“I get that. I wasn’t impressed when I was released either,” Colter agreed.
“Probably wouldn’t have given the place a chance if my brother wasn’t stuck here because of parole,” Syn added. “But it’s grown on me.”
“It’s home,” Colter agreed as we closed in on the main street.
When, suddenly, there was a loudbangthat had all three of us jolting. Sugar whined. Mack barked frantically and yanked at his leash. Molly cowered.
Colter and I shared a look.
We knew that sound.
And it was close.
Colter reached for his waistband and handed me Mack’s leash before moving toward the parking lot behind an abandoned building where the sound came from.
I knew from the way his shoulders went slack that there was no active threat before he even turned toward us.
“Syn, take our guns and go to The Bog,” Colter said, coming back and reaching for his phone instead.
“Is someone dead?” I asked, surprised at how calm my tone was.
But, well, a lot of people were dead now.
I was kind of numb to it.
“Yeah. Gotta call it in.”
Syn took the guns and walked a few feet toward the pub, moving inside, disappearing for just long enough for Colter to make the call to the cops, then coming back like nothing had happened.
“Cillian hid the guns for us,” he said, his voice low as a few more people who heard the gunshot started to make their way toward us.
The sirens came just seconds later.
“Did you see who it was?” someone asked, moving closer and looking at Colter.
I had no idea who he was, but he was tall and fit in a dark gray suit, with a handsome face, and stormy blue eyes.
“Yeah,” Colter said. Then, seeing my interest, he added, “Rian, this is Dylan. Dylan, this is Rian Murphy. He and his brothers own the pub.”
And were the Irish mafia in the area.
I’d gotten the lowdown about the major players in Shady Valley on the drive back.
There were the Murphy brothers: Cillian, Sean, Rian, Conor, and Eoin. They were the mob. They owned The Bog, and they employed Detroit’s cousin, Lula, who cooked their books.
Then there was the Novikoff family: the brothers, Konstantin and Mikhail, and the sisters, Katarina and Anastasia. They were Bratva and owned the pool hall, of all things.
Then there was Czar Petcova—Nyx’s ex—and Erion Kadare. Czar used to be in the Bulgarian mob. But the two men were independent now, working together to corner the drug trade in the area.
I’d been surprised to hear how many crime syndicates were working in such a small town. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Small towns meant small police forces that didn’t have great resources or a lot of training. It wouldn’t be hard to grease the hands of guys like that to look the other way.
There were geographical advantages to Shady Valley, too. The Death Valley mountains stood behind it, hard to pass, making it difficult to sneak into town from that direction. Everywhere else was flat. You could see people coming down the road for miles. Add in the ghost town vibes and the prison that kept most normal families away, and, yeah, I got it.
“Nice to meet you,” Rian said. “Who?” he asked, tense.
“The guy who just got out. The rapist,” Colter explained.
“Huh. Well, one less thing to worry about,” Rian said, clapping Colter on the shoulder before walking back into the pub.
