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Isobel was staring hard at Zep. This was leading somewhere, he could feel it deep in his bones.
“Or perhaps you do understand,” Isobel continued. “Perhaps you could imagine the horror of losing a child.”
It was a statement, not a question. Beneath the stoney facade that he’d schooled his face into for the last thirty years, Zep’s blood turned to ice.
“My father taught me to follow the money.” The glint in Isobel’s eyes was menacing. “Always follow the money.” He touched his finger to his bulbous nose. “That’s how I knew Hollywood was up to something, and when two and two made four, I realised he’d taken a leaf out of my John’s book.”
“You’re full of shit, Isobel.” Zep had never thought to track the money trail of his enforcer. Why would he when Hollywood appeared loyal to the club?
“When people disappear, I always make a point of following the money.” Isobel slid his pink tongue across his lips. “Been doing it fordecades.” He emphasised the last word with a gleam in his eye.
Zep didn’t take his eyes off the mob boss. “Fuck you,” he growled. The ice in his veins cracked painfully beneath his skin.
“What’s he talking about, Zep?” asked Connor. He’d been around long enough to know men like Peter Isobel didn’t bluff.
Isobel started to laugh, a deep loud belly rumble that bounced off the walls.
Connor took a step towards the table. “What the actual fuck are you laughing at?”
Isobel’s henchman, who’d been watching silently from the opposite side of the room to Connor, also took a step forward, his hand on his side arm.
“Settle down trigger, you don’t want to shoot yourself in the leg,” Connor said to the younger man, earning himself a glare. “Ooh, scary.”
Isobel kept laughing while Connor and the other guy squared up from across the room. Zep was breathing hard, a red haze settled over everything. If all he was talking about was Hollywood’s money trail, he didn’t give a fuck. But if this was him referring to… No. How could he know? No one knew. He’d made sure of it.
There was too much noise in the room, too many people. He felt hot. Why would Isobel follow the money of a woman who belonged to a foot soldier of an MC? It made no sense. He slammed his fists onto the table.
“Enough!” he roared.
All three men stopped and stared at him. Connor and the bodyguard wore shocked expressions. Isobel looked like the cat that got the cream.
“What do you want? Your son and his family are dead and I’m sorry for that. Their killer is also dead. There is nothing to be gained from more bloodshed.” Zep had regathered his composure, on the surface. Isobel was playing games and he was sick of it.
Isobel narrowed his eyes. “I want to bring bloody vengeance down on this club and all who ride with you.”
Zep shook his head. “You want to start a war over this, old man?” What the fuck was Isobel thinking?
“I want the world to remember who I am,” he spat. His chair scraped against the tiled floor as he rose. Isobel stood as tall as his aged posture would allow. “And you and yours can fade into oblivion.” He began to shuffle to the door while his bodyguard hovered, as if waiting for him to fall.
“Prison’s done your head in, Isobel,” shouted Connor at the mob boss’s departing form.
“I’ll give Becca your regards, Zep,” Isobel threw over his shoulder as he left.
Zep froze, the ice in his veins spreading to encase him. Connor kept yelling but the words were lost on Zep as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Peter Isobel had appeared at his doorstep, all the way from Melbourne, to declare war over his dead son. A son who had left the fold, left the life–and his father–behind. And somehow, he knew about Becca. And now the animal was threatening her.
It took every ounce of self control he had not to follow Isobel and kill him where he stood—one in the head and one in the heart.
Connor returned to the kitchen, his long grey hair flying around his red face. He went to the sink, took a glass from the shelf and filled it with water. He gulped it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done.
Zep hadn’t moved from the kitchen table. He knew the time had come, he couldn’t keep his secret any longer. As he searched for the words to begin, Connor spoke.
“Becca, that’s the girl you kept stashed in your room until Luci lost his shit.”
Lost his shit.Such a vague way to recount the day Luci—Lucifer—the club enforcer, had killed his old lady in a fit of rage.
“You always had a memory for details,” said Zep.
Connor nodded. “Long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Only time I ever saw you pussy-whipped.” He turned to face his president. “Amongst all the madness, you took off with Johnny and paid a visit to her family.”
