18. Cole
COLE
I’m like a goddamn stalker sitting here in the dark, watching Clara as she moves about the club, serving assholes who don’t know how to keep their goddamn eyes in the respectful zones.
I know this is her job, but the way my hand flexes into a fist any time she heads toward the booth of rowdy cowboys I know have been doing some work out at Sunrise Ranch, I need to remember to breathe before I start on a full-on turf war.
Sipping my beer, stretched out in my chair, I try not to make it too obvious, but fuck it. She’s beautiful. Even with all that makeup shit on her pretty face, Clara’s a goddamn dream girl, and she don’t even know it.
When Mama Joy asked me earlier today if there was something going on between me and Clara, I denied it immediately, probably a little too quickly if her quirked brow and sliver of a grin had anything to do with it.
I don’t know how, but Mama Joy just knows shit.
Don’t matter what it is, she knows. She always does.
She’s like a witch or something. But I don’t care.
As long as Clara’s happy knowing her kids are safe, Mama Joy can know whatever the fuck she wants to.
My phone shudders and I yank it out of my pocket, jaw clenching when I see the name on the screen because a phone call from Austin at this time of night can only mean one thing.
“Yeah?” I answer, plugging a finger into my left ear to hear better.
“The fuck are you?”
“Don’t matter where I am,” I bite back. “What do you want?”
“Got a… situation,” Austin mutters. “Need your help.”
I throw my head back, knowing I can’t say no to Austin, never have been able to. “You okay?”
“Yep.”
I breathe. “Where you at?”
“Overflow.”
My eyes track Clara as she walks to the bar with a sexy little sway to her curvy hips, a happy smile ghosting her lips. I ignore the way my heart swells at her confidence, the way my dick twitches in my jeans.
“Cole!” Austin booms.
“Be there soon.” I end the call and finish what’s left of my beer.
With a groan, I push up from my chair, back cracking, shoulder aching with the memory of tonight’s ride. I’m like a ninety-year-old hobbling toward the bar where Clara’s standing with Maci Lou, aka Summer’s very own Little Miss Fuckin’ Trouble.
Sidling up next to Clara, I skate a hand over her lower back, probably a little forward of me, but I don’t give a shit. In fact, the way she shudders under my touch before catching herself and squaring her shoulders, I have to bite back my smirk when her lust-filled eyes meet mine.
“Well, howdy there, Cole Dawson,” Maci says, looking around Clara and grinning at me wide like she knows something I don’t. “Fancy seein’ you here tonight.”
I tip my hat, gritting my teeth. “Maci Lou.”
Maci chuckles to herself, spinning on her heels and strutting off, leaving me alone with Clara.
“Want another?” Clara asks, looking at the empty bottle I place on the counter.
“Uh, no.” I shake my head. “Actually, I… I gotta go.”
“Oh,” Clara says, looking a little confused. “O-okay.”
“Sorry, I—” I glance down at my phone still in my hand before lifting my gaze to meet hers again. “Somethin’ came up.”
Clara’s eyes drop to my phone then and in the flash of an instant she almost looks affronted and fuck me. Idiot. She thinks you got a goddamn booty call.
“Work,” I correct her silence.
She quirks a brow. “At midnight on a Saturday?”
I tuck my phone into my pocket, glancing out over the club to avoid the accusation in her eyes. “Yeah… somethin’ like that.”
“Okay.” Clara shrugs a shoulder, turning back to the bar, ultimately dismissing me and I hate that. “Drive safe,” she says over her shoulder.
I scrub a hand down my face, taking a moment to look down at her, my gaze scanning over the generous curve of her ass in those fuckin’ booty shorts she’s forced to wear.
And suddenly my eyes track to the table of cowboys she’s been serving, the cowboys currently eyeing her like she’s on the fuckin’ menu, and something spiky swells in my chest.
“Text me when you’re leavin’,” I tell her, meeting her curious gaze when it flits to mine. “And text me as soon as you get home.”
Clara opens her mouth, and she’s either about to object or question me. But before she can get a word out, I shut her up by leaning close and pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, eyes narrowing to a glower aimed at the table of cowboys who have been watching our exchange this whole time.
Fully aware of Clara watching me like she’s wondering what the fuck just happened, I turn and adjust my hat on my way to the exit, passing the cowboys as I go.
I flash them all a warning glance, pointing a finger at them and saying loud enough for them to hear me over the music, “Touch her and you fuckin’ die. ”
The overflow barn in the south two pasture is only ever used to store shit we never need.
God, I can’t even remember the last time I had to come down here.
But as I navigate my truck over the rocky terrain, heading south through what we refer to as the bone yard, the barn is lit up against the darkness, with at least five shiny black vehicles parked up outside, plus Cruz’s Bronco.
Something feels off. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but my hackles are up as I shut off the engine.
I reach under the seat and grab my pistol, checking the chamber before I hop out and untuck my shirt from my jeans, securing the Smith don’t mean it gets easier.
“One more chance, motherfucker,” he yells. “Where’s the fuckin’ product?”
Rojas garbles again, only this time he coughs and splutters, and when I force myself to look, I can’t help but wince as chunks of vomit spew out of his mouth, causing him to choke.
“I think he said something!” someone yells, rushing in and clearing Rojas’s airway.
“Fuckin’ sick fuck,” the first guy utters on a grimace, brushing something off his front.
“What’d you say, motherfucker?” the second guy shouts, smacking Rojas’s face hard.
Rojas cries out, his words all strung together in a jumbled mess of sounds that don’t make no sense, the two men leaning closer to hear him.
The man-mountain glances at the one holding the knife and shakes his head. The blade cuts deeper and Rojas screams as more blood seeps out, drenching his already bloodied shirt.
“You’re gonna fuckin’ die anyway, asshole,” the first man utters, less than an inch from Rojas’s face. “Tell us, or your fuckin’ lady gets it too.”
I shift again on my feet, looking down at that because I know these guys are not to be messed with.
“Patch!” Rojas chokes out.
“Huh?” The man-mountain leans in closer.
“At the patch,” Rojas hisses.
Both men step away, looking to someone else in the circle, Rojas breathing a little easier without the blade pressed to his jugular. But then, without warning, the second guy draws his gun, aims it at the back of Rojas’s head and pulls the trigger.
Less than a second later, two men are moving in and untying Rojas’s lifeless body, carrying him outside, all while my ears are still ringing from the gunshot.
I glance sideways to find Cruz still just standing there, an unreadable look on his face.
Turning, I follow Webber over to where Austin is talking to Elias, the boss of Texas’ most dangerous underworld organization, the one everyone calls Butch, short for the Butcher on account of his company owning the biggest slaughterhouse in operation in the panhandle.
“We gotta get on the road,” Butch says gruffly. “If the load’s at the patch, then it ain’t safe.”
“I’ll drive down tonight.” The man-mountain steps forward, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag, nodding at Austin and Butch. “I can take Cyrus with me.”
“No,” Butch objects, and suddenly his shrewd eyes are on me, a knowing smirk curling his lips that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “Cole can drive down with you.”
I blanch, but before I can say anything, Austin steps in. “You don’t need none of my men.”
“Cole owes me,” is all Butch says, eyes narrowing, smirk lingering. “Ain’t that right, Cole?”
I grit my teeth so fuckin’ hard my jaw hurts.
“Fuck’s sake…” Austin mutters, and from my periphery I see him shake his head.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Butch waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll make sure he gets back in one piece.” He grins, the gold teeth in his mouth glinting beneath the light.
I heave a resigned sigh, knowing there really is no way out of it.
“Silvio?” Butch says to the man-mountain while still looking at me. “Call ahead to Midland and let ’em know you and Cole are on your way.”
Silvio’s dark gaze flits to me, and with a curt nod, he turns and hurries off.
“What the fuck, Cole?” Austin booms once we’re outside, away from the throng.
He throws a hand back toward the mob of Butch’s men congregating outside the barn.
“I told you to keep your goddamn nose outta this but you… y-you what?” He scoffs.
“You go askin’ the goddamn fuckin’ mob boss for a… favor?”
I keep my chin held high, accepting whatever it is he gives me because he’s right. I made a mistake. But honestly, I’d do it again if I had to.
“These are not good fuckin’ guys, Cole,” Austin gruffs through gritted teeth like I don’t already know. “How many times I gotta tell you? You got a problem, you fuckin’ come to me.”
“You… couldn’t help with this.”
“This got somethin’ to do with that pretty blonde from Meow’s?” Webber asks, and hell, I almost forgot he was standing here.
Snapping my head to the side, I meet his knowing gaze.
“Fuck’s sake, Cole,” Austin mutters again.
Exhaling hard through my nose, I look down.
“Who is she?”
“It ain’t none of your goddamn business,” I grit out with a little more venom than intended.
“Well clearly it is my fuckin’ business, Cole,” Austin yells.
“Because now you gotta get into a fuckin’ truck and drive through the night down to West fuckin’ Texas to pick up a shipment of somethin’ that can’t be fuckin’ good and deliver it to the…
goddamn cartel.” He lowers his tone at that last part, and I can’t help but balk.
“What?” My eyes widen as I search his. “Cartel?”
Austin throws his head back then, dragging his hands down his face.
I step up to Austin this time, lowering my voice. “You never said fuckin’ nothin’ about no goddamn cartel, Boss.”
He has the decency to look remorseful, so at least I know he knows he’s fucked me. Heaving a sigh, Austin meets my hard stare. “I didn’t know until tonight.”
Scoffing, I shake my head, turning to see the group of men huddled around their trucks. I knew what Austin was doing was bad. Ain’t nothin’ good can come working with Butch or his men. It was always gonna be bad. But I had no fuckin’ idea they were involved with a goddamn cartel.
“Cole, let’s go!” Silvio shouts, his deep voice echoing through the night.
I glance at Austin and Webber, my gaze darting to Cruz standing over by his Bronco smoking a cigarette.
Meeting Austin’s eyes once more, I don’t bother saying anything before I turn and head to the truck Silvio’s climbing into.
Frankly, I don’t trust myself not to say something I might die regretting.