Page 252 of Forged in the Fire
A few Owls clapped him on the back as he shouldered through the pack, and he slipped onto an empty stool at the bar.
The old bartender behind it lifted his chin in question.
“Old-fashioned,” he grunted.
“You got a preference of whiskey?”
“Maker’s is fine.”
The guy whipped it up and slid it in front of him, and he tossed him a twenty for a tip.
Brought the tumbler to his lips and took a sip.
Relishing the burn, aching for a fire when every fucking thing inside him had gone cold.
The energy shifted when the door swung open, and every eye in the place turned as Trent Lawson strode through.
Their vice president whose mere presence commanded respect.
Things had gotten a little weird as of late. A new tension sliding into the club. There was a rumor that there was some beef between Cutter, their president, and Trent and Jud, who were his sons. Only thing he knew was Cutter was a fuckingpsychopath, so he couldn’t imagine there was any true affection between any of them.
Not that it was any of Silas’s business, though he felt a whole lot more loyalty and trust toward Trent than he ever would for Cutter.
He turned and took another sip of his old-fashioned when that same ferocity rolled up behind him.
He shifted to find Trent standing there.
“Can I get a word with you?”
Silas’s chest tightened at Trent’s tone.
Not in fear.
But because of the urgency laced in the words.
“Of course.”
He slipped off the stool and followed Trent into the darkened hall that led to some Owl offices at the back.
Trent stopped halfway down and turned to him. He peered over Silas’s shoulder to ensure they were out of earshot before he muttered, “Might have something for you.”
Silas’s dead heart gave an erratic beat. “What kind of something?”
Trent licked his lips, more agitated than he should be. “Cutter made connections with some runners. Up in Northern California and extending into Southern Oregon.”
Silas’s blood careened, and he swallowed around the dark thrill that surged through him.
“They’ve been in the game for at least seven years,” Trent continued. “Not a huge organization. Mostly feeding heroin into small towns through their channels, though they’re looking to expand, which was why the deal was made with Cutter.”
Now Silas knew why Trent was itching.
He was offering inside information Silas shouldn’t have.
You didn’t know shit around here unless it was directly tied to you.
A job you were given.
It kept everyone in line and Cutter in control.
