask the guy to leave or something a little more permanent. “No. I want you to watch him. Be friends, Hamilton.” She ended on a smile. “For now.”

Hamilton chuckled. “How many eyes do you think I have, Fiona? I’m already watching your boy.”

And yet he hadn’t mentioned a damned thing about a meet with the FBI. Thank God he’d been switching nights with Sage on Grier-watch. “Yeah. Leave Sage on Grier, and you stay with that guy.” And what the hell kind of name was Kale? “I want to know why he hasn’t gone back south yet.” And again, Grier was out there, somewhere, unwatched, unmonitored, making God only knew what kind of deals with the FBI. Fuck. She sighed.

* * *

Jez set a pizza in front of Hamilton. He shoved the pan in front of Fiona. “Eat.”

“All right.” These days, no one had to tell her twice to shovel in the food.

“Where’s lover boy? Sage said he left him with you.”

And as quickly as her appetite developed, it disappeared. She dropped her piece of pizza back onto the metal pan. “He’s fine. He’s, um… out.” Telling Hamilton that Grier was “out” with the FBI would only assure her husband’s swift, immediate, and largely painful disappearance and death. She’d have a patch of earth to show her baby as his father. And while she knew it had to happen, she needed a few days to get in line with the thought.

“Out alone?”

“It’s fine.” The quiver in her voice betrayed the surety of her words. “Really. He’s, um, looking for Sedotal.” In his own back-handed way, she supposed. A totally out-of-bounds, would-get-himself-killed-for-it way.

“Mm.” Hamilton took a swig of his beer then looked at her long and hard, his eyes pointed into hers. “Fi, I’ve got you no matter what, okay? You don’t have to go through any of this alone.”

She nodded, too choked on emotion to speak. He’d been her first protector. Her first friend. The first man, beside her father, she’d ever trusted. And for the thousandth time, she had to wonder why she’d chosen Grier over Hamilton. Before her reasons had seemed so clear. Now, not so much.

“Now eat. Heirs to the throne can’t be born scrawny and thin.” He pushed the pan further in front of her.

She nibbled at the piece she’d previously discarded as her mind whirred with all she knew. But one thought pushed all others to the rear. Grier had somehow managed to align himself with the FBI. What she didn’t know was when. She knew the details of his association with Dave. That Max had set it up. Presumably so if the club discovered it, Max would have deniability. And it made sense. But going to the FBI now? That didn’t jive. And she’d be the one who would have to call for his death.

“You okay?”

She would have answered, reassured him, but the door to the clubhouse slammed open and Grier stood just inside, his eyes dark with fury, his face a grimace. She turned and waited. The music stopped. Sage stood. Hamilton stood. And the fondler pushed away his Wall Kat. He didn’t quite make it to his feet, but that was a lot of man to pull from a chair if there wasn’t a need. Still, his eyes didn’t so much as twitch or blink, and for a moment Fiona stared. She could almost smell the danger reeking off this guy.

“Grier.” Hamilton had the presence of mind to hold out his hand to stop Grier from advancing on Fiona while she continued staring at Kale.

Hamilton had one hand at his back on the butt of the gun he kept in his waistband. She put her hand on his arm. “I think this might be a personal matter.” Even as she spoke the words, the bitterness of the lie burned on her tongue. She moved around Hamilton. “Come on, honey, let’s talk it out.”

She took a tentative step toward Grier who still glared, not so much at her, but at everyone around her. Sage appeared at her side then moved to throw an arm around Grier. “Come on, big fella. Let’s have us a drink and a talk?”

For as drunk as he sounded, Sage’s eyes were missing the glaze that came with alcohol overload. Grier’s, by comparison, flamed with anger. He shoved Sage away and stared at the Hamilton look-alike. “You!”

Everything else happened in seconds, a blur of motion and fists, sidesteps, by Grier, thank God, and shouts. Hamilton shielded her long enough for Jez to pull her behind the bar, then joined the fray. A TV fell. Tables were upended. Glasses shattered. Bottles thrown. But the sound, every punch rang through her head. Each grunt and shout echoed off the high ceiling. Until it ended with Hamilton holding Kale, both arms behind his back and Sage on top of Grier whose face was pressed into the floor under the force of Sage’s knee.

Now it was time to sort this fucking mess. She came out from her hiding spot and walked around the bar. “Let him up.” Sage stood then lifted Grier by his arm. A tornado could have blown through the place and left less devastation, but she didn’t care about that. Instead, she jabbed her finger into Grier’s chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He reached behind his back and Sage grabbed him again. Grier struggled free. “I’m not fucking armed.” But he was bleeding from a gash over his eye and a split in his lip. “There’s a picture in my pocket.”

Sage pulled it out and handed it to Fiona. She nodded at Sage who released Grier again, but didn’t move away. Fiona glanced at the photo. Hamilton lighting the truck on fire. She stared from him to the picture. That he’d gotten it from the FBI didn’t mean as much as what it showed. “Hamilton?”

Grier tried to move closer, but Sage held him back. “Not Ham. It’s that fucker!” He jabbed a finger toward the man who lunged with force almost enough to break Hamilton’s hold. But not quite. And thank God.

Grier, on the other hand, was not so restrained, and he made it to Kale before Sage could pull him back. He put his shoulder down and barreled into Kale who toppled backward onto Hamilton’s. Kale rolled off and pinned Grier then jabbed with a meaty fist into Grier’s jaw with one hand and his temple with the other. Grier’s head jerked from one side to the other. Hamilton pulled Kale off again. And Grier, whose face would be unrecognizable by morning, made it to his feet.

He spat blood onto the floor. “I don’t know why. But it’s him.”

Fiona stared at the picture harder, looked for anything that would differentiate the blur in the picture from Hamilton. Same height. Same coloring. But the blob of black on the neck, that wasn’t Hamilton. Grier was right. Hopefully, no one questioned why he had the picture or where he’d gotten it. Hopefully, the bloodlust would be too strong to allow for conscious thought.

She strode up to Kale, safe thanks to Hamilton’s hold on him. “Who are you really?”

He glared at her, spat. “Fuck you.”