Lies & Deception Page 9

  “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. No one speaks about Ginger like that,” Blue hissed across the table.

  Stack smirked. “For God’s sake, calm down. I was giving her a compliment.”

  “The fuck you were!” Blue pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair screeching across the tiles. “You basically said she was a slut.”

  Stack stood and leaned his hands on the table as he stared at Blue. “And I’ll say whatever I want.”

  “Not about my sister, you won’t.”

  Ginger rose from her position at the end of the table and moved to stand close to Blue. The resemblance when they were next to each other was striking, both with the flaming-red hair that gave them their nicknames.

  “It’s okay, Frank,” Ginger said to Blue as she placed a hand on his arm. “Stack didn’t mean anything by it. Did you, Stack?”

  “Whatever.” Stack dropped back into his seat.

  Before Blue had a chance to respond, Rocky returned to the table, accompanied by Peter. Rocky looked around, obviously noting the tension in the room. “What’s going on?”

  Blue’s nostrils flared. “Nothing,” he mumbled. He turned to retrieve his chair from where it had been flung back to rest against the next table, scowling at the table’s occupants, who were wide-eyed at the display of temper.

  Finn breathed a sigh of relief that the argument didn’t seem to go any farther. In his current frame of mind, he didn’t feel up to dealing with any fallout, and there would definitely be fallout if these two really got stuck into it.

  One of the girls—Finn couldn’t remember her name—vacated her seat for Rocky, and Ginger placed a quick peck on his cheek before promising him a drink and heading to the bar.

  “Where’ve you been?” Finn asked.

  Rocky looked at him and blinked a few times. “What?”

  “I asked where the two of you have been?” Finn glanced between Pete and Rocky. Both looked worse for wear, with their decidedly dazed expressions. Finn sort of expected it from Pete because unfortunately he’d seen the guy stoned on numerous occasions in the past, but he wasn’t so accustomed to seeing the out-of-it look on Rocky. Rocky was usually hard and focused. This afternoon he seemed unfocused and spacey.

  “Peter and I had something we needed to do, right, Peter?”

  Pete nodded, and had the decency to look somewhat regretful, or maybe ashamed. Or maybe it was just the drugs, and he wasn’t thinking much of anything. He shrugged and headed in the direction of the restrooms.

  Conversation resumed around the table, and Finn rubbed his temples. The headache was getting worse, not better, and he just wanted to close his eyes against the light and the pain. He pushed his beer farther away toward the center of the table, finding the yeasty smell nauseating, and wondered how long he had to stay at the pub before Rocky either dismissed him or he could slink away.

  Except leaving meant seeing Mitch, meant being in close quarters with him in that damned Range Rover as they headed out toward the mountains. Jesus. The whole idea of being with Mitch had Finn on edge. There’d been a sort of reprieve since the incident outside Rocky’s at the barbecue the day before.

  Mitch and Finn had driven home after the drive-by shooting. They both were in a state of shock—at least Finn assumed Mitch was rattled by the whole thing because he was totally focused on the road the entire drive, and they hardly exchanged two words. The next morning Rocky called just as Mitch knocked on the front door. Finn spoke with Rocky for the entire trip back into the city. Once they arrived at CMC, Finn jumped from the car, and Mitch disappeared to do some errands. Now Finn was sitting at the pub, waiting for Mitch’s return.

  Funny how part of him was eager to see Mitch again, the part of him that was desperately attracted to him. Mitch pushed all his buttons in the best ways. Actually that wasn’t entirely true. Having his buttons pressed wasn’t something Finn could have. He couldn’t afford to have even a hint of his attraction to Mitch get out. Rocky would kill him. Finn wasn’t entirely sure who the “him” was. Would Rocky be pissed off at Finn or angry with Mitch, or disgusted with both of them? Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth finding out.

  The beer was still cold as Finn swallowed a large mouthful, immediately regretting it. He held the bottle to his temple, then moved it across his forehead, enjoying the chill against his skin.

  “I think you’re meant to drink that, not use it to give yourself a facial.”

  Finn jumped as Mitch slid into the empty seat beside him. His blood pressure shot up, and he sucked in a breath.

  Mitch leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “Are you okay?”

  Finn nodded, his tongue thick in his mouth.

  Mitch’s eyes were full of concern.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day, that’s all.”

  Finn was pleased he’d been able to get that much out because, despite the headache from hell, his body was responding to Mitch’s closeness and the memory of how it felt to have Mitch pin him to the ground. The waft of Mitch’s aftershave didn’t help either, the scent making the memories clearer. His attraction fought with his embarrassment. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “So long as you’re sure.”

  Mitch put his hand on Finn’s thigh as he spoke, and Finn immediately opened his eyes at the contact. He swallowed heavily as Mitch studied him. For what? To make sure he really was okay? To reassure him? The weight of Mitch’s hand was all Finn could think about, solid and strong. Their gazes connected, and Finn couldn’t look away. He was conscious of his rapid breathing and the tension in his muscles, and wondered if Mitch felt them bunching under his hand. This was exactly what Finn was afraid of. He opened his mouth to speak—

  “Huh-hmm.”

  His and Mitch’s eyes shot up as Peter cleared his throat, and Mitch snatched his hand away as if he’d been burnt. Fuck! How did Peter even get that close without me or Mitch noticing?

  A quick glance around the table showed no one else was paying them any attention, most of the focus on other conversations and fawning over Rocky. Finn looked back up at Pete and saw fire in his eyes. If looks could kill….

  “Oh, hi, Pete.” Mitch was the one to break the silence, but although he was smiling at Pete, he looked wary. Like a kid whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar? What reason did Mitch have for feeling nervous? He was only checking on Finn’s well-being, something he was paid handsomely to do.

  Pete took a chair from a nearby table and swung it round, slipping it in between Finn and Mitch, forcing them both to scoot their chairs back to give him room. “Things are working out between you two, I see.”

  Mitch shrugged. “We’re getting along fine.”

  “Yeah, so I gathered.” Pete snorted. “I should have known. You do have a lot in common after all.”

  Mitch’s gaze hardened, and Finn couldn’t work out what the expression meant. He looked between the two men, who seemed to have entered into a staring contest. “You’ve known Mitch for a while, right?” he said to Pete. “So I guess you’d know more about him than I would. But we’re getting to know each other due to all the time we spend together, especially during the car trip. It’s a good thing we have things in common, or we’d drive each other mental. Maybe you can let me know some of Mitch’s secrets.”

  Mitch stood abruptly. “Come on, Pete. I need to talk to you.”

  Pete shrugged. “So what’s stopping you?”

  “In private.” Mitch’s tone brooked no argument. He turned and stalked toward the bar.

  Pete looked at Finn and lifted his shoulders again. He winked before standing on slightly wobbly knees and taking off after Mitch.

  What the hell? The whole exchange was odd. But then again, Pete behaved strangely at times, so Finn didn’t worry too much. He was intrigued as to what Mitch needed to talk to Pete about, though. Maybe Rocky was sending them off to do something together.

  Finn thought back to when he’d first met Peter. Rocky had sent Pete to Melbourne
at the end of the previous year to help him pack up his apartment. Rocky had Pete doing some other things beforehand, so he stayed in town for a couple of weeks before they finally packed up and cleared out of the apartment. Finn had given Pete use of his spare bedroom. It was during that visit they’d somewhat bonded, but it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

  Pete was relatively easygoing, and Finn enjoyed his company, but as the days passed, Finn cottoned on that Pete was taking some kind of drugs. His eyes were sometimes too bright, he’d get restless, and then he’d have moments of darkness where he’d get snappy or morose. At first Finn thought maybe he was depressed, but knowing Rocky’s business, his guess was most likely cocaine or something even stronger.

  For some reason, Pete liked Finn and seemed to trust him and eventually admitted his problem. He started to speak more about his issues and his unhappiness that he’d never kicked his addiction and let it take over his life. Pete spoke of all that he’d lost—his family, his friends, his job, and eventually his partner—but it wasn’t hard to understand why. Drugs had the power to turn people into a shell of themselves, making them say and do things they otherwise wouldn’t. In Pete’s case, the addiction became all-consuming, and he admitted to Finn he’d done some terrible things, which led to a life of regret.

  Pete and Mitch talked, their heads bent close together as they discussed something in earnest. Pete was gesturing back toward the table, and Finn thought he was pointing at him. But Mitch wrenched Pete’s arm down and forced Pete to focus on him. Whatever the job, Pete must have been unhappy with the direction from Rocky, judging from his expression. And it was no wonder because Finn knew how much Pete was trying to turn things around and make amends.

  Whatever Mitch said must have worked. Pete nodded silently. Mitch reached out and placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder, an oddly tender gesture that stirred something deep in Finn’s gut. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the fluttering in his belly was something akin to jealousy. But that was ridiculous. Why would he be jealous over Pete and Mitch? And why be jealous of anything at all? It wasn’t as if he, or any other man, had a chance with Mitch, anyway.

  Now Pete was a different story. The fact that Pete was gay was the second reason they bonded in Melbourne, the first reason being Finn’s respect for Pete’s mission to try to fix his mistakes of the past. But the whole gay thing was definitely the glue.

  One night about a week into Pete’s stay, Pete came back to the apartment unexpectedly. He was supposed to spend the entire night away, and Finn used the opportunity to have James around for a farewell dinner. They’d broken up a while back but maintained some level of friendship. The after-dinner discussion with James turned into a wine-fueled reminiscence of the good times, and one thing led to another. Pete walked in to the sight of James on his knees in front of the couch with Finn’s cock lodged deep in his throat. Finn’s gaze locked with Pete’s as his orgasm rushed through him. Pete didn’t so much as flinch, just turned tail and headed down the hall to his bedroom.

  When he found Pete enjoying a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen the next morning, he was shocked. He fully expected outrage and for Pete to hightail it back to Rocky with the news of what he’d seen. Instead he found out Pete shared his secret, and he suddenly had an ally within the club.

  The increasing throb of his escalating headache distracted Finn from his thoughts and brought him back to the present, a present that was most likely the reason for his oncoming migraine.

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  DURING THE car ride the night before, Finn had been quiet. Mitch thought it could be because Mitch’s actions when he threw Finn to the ground made the guy uncomfortable. Mitch gripped the steering wheel tighter as he tried to push the memory away. All day he’d been on tenterhooks as he waited for the other shoe to drop. But Finn hadn’t said anything about it, not this morning in the car on the way to work—although that was probably because he spent most of the journey on the phone with Rocky—and not for the hour or so they were in the car heading back to Finn’s place. Mitch took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced at Finn. He was huddled in the passenger seat, curled in on himself. He held one hand against his head, shielding his face from Mitch’s gaze.

  Shit! I just wish he’d say something and get it over with.

  Mitch had prepared his lines, his spiel about the adrenaline rush and the natural reaction to having his dick thrust against a hard surface. Oh Jesus, and what a hard surface it was. Nope, not going there. Mitch just prayed they could get the awkward discussion out of the way. At least then he’d know what he was dealing with. The way he and Ross saw it was Finn would either accept the explanation and move on, or he’d chuck a wobbly and get rid of Mitch. But surely if Finn were going to do that, he’d have already done it by now. Rocky hadn’t reacted any differently to Mitch, and neither did any of the other brothers. So what on earth was going on with Finn?

  Mitch pulled into the drive of the ramshackle house. Usually Finn gave his goodbyes and jumped from the Range Rover as soon as they pulled up. But not this time. He just sat there, unmoving. The interior of the car was dim, but Mitch couldn’t see Finn’s face anyway due to the position of his arm and hand.

  Oh well, someone’s got to do it, and it may as well be now.

  He took a breath and prepared to kick off the much-dreaded conversation, but the small groan from Finn stopped any words he was going to say.

  “Finn? Are you okay?”

  Finn moved slowly. He lowered his hand and turned his head to look at Mitch. Mitch could see the grimace in the low light.

  “Headache. I’ll be okay. Just need to lie down.”

  Finn’s voice was hardly above a whisper, and Mitch strained to hear over the rumble of the idling engine. Finn fumbled with the door, flinching when the interior light of the car came on. He went to exit the vehicle, only to jolt back when the seat belt held him firmly in place. As Finn fumbled with the buckle, it was obvious something was definitely wrong.

  “Hold on.” Mitch threw the Range Rover into Park and turned off the ignition. He flew around the car, arriving on the other side just in time to catch Finn as he tumbled from the car. Finn relaxed into his arms for a moment before putting both hands on Mitch’s chest and pushing upright. Mitch gave him the space he needed but prepared to catch him again should he fall.

  Finn didn’t protest when Mitch walked beside him to the house. He didn’t argue when Mitch took the house keys from his shaking hand and opened the door. “Alarm?”

  Finn nodded and moved to the panel on the wall, where thankfully he entered the numerical code with no issue. Mitch trailed behind Finn as he made his way through the darkened house to the kitchen. Once there, Mitch stopped in the doorway as Finn opened the fridge. He left the door wide open without reaching inside. Instead he moved to the kitchen counter and opened one of the drawers. He withdrew a bottle of pills before pouring a glass of water directly from the tap, using a glass from the drying rack, then took both the pill bottle and the glass of water to the small table. Finn’s movements were slow, and it was if he was unaware of Mitch’s presence. For a moment Mitch tossed around the idea of quietly leaving, but when he saw Finn struggling to open the small bottle, he moved forward instead of retreating. He dropped to his haunches at Finn’s side.

  “Here. Let me do that.”

  Finn looked up from the bottle and blinked a couple of times before holding out the pills.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “How many? Two?” At Finn’s nod, Mitch passed over two of the little pills, noting there were only two more left in the bottle.

  Finn threw them back with some water before staggering to his feet.

  Mitch stood, bringing them close together. He looked down into Finn’s face, and even in the dim light of the open refrigerator, could see the strain around his eyes and the tension in his features.

  “Migraine?”

  “Yeah. I get them every now and then. I just need to go to bed, and I’
ll be right in a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  Finn nodded again, grimacing at the action. “Most likely. They usually last two to three days. Sometimes only one, if I’m lucky.”

  Mitch resisted the urge to reach out and touch Finn although the impulse was strong. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. I just need to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” Mitch said. There was no way in hell he was leaving Finn stuck all the way out in the boondocks when he wasn’t feeling well.

  “You don’t have—”

  “Like I said, I’m not leaving. So how about we get you settled into bed, and then you can tell me what else you need.”

  Surprisingly Finn didn’t argue. He just left the room and headed in the direction of the bedrooms. Mitch moved to follow, but not before he fetched a fresh glass of water. The glass Finn had used was chipped, so Mitch left it in the sink and opened a cupboard to look for a new one. Empty. He tried a few more doors until he came to a cupboard that held a single glass, a few mugs, and a small pile of mismatched plates. He ignored the prickle of confusion at the mostly empty kitchen, took the glass, and filled it before grabbing the pill bottle. He closed the fridge door on his way out, plunging the room into darkness.

  Mitch stopped at the doorway to Finn’s bedroom. It was clean and neat but appallingly decorated and looked like a relic from the 1950s. Striped wallpaper in shades of brown and blue, sheer curtains over an antique roller blind, an armchair, and an old bed. There was a simple timber wardrobe and a small dresser, both of which looked like op shop finds or something from the council cleanup. But his attention was quickly drawn to where Finn sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap and head hanging. He raised his head at the sound of Mitch’s steps on the floorboards and offered a small smile.