Silver Bastard

The diamonds sparkling on the bitch’s ears were real. I’d bet my bike on it.

Becca would look real pretty wearing earrings like that . . . Although if I owned her she’d never find out—just one more reason to stay the fuck away.

She came back with our drinks, handing them around the table. When she turned to go, Boonie stuck his leg out and she tripped right into me. I caught her, of course. Her body was soft and she smelled good, like flowers or something. Flowers and mint? Fuck if I knew—made me want to eat her, though. Memories flooded me, everything from the sweet, salty taste of her cunt to the noises she’d made when she came. Heat shot through my cock as she pulled away, glaring at us.

“Thanks, asshole,” I muttered at Boonie, but I didn’t say it to his face—too busy watching Becca strut off toward the bar. I was so busy perving on her ass that I almost missed what happened next. The blonde girl stumbled out of the back hallway, hair rumpled and lipstick worn off. Thirty seconds later the preppy asshole followed, his shirt pulled loose and a satisfied smirk on his face. None of this would’ve been noteworthy if he hadn’t lurched straight into our table.

“Fuck off,” Deep muttered, but the kid straightened and I realized he wasn’t drunk at all. He might be carrying himself that way, but his eyes were sharp and speculative. Interesting.

“Brought your money,” he murmured. “Shane said you’d have something for me. Outside in ten.”

Seconds later he was off again, stumbling and laughing at his friends. Boonie’s face stayed completely neutral, but when he reached for his drink and took a long pull, I sensed smug satisfaction.

“What was that about?” Deep asked.

“Little project I’ve been working on,” Boonie said. “We’ll cover everything at church. Wasn’t sure he’d pull through, consider this something of a test.”

“Who? That little prick?” Deep asked.

“That little prick’s dad was a contract killer for the Irish mob,” Boonie said. I raised an eyebrow.

“No shit?” I asked. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Trying to stay alive,” Boonie answered. “Or rather, he’s protecting the one trying to stay alive. Shane McDonogh, who used to be a genuine mob prince. His mom, Christina, married Jamie Callaghan. Raised him down in Vegas. Nobody knows for sure who his father was.”

Interesting. Even I knew the McDonoghs had owned the Laughing Tess for five generations. Five violent, angry generations where the miners, the union, and the McDonoghs had fought with one another for control of the valley.

Not long after I’d gotten out of prison, the old man had died. Hadn’t left the mine to his daughter, though. Went straight to the grandson.

“Doesn’t that make him about the richest kid in Idaho?” I asked. Boonie snorted.

“Might make him the richest kid in North America,” he replied. “Not that it’s doing him any good. They’ve been fighting the will for years. Mommy wants her mine back.”

“What’s he want with us? Drugs? Gotta be boring as fuck up at that school.”

“Protection,” Boonie said, his voice satisfied. “He knows we run the valley. He’s rich on paper, but funds are limited and he has no manpower. Now he’s cooling his heels at the academy.”

“Nice family,” I said. “If he’s worth so much, why doesn’t he just find a lawyer to take them out? You hang that mine out as bait, they’ll be swarming to help him.”

“Don’t know the whole story,” Boonie said. “Don’t really care. All that matters is that in ten minutes we’re going to get paid a fuckload of money for a few guns so the young prince can sleep a little easier at night. Our discretion justifies a slight markup, of course . . .”

I grinned, because Boonie had a gift for finding money-making opportunities.

“That goes through, told him we could talk about a more long-term solution,” he added. “He’s got big plans. Blackthorne thinks he could be good for the valley. Hard to say.”

Deep raised his beer bottle, silently saluting him as my eyes drifted back toward Becca. She was leaning over a table, ass twitching as she wiped off the spilled beer. Mentally I was already shoving her down face-first before fucking her right the hell into oblivion.

“Might want to close your mouth,” Boonie said, nudging me. “Don’t want to drool in your beer. Now bottoms up, because we’ve got a meeting outside. Deep, you take the porch—maybe have yourself a smoke and keep an eye out. Puck, you’re with me, unless you’d rather have the smoke?”

I dropped my hand from inside my cut, where I’d reached for my cigs automatically. Boonie gave a snort of laughter, which I deserved for being so fucking predictable. I’d stopped smoking six months back, yet I still caught myself going for them at least ten times a day.

—

The dark-haired kid met us back behind the bar, his giggling girlfriend nowhere to be seen. I studied him in the darkness, trying to place his age. Twenty, twenty-one? He had a hard look to his eyes, and his body language had changed. Inside I’d pegged him for a pussy, but now?

I could see him as a contract killer’s kid.

“You still want all six?” Boonie asked, hefting a leather saddlebag. “They’re clean.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet. “Shane said it’s a done deal?”