Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

Frank took off his gloves and led the way to the snow-covered road. “Don’t know, but Jag’s adding the trilling sound, and I don’t like it. He should carry a damn phone, but he refuses to use even the ones for old people.”

“He doesn’t want to use gas for fire by his den, so what do you expect? At least he hasn’t tried shooting arrows at the cell tower nearby,” Shane grumbled and retreated into the workshop to pick up a gun from a secret holder under the wooden table Rosen has been using to screw together tiny bits of steel.

As dismissive as he was of Jag, the wild bastard took security seriously, and if Frank was worried by the stupid signal, then maybe so should he? With the pistol stuck into the back of his pants, Shane stepped into the sun and froze at the sight of a black Mercedes heading toward them while their personal Tarzan followed it by hurrying along the snow-covered slope.

“Shit.”

Frank took a deep breath. “Shit indeed. Do you see the driver?”

The moment Shane’s gaze settled on Ed Beck’s round face, his brain short-circuited with fury. Did the motherfucker know his son was here? He’d be taking Ros over Shane’s dead body. Cerberus started roaring in his pen, as if he’d become aware of his master’s distress, but the last thing needed in this equation was another set of sharp teeth.

“No. How dare he come here?” he asked and stepped into the road, his hands shaking with need to hold the gun that now burned his skin.

After everything he’d done to Shane, the bastard had the audacity to park right in front of the fence surrounding Frank’s house. Despite the sulphuric fury that was about to burn Shane from the inside, he did stay put and watched Beck struggle to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Something’s off,” Frank stated the obvious as Jag made his way down the snowed-over hill of junk with the agility of a wild cat.

Their guest poured out of his fancy car, and the sunshine reflected off the sweat dampening his face despite the cold. He wiped his hands on his slacks and adjusted the brown woolen jacket he wore, as if propriety had any meaning when it came to a man this vile.

But what else could Shane expect from a politician if not false smiles hiding moral rot?

Shane wanted to keep his cool, but when Beck met his gaze and offered a polite smile, the weak gate holding back Shane’s fury broke, and he roared. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Frank didn’t bother trying to stop him, but he did follow when Shane made his way toward the bastard.

Beck put his hands up, sending a nervous glance at Jag who stood nearby with a spear, looking like a dystopian warrior in his set of furs and scrap that served as make-do chainmail.

“Hold on a second, I know what you’re thinking!” Beck exclaimed, taking a step back, sickly pale under the layer of sweat. “But this is— This will be an opportunity for all involved.”

Shane spat under his shoes, and he might have already sent a fist into Beck’s face if he wasn’t aware of Ros’s presence. The last thing he wanted Ed Beck to fuck up was Shane’s budding relationship with his son, so he steadied himself and rolled his head until the neck creaked. “You have some nerve coming here.”

Beck kept one hand up as he opened the back seat and pulled out a duffel bag. “I know I’ve wronged you. I didn’t expect to see you at the campus either, so I panicked, for which I apologize. But if you’re smart about this, we could let bygones be bygones, and I’ll make sure you feel satisfied about this new arrangement.”

Shane wanted to snap something back, but Beck unzipped the bag, revealing wads of cash that filled the entire thing. Shane could have lived off that amount of money for the rest of his life if he were frugal.

Frank sneered and crossed his arms on his powerful chest. “Who’s in your trunk, Beck?”

Shane stayed still, his eyes on the hypnotizing green prize, but Frank’s question snapped him out of it, and he stepped away, watching the vapor he’d exhaled disperse in the air. Did he really have so little pride that he’d take anything from Ed Beck’s sweaty palm?

Beck hissed. “You don’t need to know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we do, because coming here with that kind of money tells me you’re desperate,” Shane snapped, eyeing the gray hair on Beck’s temples.

Beck took a deep breath and looked to Frank, but when no help came, he dropped the bag to the ground and spread his arms. “It’s my wife, Lisa. She overdosed at home, and I will not see my career wasted just because she couldn’t handle her habit. Everyone would fucking think I couldn’t keep my own woman in line! And so soon after my son decided to tell everyone he’s gay at that. I know we’ve got bad blood, and I hate how things unraveled years ago, but I’m not asking for charity. I will pay you enough to make up for the time you’ve lost, but I need this problem gone.”