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His face genuinely fell at that information, taking it the way I meant for him to take it even though me and Dusty, as a thing, were still in the very beginning stage. "You mean what I think you mean?"
"Probably. And seeing that isn't even a goddamn little bit any of your business, we'll move on from it. Who do you work for?"
The tension came back at that as his chin angled up. "Don't think that is even a goddamn little bit of your business either," he threw my words back at me.
Well, if he didn't want to do it the easy way...
I dropped my arms and closed the few feet between us, hand curling around his throat and slamming him back against the wall, his face in almost the same position the guy who beat Dusty's was, the deep red, almost black dried blood on the wall evident of that fact.
"It's my mother fucking business when a woman I care about has her face smashed up because of the drugs you got her fucking involved in. And because I know all the players in this town, I know you're just some lackey for some bigger bad. So cut the mother fucking bullshit and give me some goddamn answers or I can show you exactly how the Mallick family got their reputation in this town."
My voice had been low and savage, anger usually being a cool thing inside me, cold enough to freeze you over.
And, if he knew my family, he damn sure knew my threat wasn't an empty one.
My hand eased on his throat and he sucked in a breath before speaking. "You know I can't give him up."
"Like fuck you can't," I snapped, impatient. I wasn't entirely sure that Dusty wouldn't start looking for me at some point. I didn't have all goddamn day to get the information out of him. "And you don't exactly have a choice, Bry."
"The product is gone, right?" he asked finally as my hand released him and I took one small step back.
"And you're out ten grand. How the fuck are you going to explain that to your boss? Is telling me who he is really the worst fucking thing you can do today?"
"You don't understand," he said, shaking his head, sliding to the side and moving toward the kitchen where he reached above Dusty's stove and grabbed a glass then went to her freezer and pulled out vodka she kept there.
So, her aversion to him touching her aside, they were close. He knew where the cups and the booze were and felt comfortable helping himself. Suddenly I wondered if maybe the two had been more than friends at some point. It would explain his thing for her and the fact that he had stuck by her even when everyone but her uncle seemed to give up on her.
"Then help me to," I suggested, watching as he poured three fingers worth of vodka and took it in one gulp.
If it was a three fingers of vodka in one throw kind of issue, then it was serious shit. I felt myself stiffening, wondering who the fuck she could have possibly been wrapped up with.
"I don't work for Lex if that's what you're asking," he said, meaning the most vicious sonofabitch in all of Navesink Bank who was well overdue for a seriously long, drawn out, torturous death. Lex dug his hands into a little bit of everything in our town and took cuts from some of the smaller-time operations, keeping them under his thumb, not allowing anyone else to rise up in the ranks and take him out.
"I know you're not working for Lyon since all he does is stockbroker drugs. Don't tell me this is as fucking lowdown as Third Street."
He snorted at that, almost like he was insulted. "No."
"Then who? Because that's all the dealers in this area."
His head cocked to the side at that. "Exactly."
I exhaled hard, looking up at the ceiling for a long second. He was dealing in Navesink Bank for someone who wasn't supposed to be operating in the town? That was the kind of clusterfuck I didn't want to be anywhere fucking near. Because not only did it mean you had a problem with Bry's boss and whoever the fuck stole from him, but it also meant that if Lex or Lyon or Third Street got wind of it, you were in their crosshairs as well.
That was not a place anyone wanted to be.
My family had always worked to stay out of everyone else's business in town. We were on friendly terms with The Henchmen, Hailstorm, the Grassis, and the freelancers like Breaker and Shooter. We actively avoided any contact with Lex Keith. And we had no reason to have any communication with Lyon or Third Street.
It was a survival mechanism to be neutral even if you didn't agree with what other operations were doing. Pops had a good reputation all his life and, as we aged up, we all added to it. But his operation wasn't huge. We didn't have a lot of people outside of me and my brothers. We would never survive some underground war. We knew that so we didn't stick our noses in business that wasn't our own.
