Page 58 of Honey Bee Hearts

“What the fuck?” I ask Jethro when he greets me on my little cabin porch. He barks as if to tell me he doesn’t know either.

Who the hell does? Because I’m starting to wonder who keeps cock blocking at this point.

Chapter 32

Rhett

“No one called,” I snarl at the man that steps out of the black car. They always come in black cars, and the bastards always have a tattoo on them. This one has the eightball tattoo on his neck and a cross under his right eye. A real creepy motherfucker if I say so myself, but I’m not exactly scared. We’ve dealt with these fuckers for years now.

“The boss says he doesn’t have to,” the man answers, his eyes dancing over to the cabin. “Who’s the broad?”

My chest tightens. “No one you should be worrying about. Stay out of my business and we’ll stay out of yours.”

The man grins and reveals a gold tooth. Jesus, could he have looked any more the mobster? He must really enjoy his job.

“What do you want?” Colt asks as he steps inside the barn. “I thought we’d settled our business two weeks ago.”

“The boss has changed his mind. He wants more,” the man shrugs. “I’m here to deliver the message and collect.”

“We’ve discussed this,” I growl. “You don’t come unannounced, and we certainly don’t go back on our deals. Your boss already agreed to an amount, and we paid it.”

“He changed his mind,” the man says. “Pay up.”

Or else. He doesn’t say the words, but they hang in the air between us. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

“What’s this really about?” Gunnar asks, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks more peeved than usual. I don’t blame him. He’d called after him and Fable got back which means his date was interrupted. I’d be pissed too. “Your people don’t just show up like this. The Eight Balls are usually more professional.”

The man glances at Gunnar and then over at Trent where he stands like a silent sentinel. “Your job is to move product, not ask questions.”

“We move product,” I snarl. “We agreed to moving more of it when your boss demanded it. We pay what we need to, but we’re not giving any more. You can go back and tell your boss that.”

The man levels his eyes on me. “I’m not asking for more money. I come to collect.”

“You’re goin’ back empty-handed,” Colt declares. “Tell your boss he can come out and discuss it with us if he wants to make changes, not send his goonies to threaten us. We ain’t scared of him.”

The man narrows his eyes. “The boss also heard you’ve been working with another group, and he doesn’t like that.”

I pause. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me,” he replies, his fingers twitching toward his hip. “This ranch sure seems like it means a lot to you. Would be a shame if it was burned to the ground.”

I straighten. “Are you threatening me?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he answers. “He wants another twenty thousand. Either you pay it or I’m taking someone’s head back as payment. One way or the other.”

“Why, you motherfucker!” I snarl, and before I think better of it, I leap toward the asshole. Colt immediately springs into action as chaos fills the barn. Fuck! If he gets a shot off, Fable will hear it. Colt seems to have the same idea.

“No guns!” he snarls, wrenching forward to try and tackle the guy, knocking the gun out of his hand.

The guy gets a good punch in before I can dodge his swing, striking me right across the cheekbone and I stumble back. Fuck, that’s gonna bruise. I see stars for a few seconds before I’m able to shake it off and leap back into the struggle. Trent is there, holding the guy’s arm so he can’t grab his gun off the floor. Gunnar has a large wrench in his hand he starts trying to get a good hit with.

The goon’s hand latches around my throat and squeezes so tight, I can’t get any words out. I choke, trying to kick at him, but nothing works until Trent latches his forearm around his neck and tightens. He starts to struggle, but Trent holds strong, falling on the floor as they struggle. Trent is bigger than him. He ain’t getting’ out of that hold.

“Fuck,” Gunnar snarls, looking toward the door.

“We can’t let him go,” Colt says. “Not letting him leave sends a message.”

“And if they come back and hold good on their promise?” I croak, rubbing at my neck. “What then?”

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