“We need to hang more, brother. I got some great shit. New shit, man. Like you’ve never fucking had before. I can give you a taste for free, for old times’ sake.”
Beth went rigid beside him, and he couldn’t help but stroke his thumb over her shoulder, trying to let her know he’d never do that with her present. Hell, he didn’t mess with that shit in general anymore, but he’d rather die than be incapacitated when her safety rested in his hands.
“Thanks, man. I’m gonna pass for today. I’m more interested in the source than the product.”
Stillman’s grin disappeared, and his eyes went cold in an instant. Nothing would piss him off more than the thought of his drug supply getting interrupted. “Why?”
Saint shrugged, trying to keep his stance casual. “Curious. You know how it is. We like to keep tabs on all the players in town.”
“We? The MC?”
Saint held his gaze but didn’t respond.
“No. Fuck that. You assholes don’t own this town.”
Oh, but we do.
“You ain’t gonna fuck this up for me. They got some Grade-A product and at good- fucking-prices.” Stillman shook his head. “I ain’t telling you shit. You’ll have to deal with the competition.”
“Not competition. You know the MC doesn’t push that shit. But we know who does, and there seems to be some new kids in town who don’t want to play by the rules.”
“No.” Stillman set his jaw as he shook his head. The jaw that would probably shatter with a half-power slap. “I ain’t telling you shit.”
Saint cocked his head. “You owe me, Stillman.”
“Oh, come on, man.” He groaned and stared up at the clear blue sky, so in contrast to the murky brown of his gaze. “That’s not fucking fair.”
“Was it fucking fair when I took a knife to the side, saving your ass from that fucking psycho whose girl you were fucking?”
Beth gasped and glanced up at him. He squeezed her shoulder in response.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Saint shrugged.
Stillman lifted a thumb to his mouth, where he chewed the already destroyed nail for a moment before spitting on the ground. His agitation grew by the second until his eyes shot fire and his twitching became almost violent jerks. “Fuck!” He glanced over his shoulder into the hazy barn. “They’re gonna…fuck. After this, we’re even, and you stay the hell away from me.”
Saint snorted. “Trust me, Stillman, I have no plans to visit this petri dish ever again.”
“You’re not who you were. You used to be fucking fun. The bikers turned you into a pussy bitch.”
He gave Stillman the glare he used even more often than his fists as an enforcer. Zach claimed it was his greatest weapon, one that could make a man shit himself. Stillman wasn’t too far gone to realize the shit pile he’d stepped in. His face paled to a sickly gray, and he sighed.
“This is gonna fuck me so hard,” he whispered, shaking his head. “The only name I have is Silas Crow. Don’t know if it’s real or not. Don’t give a shit. Heard he’s up from Memphis. That’s all I fucking know.”
“How do you contact him?”
“Saint…” he groaned. “Don’t fucking do this.” His gaze shifted to Beth. “If I tell you—”
“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, Stillman. As of now, I’m planning to leave you breathing with your dick still attached to your body. That can change.”
His jaw twitched. His eyes darted in every direction, never landing on anything fixed for more than one second. For a heartbeat, Saint worried Stillman would run. Then he’d be faced with the choice to let go of Beth and give chase or let him get away.
And with Beth to protect, there really wasn’t any decision to make.
“I’m getting impatient. You’ve got ten seconds, Stillman.”
A low growl came from his former friend before he shook his head and spat on the ground again. “Fucking fine. You go to that new laundromat in town. Jesus,” he muttered. “They’re gonna kick my ass.”
