Chapter 28

Shane

I felt lighter than I had in years. The whole ride back to Rowland’s Hardware all I could think was how my afternoon with Dallas transcended all other experiences before it. Sure, I’d fucked a few girls in my day, but nothing like that. We hadn’t just fucked—we’d made love. And it was amazing. I could still feel her pussy clamping down on my cock as she cried out, could still hear her pulse thundering in my ears as I buried into her one last time.

All I wanted to do was stay in that meadow forever. I pictured a shelter made out of sticks and the picnic blanket and our writhing bodies beneath. When we got back to my bike, this fantasy changed to me riding off the other way, stealing Dallas and keeping her for myself.

Both of those fantasies would end with her father dead if they played out in real life, which is why I soon found myself dropping Dallas off outside of my temporary home with a promise to see her again soon.

“You always say that,” she said with a sly grin.

“And you always see me again soon.” I kissed her and got back on my bike.

“Where are you off to?” she asked.

The sun had crept toward the horizon during our ride, and now the trees overhanging the lot cast long splintered shadows across the pavement. It might be a little early to find Paul at the Buck’s Head, but I was too restless to go inside and wait.

“I’ve got some business to deal with.”

Dallas’s face flickered. “Right. Your business. How much longer do you think that’ll keep you in town?”

“As long as it takes.”

“That’s unhelpful.” She frowned.

I shoved my helmet on and shrugged. Then, before I was tempted to get back off my bike and invite Dallas inside, I motored out of the parking lot.

The Buck’s Head was a rustic tavern decorated with a couple dozen stuffed buck heads, true to its name. They were scattered along all four walls, with no discernible rhyme or reason to their placement. Wood beams and scorched glass sconces completed the look, though the high definition TV above the bar jarred the atmosphere a little.

I was pleased to see Paul at one of the low tables in front of the bar, a half-drunk Bud in his hand. He was instantly recognizable from his white-blonde hair and the tattoos that snaked up each arm and into the sleeves of his t-shirt. He’d gotten more since I last saw him and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find he was completely covered in them now.

I strode up to him confidently, though his eyes stayed glued to the TV screen until I was practically in front of him. When he noticed me, he raised his brows and scrunched up his mouth in surprise.

“Shane Kelly, the Fighting Irish,” he mused. “I heard you were back. Didn’t expect to see you though.” He slapped the table lightly. “Pull up a chair. Have a drink.”

His friendly greeting wasn’t entirely surprising, but it was appreciated all the same. I grabbed a seat and signaled to a passing waitress that I’d have the same as Paul.

He knocked back some of his beer and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “How have you been? You look good. Christ, you’re nearly as big as Rob.”

“Can’t complain. I’ve been in the forces these past three years, and they took good care of me.”

“A military man?” He smiled. “Well, for that, your beer’s on me.”

“That’s kind of you.”

The waitress arrived with my beer and Paul asked her to put it on his tab. Then it was back to the two of us.

“I heard you don’t spend much time with the other guys,” I said.

He shrugged. “I work security at the club when they need me, but I don’t hang out there outside of work. Too loud.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Wes is still one of my best friends though,” Paul assured. “I heard that you’re coming for him. What does that mean?”

I laughed and took a drink of beer. I was glad Nelson had passed on my warning. “He owes people close to me and me a tax and I’m here to collect.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well.” He grinned. “I don’t know whether you’re stupid or brave. I’ve always found it hard to tell.”

“Just committed,” I corrected. “Fulfilling a promise.”

“To whom?”

“To myself.”

His eyes, a green so light they were nearly translucent, lit up with amusement. Sensing that this would be a good time to swing the conversation the direction I wanted, I leaned a little closer.

“I gotta ask, what is Preston’s deal? You’re close to him. Maybe you could help me understand it.”

Paul furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. “Understand why he wants to kill you?”

“No, I figured that much out for myself,” I replied with a chuckle. “I guess I’m trying to figure out what his end game is.”

“I don’t follow.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth in thought and tried again. “What does Preston want most in the world? He likes money but doesn’t live as lavishly as he could. It makes me think that money’s not his be all and end all.”

Paul finally understood my question, and his face relaxed. “Oh, I see. You want to know what gets him off.”

“Yeah. I’m curious.”

Paul shrugged and sat back in his chair, clutching the bottle in his hand and gesturing to me when he spoke. “Fucking with people like you,” he said. “Preston likes the control. He likes to feel like he’s got the biggest dick of anyone, and that when he swings that dick, it could take out an entire village.”

I’d thought as much myself, but Paul’s confirmation reinforced my belief that no amount of money would free Dallas. Preston would find another way to tie her and her father down, just like he’d scammed them into the debt in the first place. He was as crafty as he was cruel. As small a threat as I represented back in high school, it had still been enough for him to want me gone. Nobody else would go up to bat for the Keanes, and that was how he wanted it.

“So that’s all he cares about? Making people subservient to him?” I asked.

“Basically. It doesn’t matter whether it’s easy or hard, just as long as he’s top dog in the end.”

This was frustrating news. How was I supposed to entice Preston to let Dallas and Randall go when he already had what he wanted? I didn’t have anything more attractive to offer than a beautiful woman bound to him by money and the life of her poor father.

“You look disappointed,” Paul commented. “Were you hoping you might be able to pay your way back into town?”

I laughed. “Something like that.”

“You’d have better luck in a coin toss,” he said with a chortle.

Now I was the one not getting his meaning. “The odds of a coin toss are around fifty-fifty, so a one in two chance of him accepting isn’t that bad.”

Paul frowned. “Who said anything about odds?”

“You did. You said I’d have better luck in a coin toss.”

“Yeah.” His brows creased and he tilted his chin as he looked at me. “I mean he’d be more likely to let you flip for it than he would to just accept your money outright.”

“You think he’d let me flip a coin for the chance to stay in the city?” I asked. “Why?”

He snorted as if the answer were obvious. “The only thing Preston Gromley loves more than fucking with a person’s life is a good bet.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“Didn’t think about it earlier. Finish your beer.” Paul tipped back his head and downed the rest of his Bud. I followed his lead. I couldn’t be sure if he wanted another or if he was about to tell me to beat it, but I was done anyway.

“You’ve been a great help, Paul.” I set the empty bottle on the table and went to stand.

“Woah there.” Paul put out a hand to stop me and rose to his feet. “I can’t just let you leave.”

“You can’t?”

“Nuh-uh. I’m under orders to kick your ass to next Sunday if I see you and then drag that ass up to Preston so he can deal with you.”

“I see.”

I studied Paul’s face. He was dead serious.

I sighed. “I guess we better go out back then.”

“I guess we better.”

Paul and I exited the bar and went around to the darkened back parking lot. I tossed my jacket onto the pavement and faced him, fists hovering just under my nose. He mirrored my pose. He was a tall guy but still a couple of inches shorter than me, yet that didn’t seem to bother him. Hell, maybe he would be even more of a challenge than Nelson.

“You ready?” Paul asked.

“Yup.”

An imaginary bell went off in Paul’s head, and he moved toward me, bouncing on the soles of his feet. He was quick, dodging my first punch and slamming one into my side before making a swift retreat.

He lunged for me next, and I parried his blow but failed to deliver one of my own. Again, he stepped out of range.

“You gonna dance around me all night?” I asked.

He laughed. “You wait and see.”

I didn’t feel like waiting to see. I went in for the attack, pulling back to make it seem like I was going in for a jab. Paul realized too late that I was faking him out, and lifted his guard up too high. I hit him in the side with a hook and followed it with a knee to his gut.

Paul cried out in agony and stumbled, falling back onto his ass.

“Fuck,” he wheezed, screwing his eyes shut and holding his side.

“When does the ass-kicking start? I don’t wanna miss American Idol.”

Paul cracked an eye open in a vicious glare, but his lips curved into a grin all the same.

“Alright, tough guy. You win. Preston’s just gonna have to get you another way.”

I laughed and walked to Paul’s side and extended a hand down to him. “He can try.”

Paul accepted my hand up but hissed in pain. “I’m gonna need another beer. Or ten.” He stood hunched for a moment and then straightened, walking stiffly toward the bar.

“Good to see you,” I called after him.

His laughter carried back to me.

I grabbed my jacket and walked back over to my bike, feeling high on more than just another victorious fight.

Finally, finally, I might have a way to help Dallas.