Page 26 of Forsaking All Others

Maybe I underestimated Colt, maybe there’s a streak of mischief lurking under all those clean cut lines.

“Smart man,” I say evenly. Lifting the beer to my lips, I finish it off. “But if what you say is true, I’m fucked.”

“Are you planning on giving Gary a cut?”

“Of course,” I say. “Fifteen percent.”

He does the math, then brings his eyes back to me. His jaw clenches slightly.

“There’s a rig going out to Buffalo tomorrow night,” he reveals, pausing for a beat. “It’s going to be loaded with caskets and I’m the driver.”

We’d have to work around the clock to make that work and Parrish, who is still probably drinking all my whiskey, would need to get his ass back to New York pronto.

But caskets—if that ain’t fucking fitting, I don’t know what is.

“I load up at a warehouse in Charlotte at ten o’clock at night.”

I lean my elbows on the counter and narrow my eyes. As much as I want to run with this, I’ve got to play this smart. Colt has no fucking idea what he’s signing up for. He’s a man who punches a clock and brings his wife flowers, he doesn’t ride the Devil’s coattails.

“What are you saying, Colt?”

“I’m saying it takes a good half hour for them to load those boxes onto the rig, if you can hide whatever the fuck you need to hide in those caskets, I’ll move them for you. Instead of cutting Gary a piece of the pie, you hand that slice to me, but Holly can’t know.”

Well, fuck me.

“Colt—”

“Maverick,” he grinds out. “Let’s stop with the cat and mouse shit, okay? I know why you’re here.”

My brows pinch together, but I don’t say a word.

“Holly pocket dialed me this morning, I heard her tell you about the mortgage. Also heard the part where you gave her five grand. I don’t take to charity, even if I’m the one putting a roof over your kids’ heads. Take the five thousand out of my cut and I’ll move your product.”

Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I underestimated Holly’s husband in more ways than one.

I ball my fists on top of the counter. If Holly didn’t sell the house I bought her and our kids, he wouldn’t have had the down payment for this fucking place, so motherfucker, whose really putting a roof over whose head. I’m about to share that truth with him and tell him I really don’t give a fuck if his ego is bruised when he opens a draw and pulls out a pad. I watch as he scribbles something down, then he drops the pen and pushes the pad toward me.

“That’sthe name of the funeral parlor in Buffalo, have your guys inside waiting to unload the cargo.”

I stare at the pad for a second before lifting my eyes back to his.

“You have no idea what the fuck your signing up for, Colt. Your ego—”

“My ego is just fine.”

“I beg to differ. Man, you can be twisted about the money and the fact that Holly came to me for help, but you need to understand something, that’s never gonna change. We got history, Colt, and that shit doesn’t die because we signed a couple of papers and she took your name. We don’t know how to live without one another. She runs to me because she’s been running to me since she’s sixteen. It doesn’t mean she thinks less of you and more of me. It’s all she knows, and it’d be good of you to understand that before you agree to do something you may regret.”

He laughs at me bitterly.

Yeah, guy, I wouldn’t buy that bullshit either.

I may not be hungry for money but that doesn’t make me any less of a desperate man. I gave my word to Parrish and right now it’s looking like Colt is my only fucking hope of delivering. So, I feed him more shit.

“This isn’t about me and Holly, Colt.”

It’s always about me and Holly.

I push that thought aside and continue.

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