“Why do you care?”
“So I can put you on my list,” Golden growled, reaching into his waistband and pulling out his Ruger.
It was that moment I realized no one had put their guns on the table. We were all armed and angry, with itchy trigger fingers and shorter tempers. There was going to be so much fucking blood to clean up.
“Golden,” I warned.
He ignored me. Rightfully so.
“My brother was named Ben Harper.” The guy’s face was turning really fucking red, and I didn’t think Golden even needed to shoot him. He was going to choke the life out of him before he even got the name he wanted.
His eyes bulged, his mouth gasping desperately for air that didn’t have chance of making it past Golden’s hand around his throat. That was hot. I made a mental comparison about the way this fool looked as his body shut down from lack of oxygen to the way Golden had looked when I choked him with my cock. I wondered if the fear was the same, the anticipation, the terror.
This man looked terrified.
“And you?”
“Car…ter.”
Golden nodded, then pistol-whipped him across the face.
Carter Harper collapsed at Golden’s feet. I didn’t know if he was breathing, and Golden didn’t check. He turned his attention on Molinaro, who looked like he was going to be sick.
“You don’t have the stomach for this life,” he said.
“You’re right,” Anthony answered for his son with a frown. He looked at me. “I’m satisfied with our current arrangement.”
“Same,” I agreed.
“I’m going to go then. I’ll leave you the kid,” he offered.
“What?” Molinaro nearly shrieked, his eyes darting between me and his dad and the body on the floor that hadn’t moved since it landed.
“He’s right,” Anthony said, pointing at Golden. “This life isn’t for you, so I don’t have a need for you.”
“I’m your son!”
“You’ve jeopardized everything I’ve built,” Anthony roared. “Everything! You get no part in it now.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want another body in my dining room,” Golden said conversationally. “Are you sure you can’t clean up your own trash?”
Anthony sighed and nodded, throwing a deadly look at his son. Without another word, he stood up and walked out of the house, chastened kid trailing behind. Molinaro stumbled when he passed Carter’s limp form, but said nothing. When the door closed, Golden let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping.
“I hate this part,” he grumbled, tossing his gun onto the table and pulling out his cell phone.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
Golden looked down and frowned, dialing his phone.
“Could go either way.” He cleared his throat and spoke into the phone, “Sharp, I could use some clean up here. And some information.”
I could hear Sharp’s voice, muffled through the phone, and I waited until Golden ended the call to speak.
“It sounds like we need to find Carmen Savino.”
“Maybe not.” He kicked out one of the chairs and sat down, looking worse for wear. “I think she’s after Sharp, not us.”
“That makes no sense.” I joined him at the table.
