Cold Blood (Lone Star Mobsters Book 4) Page 6

  “You gotta a minute?”

  Oh, fuck off.

  With a grunt, he dropped the roll back on the napkin, licked his fingers clean, and glared at the stranger.

  A tall, lanky man in a pair of jeans and cowboy boots stood next to the table. His silver belt buckle was so shiny, the damn thing nearly sparkled.

  While he didn’t know which branch the man worked for, Justice could spot a lawman at twenty paces. Due to his training, he was more aware of his surroundings than most people. That and he was giving Justice the stink eye, which was another tip-off.

  “A minute for what…?”

  “A talk. I’m Agent Hawthorne.” He whipped out his badge and Justice squinted at it, unimpressed. “Call me Thorne.”

  “Well, Thorne, I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

  The swiftest way to end up six feet under in these parts was cooperating with the feds. If Justice snitched, he’d have to deal with both the mafia and the FBI all up in his business. Not to mention the Four Horsemen. They preferred to handle their problems in house and dole out their own brand of retribution.

  “Sure ya do.” The agent sat down anyway.

  Justice grunted.

  “You know, I thought out of everyone, you’d be most likely to open up, seein’ as how you were in the military.”

  “You’ve been goin’ through our records.” Justice would have to let the club know, which would lead to a pain in the ass technology shuffle—a search for bugs in all their homes, new cell phones, and a boatload of cybersecurity.

  Fantastic. Things are just gettin’ better and better.

  “Yep.” He leaned across the table. “So why are you workin’ with the mafia? I can’t figure it out.”

  “The mafia?” He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve been watchin’ one too many Soprano reruns.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’m sick of gettin’ the run around from you people.”

  “Which people? Who else you been talkin’ to?”

  “None of your business. The point is, I ain’t gettin’ nowhere because none of y’all will open your goddamn mouths.” Thorne grabbed his cinnamon roll and took a big bite.

  “Now that’s just rude.” Justice hoped he choked on it.

  “Ain’t it though?” he muttered around a bite of pastry. “If I can’t find somebody to cooperate, we’ll have to go to Plan B.”

  “Which is…?” Justice already didn’t like the sound of it.

  “I can make life really uncomfortable around here.” Thorne finished the roll in two chomps and then smiled. “Eventually, I’ll get one of you to break ranks.”

  “And you think it’s me?” Justice laughed without humor. “You came to the wrong man.” Taliban fighters beat the stuffing out of him every single day for months and didn’t get squat. The agent didn’t stand a chance. “It’s gonna take a lot more than flashin’ your badge in my face. And you owe me $2.95 for the roll.”

  “Bill me.” Thorne smirked. “Know what I think?”

  “The question is, do I care?”

  “Humor me.”

  Justice sighed. “What do you think?”

  “A buddy of mine was workin’ a case out here and he up and disappeared, almost like he fell into a black hole or somethin’. His name’s Chris Warner. Ring any bells?”

  Yeah, it rang big clangin’ alarm bells.

  “I seem to recall meetin’ an agent by that name.” Justice knew better than to lie.

  “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

  “What about him?”

  “I believe Beauregard killed ‘em.”

  Justice made damn sure to keep his features even and disinterested. If Thorne was digging around the FBI agent’s murder, they were all screwed.

  Christ Almighty. Those chickens came home to roost with a vengeance.

  A few months back, Warner had been sniffing around Hell. Meanwhile, Beauregard had been trying to rope the Four Horsemen into a business arrangement, and when the club refused to cooperate, he’d shot the agent with Eddie Rollins’ gun, so her handprints were on it and everything.

  Beauregard then tucked the gun away into his safe and took care of the body. The mobster told Axel, Eddie would go down for murder unless the club fell in line. So they’d been forced to cooperate or stand by and watch as Eddie got railroaded into an electric chair on circumstantial evidence.

  Thorne studied him. “You don’t seem shocked by my theory.”

  “Should I be?” He shrugged. “The family’s infamous. Sayin’ a Beauregard offed somebody is like tellin’ me the earth is round, or the sky is blue.”

  “Yet, you’re workin’ for ‘em.” Thorne gritted his teeth. “And you didn’t answer my earlier question.”

  “I’m doin’ a little bit of this, some of that.” He excelled at giving vague non-answers.

  “Help me get the bastard.”

  Thorne’s eyes were filled with an unholy fire. This wasn’t merely about a case, it seemed personal. Justice doubted it just involved a dead colleague, either, even if the man had been a friend. No, this wound, whatever it was, ran deep.

  Justice understood the desire for vengeance. He used to fantasize about hunting down the men who’d captured him.

  “Why do you want him so bad?”

  “I’m only tryin’ to solve a case.”

  “Nope, I ain’t buyin’ it. Who did Beauregard take from you?”

  Thorne’s nostrils flared, and Justice knew he’d hit a nerve.

  He ignored the question. “If you don’t, I’ll take your club and maybe even your lovely lady social worker down with you.”

  It was an idle threat. He doubted Etta had so much as an unpaid parking ticket.

  “That’s the federal government for you, always buttin’ its nose into people’s business.”

  “It’s our specialty,” Thorne said dryly. “I know she’s mixed up in this, too. I saw her hangin’ out at the strip club Beauregards’ aunt owns.”

  “Yeah, her friend, Bonnie, is the proprietor, which is why Etta dropped by. And if you knew your ass from a hole in the ground, you’d figure out Bonnie don’t want anythin’ to do with her kin. The rest of them might be crooked, but Bonnie seems legit.” According to Etta anyway, and Justice trusted her instincts.

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is.”

  “Hmm.” Thorne stood and tossed his business card on the table. “Call me if you remember what it’s like to have a conscience.” And then he sauntered out of the bakery.

  Like I needed more trouble.

  ***

  When Justice arrived at Cobb’s place, he was in a foul mood. On the way over, he’d texted the information to Ace, but hadn’t heard back.

  His frame of mind got even worse when he found Braxton Beauregard lounging at the end of Mary’s bed. Mary was ignoring him as she read from another enormous textbook.

  Jesus. You can’t swing a cat in these parts without hittin’ one of these bastards. And Justice would love to hit one of them, preferably Byron Beauregard. No guns. Naw, this would be a hand-to-hand fight. He preferred to duke it out like a man.

  “Well, if it ain’t a baby Beauregard.”

  “I ain’t the youngest.” His nostrils flared. “Do I know you?”

  “No, but I know your family.”

  He was the spitting image of his big brother, even down to his telltale smirk, which must be hereditary, like the inclination to be an asshole. Justice would love a chance to knock him down a peg or two.

  “Oh.”

  “Hey, is this dickhead botherin’ you?” Justice asked Mary.

  “Sorta. I’m tryin’ to cram in some readin’ today.” She blew a piece of stray hair away from her face.

  “Don’t be like that, honey.” Braxton reached for her, and she scowled at the hand, and he wisely backed off.

  “The lady wants you gone, so take yourself on home, son.”

  “Fuck you, old man.”

  “No thanks. You ain’t my type.”
And who the fuck are you callin’ old? “Now git while you’re still able to walk on your own two legs.”

  “Why don’t you make me?” Braxton stood and puffed out his chest.

  Hmm, this day’s lookin’ up.

  “Thanks, sounds like fun.” Justice grinned. He’d beat the snot out of him and send him home to Byron crying.

  “Think you can handle this?” He ran a hand down his body like he had delusions of being a young Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  Mary stood. “Uh, Brax, he’s former military. He’d wipe the floor with you, and I’d rather you not make a mess in here.”

  Ha, she was more concerned about her stuff than the guy.

  “He is?” His brows raised.

  “Yeah, I am.” It was his turn to strut a bit. “And she’s right.”

  Braxton paused to think “Whatever.”

  “Great retort.” So Byron had received the lion’s share of the brains.

  “I gotta go anyway.” Brax streaked out of the room, giving Justice wide berth on the way out the door.

  When the dumbass left, Justice grasped her desk chair, flipped it around, and had a seat. Mary still didn’t look up. She had a pencil in her mouth, and frown lines marked her forehead.

  “What’s goin’ on with you and Byron Jr.? Because you could do much better.”

  She removed the pencil. “Don’t like the Beauregards, huh?”

  “Nope. And how do you feel about ‘em?”

  She shrugged. “Well, they’re sweet talkers and easy on the eye, too.” She lifted her brows suggestively, and Justice thought he just might puke. It’s a good thing he didn’t eat the pastry. “But I’m more into my studies at the moment. They’ll be time enough for men when I’m a famous surgeon.” Her face lit up. “Then I’m gonna date all the eligible bachelors in Boston. I’ll settle down when I’m thirty, and I’ll have two kids by thirty-five, and then who knows…?”

  “Wow. You got it all planned out.”

  “Yup. I write down all my goals and then revisit them every month or so.” She paged through a journal on the bed and showed him. Sure enough, she had a page of bulleted items, all of them lofty objectives.

  “Well, I wish you luck.” He slapped his knees and stood, ready to hang out in the den once more. It was full of books, and he was thinking about taking on some James Patterson today.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  Mary hesitated a second. “What kind of business is my granddad really in?”

  Is this my day for awkward Q&A sessions or what?

  “You’ll have to ask him, sweetheart.”

  “I got this awful feelin’.” Mary wrapped her arms around herself. “Like I’m missin’ somethin’ huge.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” She wasn’t wrong, but feelings had a way of obscuring a person’s vision. Love could blindside a person.

  “I think you know what to tell me, but you won’t for some reason.” Her head lowered and some of her sparkle dimmed.

  “It ain’t my business.”

  Justice felt like an ass, but he didn’t know what else to say. He’d heard a lot of rumors about her family. Allegedly, her mom and dad died in an accident, but Justice didn’t believe it. He’d always thought the old man had a hand in it.

  “I see.”

  No, she didn’t, and that was the problem.

  “I’ll be next door if you need me.” He paused at the door and glanced back at her. “If I were you, I’d let it go.”

  She shook her head. “We just met, but I already know you wouldn’t if our roles were reversed.”

  Damnation, she was right.

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “I’m gonna find out eventually.”

  God help her when she did.

  Chapter Seven

  That evening, Justice felt like going on a drive because he’d had a long day and needed to clear his head. The open road relaxed him, and all his brothers felt the same way. They were always looking for an excuse to take off down the highway.

  Once again, he wound up at Etta’s place, like his motorcycle had a mind of its own. He found Etta sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette and leaning against the railing. It must be part of her evening routine.

  From the grimace on her face, she hadn’t had a particularly fun day either. And she seemed lost in her own thoughts, eyes glassy and far away as she stared into the distance.

  Justice killed the engine, and she glanced up, startled. He sprinted up the stairs to sit beside her. She offered a weak smile but didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t know about you, but I could use a vacation.”

  “Me too.” She offered him the longneck bottle in her hand. “Beer helps.”

  “I thought we weren’t usin’ substances to hide our pain.”

  “You wanna drink or not?” She slapped him playfully.

  “Yeah.” He took a swig of the Bud Light. Not bad, but he preferred whiskey. “So who pissed in your oatmeal?”

  “My ex-husband.”

  He nearly choked on the alcohol. “You’ve mentioned him a time or two, but I thought he was in jail.”

  Justice hadn’t established all the particulars. Every time he brought it up, she changed the subject real quick, and he couldn’t fault her for being guarded. He hadn’t opened up to her about everything yet. In his experience, even talking about some things could rip a person up inside.

  “He was, but Grady just got paroled, and to celebrate, he sent me a potted plant.”

  Maybe he was missing something here.

  “And that’s awful because…?

  “Those goddamn succulents were a head trip. He used to send them to me after we, er, fought.”

  “After he hit you, you mean?” Justice figured as much from what little she’d said about the man.

  She nodded stiffly.

  He clenched the bottle in his fist. “Why don’t I pay him a visit and straighten ol’ Grady out for you?” Justice specialized in putting the fear of God in assholes, especially those who hurt women and children.

  “No thanks.” She snatched the Bud back and took another sip. “I’m gonna handle this my way.”

  She sounded sure, and Justice knew better than to argue. When a woman has made up her mind, it’s best to get out of the way. For now. If Etta’s solution didn’t work, Justice would step in.

  “Fair enough, but let me know if you need any assistance?”

  “Will do.”

  “In the meantime, I got a distraction for ya.”

  “Like what?” She seemed less than enthused.

  “Come for a ride with me.”

  “On your bike?” Etta surveyed the Harley like it was a sticky seat at the movie theater.

  “Yeah, ever been on one?”

  “Nope. It looks kinda dangerous.”

  “Only if you’re ridin’ with an inexperienced biker. I got plenty of miles under my belt. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Come on. Let’s be free for a while, and run away from the world.”

  He’d love nothing more than to disappear over the border, maybe find a nice beach to lay on, with Etta beside him in a tiny string bikini which left nothing to the imagination. They’d spend their days soaking in the sun and drinking margaritas. At night, they’d find other, more pleasurable ways to occupy the time.

  Hot damn.

  “Sure. Why not?” After draining the last of the beer, she glanced his way. There was a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I deserve a treat after such an awful day.”

  “Great, but there’s a catch.”

  That earned him a roll of her eyes. “Of course there is.”

  “See my brothers and I got a tradition of sorts.”

  “I already don’t like the sound of this.” She folded her arms and waited.

  He snickered. “Don’t worry, it ain’t so bad. The clubhouse, Perdition, has a long line of panties hangin’ up by the bar. Wheneve
r we give a lady a ride, she’s gotta give us her drawers. It’s sort of like a toll.”

  “You’re outta your damn mind. I ain’t givin’ you my panties.”

  “Yeah, you are.” He knew she’d hesitate initially. They all kicked up a fuss at first.

  “Oh no, I’m not.” Etta headed for the front door, all fluffed up like an old wet hen.

  Undaunted, Justice followed her inside, ready to plead his case. He intended to leave here this evening with her panties in his pocket.

  “I ain’t goin’ with you.” Etta leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Justice didn’t mistake the way her nipples had pebbled, pressing against the thin white cotton of her T-shirt. The hoodie she wore wasn’t zipped, giving him an excellent view. And if he reached between her legs, Justice had no doubt she’d be wet for him, only a hint of moisture right now.

  He stepped closer, and she didn’t back off. Justice kept right on coming until he closed the distance between them.

  Etta didn’t move away, but her lips parted.

  And then Justice did what he’d been longing to do for weeks, he grasped her by the arms, tilted her head back and kissed her. Ever so soft at first, a smooth slide of his mouth against hers. Etta moaned, head tilting back, giving him full access to her honeyed lips.

  Justice felt like crowing.

  As he kissed Etta, Justice eased his hands up and down the sides of her body. She grasped his shoulders, tugging him closer. So he wasn’t the only one who wanted this.

  Fuck that. Needed it.

  Their tongues tangled, dancing with one another, and all the while she edged her hips against his. He wondered if she could feel how fucking hard she made him, how needy. His cock pushed against his fly, greedy to get at her.

  Justice scooped Etta up and placed her on the counter, right beside the sink. He dragged his hands over her breasts, still covered by the flimsy shirt, and the nipples stood even stiffer.

  Her body was plush and perfect. While she wasn’t big, Etta had a womanly frame—breasts and hips, and curves in all the places he liked. He ached to see those big tits. Justice longed for the weight of them in his hands, wanted to squeeze them, suck them.