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Chapter twelve

Novo

Much as I hated it, two days later, I was forced to go out.

Matty seemed content to stay in his Little space as much as possible, but he was showing glimpses of being an adult.

He'd asked me about a job, and I'd simply told him not to worry.

I knew we were going to have to discuss what had happened at some point, but I wasn't rushing him.

I had to go to one of the bars since the manager was sick and I needed to see how Ashley, his assistant, was doing. And yes, Jono or Cruise could have gone, but they had their own businesses to run, on top of the heightened security for the compound.

I'd delivered an excited Matty to the clubhouse, as apparently he was going to do some baking with Maria. All the guys knew not to let him out of their sight and as mama-bear Daisy was there, none of them would dare.

Tik Tac immediately caught my nod and drew nearer to them, and I nodded my acknowledgement. I was glad to see he looked okay. He was one of the newer prospects, but a stand-up guy. Never objected to anything he was asked to do.

I was relieved Sophie hadn't been back to the club in the last couple of days.

I got in my truck and headed to the edge of town where The Last Keg was located.

We ran two bars. One was more upscale and catered to the younger crowd; this one was more for the locals and next to a huge rest stop popular with big rig drivers.

We served food, again nothing fancy, but filling.

Next door, Glitter Bomb was our strip club.

It was early, though, so the girls had only been in bed maybe two hours and as I called them yesterday and they were fine, I wasn't going to go in.

I walked in and greeted Andy, who was bent stocking shelves just as Ashley came out of the back office. She grinned. "Hi Bear."

"Everything good? Problems?"

She shrugged. "Masterton's thought they were gonna short me on the delivery yesterday, but I soon set them straight."

I chuckled. Ashley was a hundred and twenty pounds, if that, but she took no prisoners, and besides, all she had to do if she needed was pick up the phone and she'd have the place full of Diamond Kings.

I also knew Jimmy Masterton was very well aware of that and if it was a driver, he would take care of it.

Ben, our regular manager, had been sick with an ulcer, but he was about ready to retire as well. Ashley would be a great replacement.

She narrowed her eyes. "Didn't expect to see you. Thought you were all loved up on your honeymoon."

I rolled my eyes even though a kernel of warmth unfurled in my gut. "You're all a bunch of gossiping old ladies." She snorted.

"Don't let Daisy hear you say that."

Which was true.

"Want a drink, boss? We got a new bourbon in," Andy offered.

What I wanted was to get out of here and home to Matty but it wouldn't kill me to sit for five minutes.

I nodded. "Small one." He poured for me and I picked the glass up, inhaling the smokiness and something a little spicier.

"I'll have one of those," came the voice behind me and it took everything in me not to react.

I kept my face neutral as I turned to see Harold Coombes standing behind me, dressed in a tailored suit that likely cost more than most people made in a month. He looked exactly like the photos I'd seen—silver-haired, distinguished, with the cold eyes of a predator.

"Mr. Coombes," I said evenly, not extending my hand.

If he was surprised I knew who he was, he didn't show it. He simply smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes, and slid onto the barstool next to mine.

"Mr. Sousa," he replied, accepting the bourbon Andy poured. "I thought it was time we met face to face."

I took a deliberate sip of my drink, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. Ashley had slipped into the back, likely calling Jono. Good girl.

"I was rather distressed to hear of the wedding and to not receive an invitation," Coombes said, swirling his bourbon. "Of course, we both know that this is simply a financial arrangement."

"I don't owe you explanations," I replied, my voice deceptively calm despite the rage bubbling beneath the surface. This was the man who'd tried to have Matty killed. Twice. The man who'd been stealing from him for years. The man who'd set him up with Degrassi.

And the man who'd ruined my parents' lives.

Not that he would ever find the connection. I started going by my mother’s maiden name before even enlisting as a tribute to Gran, and I knew Digger had buried my old records and made the name change official when we’d hatched the revenge plan.

Coombes chuckled, the sound like ice cracking. "I admire directness. So let me be direct as well." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. "Name your price."

I raised an eyebrow. "My price?"

"To walk away from Matthew," he clarified, uncapping an expensive fountain pen. "This marriage is obviously a sham. I'm willing to make it worth your while to end it."

I took another sip of bourbon, letting him stew. "And why would you think that?"

"Please," Coombes scoffed. "A biker marrying a boy like Matthew? It's transparent. He's using you to get his trust fund, and you're using him for..." he waved his hand dismissively, "whatever it is you want. Money, I assume."

"You seem to think you know a lot about me," I observed coldly.

His eyes narrowed fractionally. "Matthew has always been... impulsive. Emotional. He needs guidance."

"And that's what you're providing? Guidance?" I asked dryly.

Coombes blustered. “He has shown time and time again he is financially irresponsible. He refuses to meet with his deceased parents’ financial advisor, or even consult one of his own. I have plenty of money, as I’m sure you are aware. I just don’t want Matthew to drink or snort his fortune away.”

I thought of what a lightweight Matty was with alcohol. I wanted to rearrange Coombes’s supercilious face but landing myself in jail wouldn't help Matty.

He had to know both attempts had been unsuccessful, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he assumed that as a biker I was treating it as business as usual.

Although… Was this my chance? If I pretended to be tempted this might be my way in. I leaned back, pretending to consider his words. "And if any of that were true, what makes you think I would walk away?"

"Look, I'm a businessman," Coombes pressed, sensing an opening. "I understand transactions. Matthew found someone willing to marry him to fulfill the trust conditions. I'm simply offering a better deal."

I gave him a long, measured look. "What exactly are you proposing?"

Coombes smiled thinly, clearly believing he'd hooked me. "Five hundred thousand dollars. Cash. Tax-free. You divorce Matthew, sign an NDA about the arrangement, and walk away."

"Five hundred thousand," I repeated, as if considering. "That's a lot of money."

"More than you'd make in several years, I imagine," he said with barely disguised condescension. "And considerably less hassle than staying married to a troubled young man for two years."

I took another sip of bourbon, letting the liquid burn down my throat while I imagined all the ways I'd like to make this man suffer. "Troubled how?"

Coombes waved his hand dismissively. "Matthew has always been.

.. difficult. Emotional problems. Substance issues.

He's been in and out of therapy since he was a child.

" He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Between us, he's not entirely stable.

Has these childish episodes. It's embarrassing, really. "

My fingers tightened around my glass. The casual way he spoke about Matty made my blood boil. "Sounds like you don't think much of your godson."

"I've done my best with him," Coombes sighed, the picture of put-upon nobility. "His parents, God rest their souls, left me with quite the burden. But I've always looked out for his best interests."

"By ruining his chance of a relationship a second time?"

Coombes's expression flickered—surprise, then rapid recalculation. "I don't know what nonsense Matthew has been filling your head with, but I assure you, I've only ever wanted what's best for him."

"Including someone trying to run him down?" Based on what we found out from the hired gun, Digger had made it look like he'd taken the money and run, so as Matty was still very much alive, Coombes would think he'd been double-crossed.

Coombes set down his glass with deliberate care. "I see Matthew has been telling tales. Unfortunate, but not surprising. He's always had a flair for the dramatic. I was once dragged all the way to his school because he'd threatened suicide. It was simple attention-seeking."

How I didn't put a bullet in that lying mouth I had no idea. Suicide? My poor, sweet baby.

I reined myself in, aware that if I alienated Coombes, I would blow any chance of getting the information I needed.

“If you’re so concerned about him, why was he living in a hovel and working for minimum wage?

” The apartment was nice and well cared for, but if I made it sound like I thought the place a dump it made it sound like I was open to a better arrangement.

Coombes sniffed, clearly agreeing with me. "Matthew chose that lifestyle. I offered him a perfectly comfortable apartment in one of my buildings, but he refused. Pride, I suppose. He's always been stubborn that way."

"He's stuck at it though," I observed, watching Coombes's reaction carefully.

He frowned, tapping his manicured fingernails against the bar. "Yes, well, desperation makes people do foolish things. Which brings us back to my offer." He opened his checkbook. "Five hundred thousand. Clean break. Everyone wins."

I pretended to consider, taking another slow sip of bourbon. "That's... tempting," I admitted, watching hope flicker in his cold eyes. "But I'm not sure it's enough."