“I ate mine while cooking.” And to destroy the evidence of a few scorched eggs. Okay, more than a few, but nothing destroyed food evidence like their own personal four-legged garbage disposal. Thank God Lucky got the severely burnt toast out in the backyard without setting off the smoke alarm.
Bo tucking in did Lucky’s heart good. How many times had Bo served him breakfast in bed, and yet this was the first time Bo got the same treatment?
Not anymore. Did the desire to please his partner mean Lucky had to be all sunshine and rainbows? No. And he’d never been anyone’s idea of perfect—not even close. But he could try harder.
Bo moaned while munching the toast and jam, doing things to Lucky’s insides.
And his outsides. One part in particular. If Bo licked his finger one more time…
He did, flashing a coy smile. Oh. The tease.
Lucky grabbed the tray and lobbed it toward the bedside table. They both winced at the crash when he missed. He’d worry about broken dishes later. About time they got rid of the “yours, mine, and ours” dinnerware anyway.
He crawled on top of Bo.
“Watch out for your incision.”
Lucky slammed his mouth down on Bo’s and stopped. No. This wasn’t going to be some whiz, whirr, thank you, sir. He pulled back enough to connect his gaze to Bo’s. He’d fallen into those brown eyes long ago, though he hadn’t even realized at the time he’d never want to escape.
“Are you sure you’re up for this? I mean, we went two rounds last night, and I need to head back to Richmond today.” Bo stroked his knuckles along Lucky’s jaw.
Don’t go noble on me now, Bo.Lucky pasted on a grin and thrust his hardening cock against Bo’s thigh. “What does the evidence tell you?”
Bo connected their lips again. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he mumbled without breaking lip contact.
“So I am.” And Lucky would try his damnedest to get his T-shirt up and cut-off blue jeans shorts down and off without ending the kiss.
The doorbell ringing broke them apart. Who could be here be at this hour? And how’d they get through the gate—though Walter certainly hadn’t had a problem yesterday.
Couldn’t be one of the neighbors. His forceful refusal of Miss Tupperware’s plastic ware party invitation pretty much put an end to people stopping by unannounced.
“You stay here. I’ll get it.” Bo shimmied out from under Lucky.
Like hell he would. Bo wrapped himself in a robe and Lucky pulled his shorts back on, complete with .38 hidden behind his back. They stood together when Bo opened the door.
Walter waited on the porch, dressed in a shirt, tie, and jacket. “May I come in?”
Bo stepped aside. No need asking how he’d gotten through the gate. He had his ways.
Bo and Lucky trailed Walter into the living room. If he stopped by this early on a Sunday morning, before church, whatever he had to say must be urgent.
Walter sat down in the chair he’d claimed as his own. Bo and Lucky took the couch, with Lucky sliding his gun down between two cushions. “What’s this about, Boss?” Cat Lucky slunk into the room, gave Walter baleful eyes, and disappeared into the hallway out of sight.
“I received a full report from the Richmond office.”
Lucky traded glances with Bo. “And?”
“And the initial toxicology report confirmed the cause of your brother’s death. As many have suspected, he died of an opioid overdose.”
Overdose. The same way he’d tried to kill Daytona—and Lucky. “Anything else?” Focusing on the case might keep Lucky from dwelling on the loss of his brother. Bristol was an asshole, true, but also a Lucklighter.
“Richmond police removed heroin, fentanyl, and carfentanil from his basement, along with scales, glassine packets, and other related items. We’re also checking out reports of the overdose death of a young woman who might have purchased tainted heroin from him.”
“Fuck.” Lucky scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Bristol ran a full-scale packaging operation.”
“I believe you’re correct. And if you hadn’t uncovered his secrets, they might never have been known.” Moose ambled in and dropped his head down on Walter’s lap. Walter fondled his ear. He’d be brushing dog hair off his clothes later. “You had an uncle named Edward Lucklighter?”
“Yeah. Uncle Ned.”
