Page 136 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

I raise an eyebrow while running my finger down Juan’s black wifebeater, only stopping when I reach his navel.

“Well, aren’t you a feisty little one?” He laughs and I try not to grimace when his toxic breath reaches my nose.

“What, little old me? Feisty?” I fake giggle once more. “Not at all. I’m just the first cum slut the prez has taken on. I figured he wanted a little taste before anyone else got their hands on me, but I’m more than happy to work the room.”

“Maybe later.” Luis is firm with his friend as he eyes me up and down. He clearly likes what he sees, even though he’s trying to play hard to get. Carlos remains motionless. He’s obviously just a heavy with only enough brain cells to allow him to walk, stand, and breathe.

“Sure thing, lover boy.”

My role is cemented. I’m now just a cum slut, so no one of any importance in their eyes, which means I’ll be ignored from here on in. Goal achieved.

I turn around and wink at Ty and he immediately takes over. This really wasn’t the tag teaming I had in mind, but needs must.

“What are you doing here, Juan?”

“We heard you had some friends visiting and thought we’d drop by to introduce ourselves. We figured it would be rude not to.”

“Cut the bullshit and just get to the point of the visit.”

Juan's smile vanishes at the unfriendliness in Ty’s tone. Not that it was ever real in the first place.

“We heard the Irish were coming to town. So, our mutual friends asked us to drop by to personally deliver a message. They wanted to let you know that they won’t take kindly to their toes being stepped on. They are, however, receptive to all of us working together as part of a new alliance.”

Ty rolls his eyes. He’s no doubt heard all of this before. “There’s nothing mutual about them. I have no idea who your friends are, and you damn well know it. And I’ve already told you. I’m not interested in anything they have to offer. No one here is.”

“They don’t want competition on their turf, Ghost. They want to pick things back up where they left off. They’re asking that you reconsider their offer. This is the last time they’ll be making it.”

“Are you deaf or something?I saidI’m not interested.”

My daddy steps forward. “Listen, son.”

“I’m not your son.”

Juan obviously doesn’t appreciate that figure of speech.

My daddy ignores his response. “As the standing prez of the Undertakers, let me assure you there is no way on God’s green earth that club will ever get involved in trafficking. Not now. Not ever.”

Juan nods his head in the direction of Eoin before addressing him direct. “And what about the Irish? It’s a very lucrative proposition. Will you join with us?”

What feels like an endless silence follows. I swear I can feel the temperature drop in the room. Given the heat in Nevada, normally, I’d be appreciative. But today?

I’d rather tolerate the heat and live to see another day.

Eoin walks slowly over to Juan as the rest of us look on. He then proceeds to circle him like a lion stalking its prey. After what feels like forever, he leans forward from behind the Colombian.

“If you so much as mention the word trafficking in my presence and in the same breath ask the Dusters to get involved, I’ll rip you into tiny pieces with my bare fucking hands.” The threat is a low whisper in Juan’s ear.

There’s a pause.

Yup. Eoin O’Connell is going to get us all killed here today.

The Colombian now looks like he’s about to shit his pants. I guess he’s heard all about the Irishman’s bloodthirsty reputation.

Juan’s eyes dart from side to side. He’s thinking. It’s clear he can’t decide what to do next. Call Eoin’s bluff or not. Meanwhile, Eoin is standing right behind him, exuding so much raw power and dark presence it’s blanketing the entire room and making it difficult to breathe.

We’re witnessing the future Irish king in all his mobster glory.

I look at Dylan. He’s staring proudly at his big brother—the future leader of his family’s organization. If he survives today, that is. If any of us do.

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