Fuck that.
I laugh, bitterness spilling out of me, and he stops.
“What?”
I ignore him and slide from the counter, intent on walking the fuck out of here. But Mal’s too quick for me.
Oscar leaves.
Mal kicks the interior door shut behind him, trapping me and Sol in the kitchen unless we want to push past Folk and Saint. “Fine. We’ll talk in here.”
He says it like a dare. One he’s so fucking sure I’ll back away from. But maybe that stick hit me harder than I thought, because I don’t leave. I lean against the counter, kicking a battered Van to the shiny metal surface behind me. “This about the dickhead he shot with a flare gun?”
I spit that at Folk.
He shrugs. Easy, and so fuckingniceI want to stab him. “Probably. Sure you want to stay?”
“I’d be gone if I wasn’t.”
Folk accepts that—of course he does. This shit is a way of life for him, one he chose. He wasn’t cursed by it from birth.
Like Cam.
His siblings.
Likeme.
I’m not sure how much Folk knows about my history with the club. Saint Malone, though, he knows it all—almost—and his shadowy presence at the back door is as familiar to me as Jack and Sol. It settles me in ways it shouldn’t as Folk takes his cue and turns back to Mal.
“You did a good number on those Couch boys. They panicked and burned their boat the night you hit back at them.”
Mal props a shoulder on the closed kitchen door, admitting nothing. “So?”
“So, you might have a different problem on your hands now. We’ve heard their old man has been stumbling around stripclubs, offering up a shit ton of cash to anyone who wants to torch this place with you in it.”
Dark humour turns Mal’s steady gaze sinister. “Me, eh?”
“If you like.” Folk is less amused. “Arson attacks aren’t as accurate as any kind of gun. And it only takes one idiot to kill everyone you care about.”
“Where’s the strip club?”
“I can do you better than that,” Folk says. “We found their house in the Cotswolds if that’s how you want to play it. But maybe you should think on it first.”
Mal grunts, processing.
Folk glances at me, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake forcing this conversation into the open. If Folk would feel freer to give Mal better advice if me and Sol weren’t here. “Either way,” he says eventually. “Call me before you move on anything. The offer still stands—we’re not a boots on the ground operation anymore, but we can help with logistics.”
“Or with any mad flaws a one-man plan is going to have.”
Saint says that from the door, stepping into the light again, glancing between me and Mal, then regarding Mal with a tilted stare Sol and I know is a warning.
I’m willing to bet Mal sees it.
But he’s dangerous too. He regards Saint right back and a stalemate stretches out. One Folk breaks with a droll grin. “We’re heading out. Be safe.”
He exits the kitchen, taking Saint with him. I wait for the roar of whatever horde of bikes they brought with them, but it doesn’t come. They leave as silently as they arrived, and Sol expels a noisy breath.
“I’m so sorry.”