And Bristol hated his older brother, a man who hadn’t gone to college, hadn’t scratched and scraped his way up the ladder, but still managed to live the life Bristol wanted, thanks to a wealthy and powerful lover.
If his parents had tried harder, they could have provided a better life, a life Bristol didn’t have to hide from the popular kids he’d tried to impress in school. And he wouldn’t have had to depend on his brother’s rich lover to pay his way through college.
Screw them. Screw them all. The asshole walking in front of him provided a means to an end. Nothing more than a bug smear on the bottom of Bristol’s expensive Italian loafer. Without trying hard, he’d own these guys, run the whole show.
By the time they approached the hallway light, smug aloofness replaced any fear.
The backpack he’d been staring at for the past few minutes held the key to all a man like Bristol wanted.
His escort opened a door and entered a dimly-lit room, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder to make sure his flunky followed. Bristol’s heartbeat raced, but not from fear. Pure adrenaline shot through his veins.
No windows, only one door. Standing behind Backpack Guy kept him somewhat concealed, both by shadows and the man’s body, and close to the exit. He swept his gaze over a scene he’d witnessed many times: the drug deal. From tiny casual buys to massive trafficking operations, he’d seen them all.
The stacks of bills spread out before him on a table in what must have once been a conference room rivaled any single buys he’d participated in.
Two men stood on the opposite side of the table. One exuded authority, the other held a semi-automatic weapon. Don’t leave home without the hired muscle. For a moment, Lucky’s facade wavered. He knew the muscle. Every single inch, from the dark, tousled hair to the freckles across the nose and on down to the assets hidden beneath jeans and a tight T-shirt.
No recognition shone in Bo’s eyes, other than a quick once-over. No. Not Bo. Rent-a-Thug, who didn’t know Bristol Lucklighter.Bristol Lucklighter. I am Bristol Lucklighter.
Lucky had been told to leave his gun behind, so he wasn’t supposed to be an open threat, but he was definitely backup and possibly a witness. Whoever Backpack Guy was, he didn’t trust his partners in crime, or he wanted to exert a little authority himself. And judging from the bulge in his light jacket, he’d come prepared.
Why not have Lucky armed too? Oh. Right. Bristol never could shoot worth a shit. Maybe as a sign of faith too. Honor among thieves and all. Either way, dumbass move on Backpack Guy’s part. Never, ever, let the buyer have the upper hand.
The buyer bore a striking resemblance to one of Lila’s baby-daddies onSouth BendSprings—information to be filed away for later use in descriptions.
The man he’d brought to the party flung the backpack onto the table. “It’s all there.”
The one he pegged as the boss kept a steely-eyed glint on the supplier and opened the backpack with gloved hands. Packets fell out onto the table and floor. The buyer trained his beady, hard-edged gaze onto the dozen or so escaped packets.
Oh, dude, you never bring that much money to a buy,screamed through the part of Bristol’s brain still owned by Lucky.You’ve given up your leverage. One squeeze of the trigger and we get the money and the drugs.
Sloppy.
The seller nodded but didn’t reach for the money. “Bristol, get the cash.”
On a first name basis. If the guy turned around and got a good look…
“You’re not going anywhere.” The buyer stiffened, took a step back, and nodded to his thug. The gunman aimed his weapon straight at Lucky. Oh shit.
Backpack Guy shouted, “What? Why not? We had a deal.”
The man with excellent peripheral vision replied, “We did, but that’s not Bristol Lucklighter. I had him killed.”
Fucking hell.
All three men honed their sights on Lucky.
Lucky had transmitted a lot of evidence to the SNB. Killing him now only prolonged the inevitable.
All traces of Bristol fled.
And so did Lucky.
***
Outrunning healthy men wasn’t happening, not with Lucky’s beat-up body. Why hadn’t he listened to Walter and Bo and taken things easier?
Because if push ever came to shove, he needed to be here, for himself, his family, his department, and even Bristol, learning firsthand how deep in the shit his brother had sank.
