Page 122 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“We have to think of the organization.”

“The alternatives were as good if not a better fit for the Dusters, Da.”

“Your ma….”

“Hates bikers. It’s that simple.” I butt in.

“LEAVE IT NOW, DYL.”

He seldom raises his voice during these meetings. He usually just chucks the paperweight. But he knows I’m right, and his reaction is likely because he’s as frustrated as the rest of us.

“Your engagement shindig is scheduled to be announced soon. So enough. Anyway, who is this Tyler Grayson fella? Which MC is he from?”

“The MC is the Ghost Whisperers. Newly formed. Same location as the Sons, so based in Colton, Nevada,” Eoin continues.

“Were they not the ones suspected of being in cahoots with the traffickers?”

“They were, but it transpired not to be the case. They’ve admitted they were contacted by the trafficker’s intermediary. The Colombians. We’re already aware of their involvement given they were the face of the incident Sarah was caught up in.”

“But we still don’t know who the faction is behind this whole shebang.”

Eoin shakes his head. “All we know is this time around it’s not the Bratva. We’ve been keeping a close eye on them. For now, they’re just dealing in drugs, crystal meth, prostitutes, and porn.”

“Fucking assholes,” Paddy mutters under his breath. We know he still holds them partially responsible for his own unfortunate situation. If he hadn’t been kidnapped, there’s every likelihood he would have been able to talk his way out of the arranged marriage with Sophia. It was agreed, and the contract signed in blood with the Luciano Ruocco when he was being held hostage by the Russians.

“And who is this Tyler Grayson fella?”

Eoin glances once more at the document. “It says he’s the former VP with the Undertakers. Thirty-two years old and been in the life since he was eighteen. Reading between the lines, I think he’s an old flame of Jessie’s.”

“And what makes you think that?” My back is immediately up. I’ve never been a possessive man, but Jesus Christ, regardless of who this Tyler Grayson is and whether he’s guilty as charged or not, that comment makes me want to rip off his head and piss down his neck.

“She calls him Ty. No one would dare call a biker a name like that unless they know them extremely well.”

“It doesn’t mean they’ve fucked,” I hiss.

“No, it doesn’t. But it also doesn’t mean they haven’t.” He smiles politely.

The weight of my da’s eyes boring into the side of my skull has me turning to face him.

“What?”

He shakes his head and stares down at his blank pad, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day Dylan O’Connell would welcome cold-blooded murder into his soul.”

“Aye, well, there’s a first time for everything. And a second.”

“Seven, actually. And all in the space of a week,” Paddy pipes up once more. “I’ve been keeping a tally.”

“And if our Eoin doesn’t shut his trap, he’ll be number eight,” I quip.

My eldest brother raises an eyebrow and smirks at me.

“And are we still planning a visit to Nevada? Because if we are, I’m happy for our Dyl to go in my place now he’s finally able to fight his way out of a paper bag.”

“Shut it, or you’ll be number nine,” I throw back at our Cill. He laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

We all wait while big brother makes the final decision.

“Well, as it’s been a year since we last visited, I think it would be in the Dusters’ best interests to revisit old acquaintances and introduce ourselves to the potential newest member of the alliance.”

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