For a moment, Keith’s eyes went wide, then took on a predatory gleam. “Oh. So that’s it. With Walter gone, no one’s left to defend you. Start packing now, ‘cause your days here are numbered.”
How dare this motherfucker talk about Walter! Heat bubbled up inside, and Lucky’s vision blackened around the edges. All he saw clearly was the smirking face of his enemy.
He swung…
Arms wrapped around him from behind, like bands of steel. “Let me go. I’m gonna kick his useless ass!”
Safe again, Keith sneered, “You and whose army?”
Lucky lunged but the arms held tight.
Bo growled into his ear, “What is this about?”
Lisa snarled, “Keith talked smack about Walter.”
Bo spoke over Lucky’s shoulder. “Is that true?”
Keith laughed. “This ex-con piece of shit wouldn’t even be working here if Smith hadn’t pulled some strings.”
Bo stiffened and ice dripped from his words. “You do realize that Walter Smith is in the hospital fighting for his life, right?”
Keith flinched, but wasn’t smart enough to shut up. “Schollenberger, I’ve nothing but respect for the man, but he must’ve stood too close to a crack dealer the day he brought that pile of filth onboard permanently.” He nodded toward Lucky.
Boss had also legally changed Lucky’s name and made his criminal record disappear. No one was supposed to mention who Lucky used to be. Keith threatened to undo all Walter’s hard work to give Lucky a second chance.
Bo replied calmly. Years spent with the man allowed Lucky to hear the underlying threat. “Don’t try to drag me into your petty pissing contest, Keith. The only pile of filth I see is you. If you say one more thing about Walter—”
“Yeah, Keith.” Lisa glared at Keith. “As soon as Walter gets back…”
“He’s not coming back!” Keith screeched. “He’s gone.”
“I tried being reasonable.” Bo released his hold.
Lucky lunged. Fist met jaw with a satisfying crunch.
Keith reeled. The gathering crowd jumped back and let him fall. He writhed on the floor, clutching his face.
Applause drowned out his protests.
“What the fucking hell is going on here?” Jameson O’Donoghue thundered down the hall, trailed by his pet assistant, Phillip. The crowd parted to let him through.
“He hit me!” Keith struggled to regain his feet and failed, either for show or for sympathy. He gave Lucky a smug grin.
“I’d be happy to do it again, asswipe,” Lucky growled.
“Anybody doing any hitting around here, it will be me.” O’Donoghue stood with his hands on his hips, face scrunched into a scowl.
Lucky wore it better. He clenched his jaw.
Instead of addressing Lucky, O’Donoghue spoke to a rookie standing close by. “Did you see what happened?”
“Yessir. Keith was being a dick about Mr. Smith’s heart attack,” the woman replied. Maybe Lucky wouldn’t be so hard on her the next time they met.
“And Harrison hit him?”
The woman never flinched, even under the cringe-inducing force of O’Donoghue’s red-faced sneer and nearly palpable rage. “Yessir. I… Um… I think he speaks for us all, sir.”
What? Lucky whipped his head around, taking in the folks around him, including some he barely knew.
