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He stepped outside. Tucker didn’t smoke, neither did Monica, so who the fuck had been in the woods at Cedar’s?
He drove tothe house on the outskirts of town. This time, when he knocked, he was shown right in. He scanned the room, saw Brock in the corner, eyes closed, head back, a woman with wild brown curls was on her knees in front of him. Didn’t take a genius to know why he’d picked her. She had been Brock’s first, but Cedar was his now. He felt a little sorry for the guy, but only a little.
Brock fisted her hair, fucked her face hard. He came on a moan and moved away from her so fast, she fell forward. Killian fisted his hands. Brock tucked himself back in his jeans, saw Killian and jerked his head to the door. They stepped outside; Brock grabbed a beer from a cooler. “What do you want?”
“For you to cut the shit,” Killian said, crossing his arms.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
He moved right into Brock’s face. “I don’t give a shit who you are. And if it wouldn’t cause my girl pain, I’d fucking bury you. Shit is coming, and I want to know what and when?”
Brock had no reaction, then lifted his beer to his lips and took a long sip. “Not many would dare talk to me like that.”
Killian didn’t miss a beat. “If you haven’t figured it out, I’m not like most. Someone’s been eyeing her cabin.”
That got through. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“There’s been a guy nosing around, not a local, thought it was poachers, but it’s more likely a private investigator with an interest in Cedar Walker. Why?”
Brock stood, tossed the can. “It’s not my habit to share my shit with the cops.”
Killian had had enough of the bullshit. He got right into the younger man’s face. “It’s not my habit to let fucking scumbags like you walk free. Stop jerking me around or I’ll fucking round the lot of you up and cage you.”
Brock eyed him. “You’re no small-town sheriff.”
“I’m going to be a big pain in your ass if you don’t start talking.”
Brock was unfazed, holding the angry stare with one of his own. The air grew heavy with tension before Brock said, “For Cedar.”
Killian nodded, took a step back.
“You were right, I took the money. Took me years, but I took it. It cost me everything, so I think I earned it,” he said, grabbing another beer.
“So, it’s not handled,” Killian bit back.
“Not completely.”
“Who’s gunning for you? Dustin Thompson?”
Brock laughed, drained his beer, and tossed the can. “Dustin is dead.”
“What?”
“Yeah, but the family hasn’t filed a missing person’s report.”
“You kill him?”
“I would have, in a fucking heartbeat, but no.”
“So how do you know he’s dead?”
“Like you, I have a far reach,” Brock said.
“Thoughts on who killed him?”
“It was made to look like a mob hit.”
“But you don’t think it was,” Killian deduced.
