“Look, it makes sense Cold would protect you,” Duncan went on, his voice getting shrill. “You’re a fuckin’ awesome assassin. What about me? I’m just a bum. I’m a nothing.”
“You know people. You know stuff.”
“Not enough. Not enough. Not enough to keep Cold from trading me in to the Luchesis the first chance he fuckin’ gets—”
“Duncan,” Mickey snapped. “We made a deal. We work for Cold, he protects us. Both of us. He would have just as much as us to lose if he tried to turn us in to the Don.”
“Yeah, but who would they believe? Us or—”
They were about to turn into the gas station, and Mickey hit the brakes harder than he needed to. He rather enjoyed watching Duncan get caught by the seat belt and sighed. He leaned in close, saying firmly, “Duncan. You’re with me. You’re safe. Just…” He floundered for the right words, something meaningful, and he settled on, “Shut up.”
Duncan pouted, but he didn’t say anything else.
Mickey parked at one of the pumps, getting out in a huff.
The last few weeks had made Duncan edgy, more than usual, and it was driving Mickey insane. He didn’t have the patience for this.
As Mickey walked over to the door of the gas station, he saw an athletic young man a few steps ahead of him.
The man was fit, tan, and his painted-on jeans showcased a very attractive backside. He glanced back at Mickey, catching his eye for a moment.
He was handsome—good chin, full lips, blue eyes.
Mickey would have been interested, but he was here on business. He didn’t have time to play. He hadn’t had time to play in a very long time, an annoying little voice in the back of his head was quick to remind him.
He looked back down at the man’s ass.
Damn, he really did need to get laid.
The man in front of him pushed the door open, but he didn’t hold it. He let the door fall back, nearly smacking Mickey in the face with it.
“Hey!” Baring his teeth, Mickey slammed the door back open and glared at the man. “Watch it,” he snarled low. “The fuck is your problem?”
The man turned around, glancing over him with an unimpressed snort. “Pfft. What’s yours? Cancer?”
“Fuckin’ rude ass.”
“Bitch,” the man shot back without hesitation. He didn’t even look back at Mickey and headed over to a rack of chips and snacks.
Mickey followed him and angrily shoved him up against a display of donuts. “You’re fuckin’ lucky I’ve got—”
“What? A hair appointment?” the man snarked, grinning up at Mickey’s bald head.
Oh, Mickey wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. Maybe both. Maybe fuck him. Clearly, this wise ass had no idea who he was dealing with.
“Listen, sweetness,” Mickey hissed. “You need to learn some manners or someone is gonna have to teach you.”
“Like you?” the man asked coyly. He boldly slid his hand down Mickey’s stomach and batted his eyes. “Oh,please, teach me.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mickey jerked away as the man’s hand reached his crotch.
He definitely did not have time for this.
“Just being friendly,” the man replied. He smiled, and of course it was perfect.
Mickey scowled. He had work to do. “Piss off, fuckin’ freak.” He turned to head to the counter.
The man whistled sharply. “Hey, fuck face. Think you might want this?”
