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  A Desperate Man

  By Tia Fielding and Lisa Henry

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2021 Tia Fielding and Lisa Henry

  ISBN 9781646566723

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  A Desperate Man

  By Tia Fielding and Lisa Henry

  “Tempt not a desperate man.”

  —Romeo and Juliet Act 5, Scene 3, William Shakespeare

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 1

  Quinn hated this shit. He chain smoked as he tried to keep his foot on the gas to get to his old hometown. His whole body rebelled at the idea of going back there. Elsewhere, he could be himself. In Spruce Creek, Nevada, he’d always be a MacGregor first, and anything else second.

  He was two weeks out of rehab, and while he was pretty sure he’d kicked the habit, he felt twitchy like he hadn’t since withdrawals. All he’d wanted was to find a place to live somewhere as far as possible from Nevada, but he had unfinished business and so here he was, driving through exceedingly familiar scenery: tangled wind-flattened shrubs at the side of the road, houses with the paint worn off them by the weather, everything sun-bleached and a little run down.

  He hadn’t been back since he was about to turn eighteen. He and his mom had left town and she now lived in New Hampshire with her slightly younger partner. She said it wasn’t love yet, that she wasn’t sure if she knew what that even was, but that she felt hopeful and that was more than Quinn could ask.

  There were several trailer parks around town, and pretty much all the houses looked to be around the same kind of price range. He skipped Main Street for now, and headed directly to his uncle’s house.

  Uncle Ian lived in the fanciest house in the whole town. Not that it said much, really, but at least it had been kept in shape and there was some pretty decent landscaping going on at the sides of the house.

  Quinn parked in the large gravel lot, making sure he couldn’t be boxed in. He felt itchy, going into the proverbial lion’s den. The fact that he was used to much bigger criminal organizations than the one Uncle Ian operated here meant very little. This was the territory that was supposed to be Quinn’s by now.

  If only his dad hadn’t fucked up and killed the sheriff a decade ago, eh?

  He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror and frowned at how same yet different he looked than the last time he was here. He had shorter hair now, messy and thick as it had always been. In his teens, he’d liked to drive his dad nuts by refusing to cut it. That summer, when he’d followed his cousin into that party he had no place in attending, it had been down to the middle of his back. Sometimes he missed it, but his current lifestyle didn’t exactly support keeping hair like that clean.

  He took his gun from the glove box and stuck it into the waistband of his jeans, then made sure it was obvious but not obnoxious by careful placement of the hem of his T-shirt in the back. He had a knife strapped to his ankle. He never went anywhere unarmed. Well, actually, he’d just spent ninety days without anything to protect himself with on his person, and after getting out of rehab it had felt better to carry his weapons of choice than he thought a line of coke would’ve.

  An older, even more serious version of his cousin Jimmy walked out of the front door.

  “Showtime,” Quinn murmured under his breath, and got out of the car.

  He strolled to the little porch and peered up at Jimmy. They gave each other a once over, then Jimmy grinned a little.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Jimmy extended his hand and as soon as Quinn took it, he hauled Quinn up the few stairs into a back-breaking man hug.

  Quinn made a show of grunting and punched Jimmy’s shoulder when he let go. “Asshole.” Then he looked at the still somewhat familiar features and smiled. “Time’s been kind to you, cuz.”

  Jimmy chuckled. “You, not so much. What the fuck have you been on?” He turned and gestured for the door, but didn’t wait for Quinn to go first.

  “Coke, mostly,” Quinn replied dryly, and Jimmy barked out a laugh.

  “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be surprised or not,” he admitted.

  “I dunno, I mean, when you’re around the stuff a lot and need to stay awake and alert for extended periods of time…” Quinn shrugged.

  “I guess so.” Jimmy showed him into the living room. “Dad should be home soon. He went to have a chat with Mr. Barnes. Mom’s getting her hair done in town.”

  Having a chat meant making sure whatever excuse for protection money he had these days, Mr. Barnes would pay up.

  Then, because he had to get to the reason for his reappearance, he asked, “How’s Uncle Ian? Like really? Not what he’ll tell me.”

  Jimmy walked to the kitchen. “Beer or water?”

  “Water, thanks.”

  Once they had their drinks, Jimmy sat on the other couch and sighed. “It’s not good. Prostate cancer, but it’s aggressive as fuck and he’s decided he doesn’t want chemo and whatnot this time.”

  Quinn frowned. “Mom said it was bad, but she didn’t tell me he’d already had one cancer before?”

  “Nobody knew except my parents and I. Dad kept it a secret.” Jimmy sipped at his beer. “You know how it is.”

  And boy, did Quinn know. Face was everything in this business. You couldn’t be perceived as weak.

  A delivery truck rumbled into the yard.

  “I gotta go check this out,” Jimmy said, put his beer on a coaster on the pristine coffee table, and went out.

  Quinn got to his feet and walked to the back of the living room where Aunt Karen’s wall of family photos hung, neatly arranged as always.

  In the middle was the family photo of Ian, Karen, and Jimmy, taken around the time Jimmy and Quinn had been in elementary school. Next to it hung a wedding snap of Ian and Karen, looking happy and young. They had been, Quinn was pretty sure.

  He wasn’t surprised to see a picture of his own parents on their wedding day, either. It was a candid shot. His mom looked beautiful and amused at something his dad had just said, maybe?

  There were other photos, one of the “extended family” also known as Ian’s crew that consi
sted of his trusted men and a couple of guys that had belonged to Quinn’s dad’s crew. “Uncles” they were called.

  Quinn frowned at the still familiar faces. He hadn’t seen any of them in a decade. No, he’d seen Arthur, his dad’s best friend once. Arthur had come after Quinn and his mom, to make sure they were fine after his dad got his forty to life.

  Two frames stuck out to him the most, because they sort of echoed each other. They were both dark wood, simple, and probably cheap, but the pictures inside were startlingly similar. In the older one, Quinn’s dad Robert stood next to his brother Ian, and they had arms around each other, grinning at the camera. They had to be in their late teens, based on their style of clothing and hair.

  The other photo was of Jimmy and Quinn. He finished drinking his water as he stared at it. They’d been friends, almost brothers, once upon a time. Jimmy had always been the troublemaker and Quinn the tagalong. Jimmy had been dangerous with his temper since they were boys, and Quinn still had a scar on his forearm from when Jimmy slashed him with a broken bottle when they were barely teenagers.

  “Reminiscing of the good old days?” Jimmy asked.

  Quinn snorted. “The whatnow?”

  “There were some good times though.” Something about Jimmy’s tone made Quinn glance at him. For a moment, Jimmy seemed almost wistful. Then the adult Jimmy, the one Quinn knew had to be itching to be the head of the MacGregor family business, took hold again, and Quinn looked back at the pictures.

  “My mom was so pretty,” he said, nodding toward the wedding photo.

  “How’s Clara doing?” Jimmy asked as he wandered back on the couch.

  Quinn glanced at his father’s youthful face once more, then followed Jimmy. “She’s okay. Has a new toy boy and all.” Quinn grinned.

  Jimmy laughed. “Does she now?”

  “Yeah, he’s like five years younger than her. A really stand-up guy.”

  Jimmy snorted at the phrasing. “Not this life, then?”

  Quinn chuckled under his breath. “No, definitely not. She’s very much done with this life.”

  “Does she mind that you’re still—” The question was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming outside.

  Soon enough, Ian MacGregor ambled in, looking a lot more gray and washed out than Quinn had expected, even with the cancer.

  “Quinn MacGregor, as I live and breathe,” Ian said, smiling widely.

  Quinn got to his feet and went to give his uncle a hug. “Uncle Ian, nice to see you still alive and kicking,” he murmured into Ian’s shoulder.

  “Eh, starting to be more like flopping around than kicking, but alive for the time being.” He slapped Quinn on the shoulder and gestured for him to go back to his seat. “Were those truck tracks in the yard?” he asked Jimmy, his gaze sharp as ever.

  “Yeah, Jesus needed to check on something with me on his way out of town.” Jimmy seemed almost too casual, his pose too relaxed, and Quinn immediately thought that this was exactly why he was here.

  Ian harrumphed. “I saw Caroline parking in front of your place when I drove past.”

  Jimmy took the words as the dismissal they clearly were and got up. He took their empty bottles to the kitchen and seemed to wipe the countertop quickly. Karen MacGregor was one scarily neat lady and everyone knew that.

  “You’re sticking around?” Jimmy asked Quinn.

  “Yeah, I rented a trailer from the middle park.” There were four trailer parks in town, but three were on the long as fuck Main Street. “Not sure where I’m headed so I thought I’d stay here for a bit.”

  “Okay, well I’ll talk to you later, then.” Jimmy left.

  Quinn relaxed into the couch. For some reason, maybe a good one, his instincts were telling him to watch his back around Jimmy.

  It wasn’t that Ian MacGregor wasn’t ruthless, but he wouldn’t lash out and try to hurt Quinn. If he had the urge, he’d explain to him why he was going to do it first. When the MacGregors were getting rid of someone, the person knew why exactly they were losing their life.

  It hadn’t been like that when Robert had been the head of the clan. No, Robert had been more like Jimmy in that way. Lashing out easily and often. Quinn was sure the townspeople liked Ian’s rule much better.

  Once the sound of Jimmy’s car vanished into the distance, Ian leveled Quinn with a look.

  “So, what really brings you into town?”

  “What, a guy can’t come see his uncle?” Quinn grinned and spread his hands. Then he got serious. “I got out of rehab two weeks ago. Didn’t want to go to Mom so I came here.” It was the truth, after all.

  Ian’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, trying to read Quinn. “This the only way to go?”

  Quinn could’ve made the “what, I’m not welcome here” joke that most people might’ve. Instead, he smirked darkly. “I’m not very popular in my pre-rehab circles right now.”

  Ian pondered on that for a bit. Then he nodded slowly. “Alright.” He coughed into his fist and grimaced. “All I have to tell you is this. If you’re looking to take over the town once I’m gone, Jimmy’s going to put up a fight. I don’t know if it matters, but I don’t particularly care who takes over.”

  Quinn thought quickly. “Well, after spending years in a pond much bigger than Spruce Creek, I’m sure I’d be capable of taking over. I just don’t have the crew and I’ve been gone for a decade, Uncle Ian.”

  Ian hummed. “Just…don’t turn your back on Jimmy.”

  Quinn wondered if Ian meant it as in “be careful around him” or “don’t turn your back on family” kind of thing and didn’t ask. For all he knew, it was both.

  “So, anything I can do for you and Karen while I’m in town?” he asked instead.

  Ian smiled at the mention of his wife. “Nothing comes to mind. I’m sure she’ll ask you to help her in the kitchen though. You used to like that.”

  Yeah, Quinn had spent time here a lot as a kid. More often than not, he’d helped Aunt Karen with the cooking. Sometimes it was with his mom there and others not. Whenever his parents went somewhere together, this was where Quinn would stay. Not that his dad left the town much. He was too careful for his territory.

  Quinn yawned. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I was going to stay and visit for longer, but I think I need to go check out the trailer and get some groceries, then just get some rest. I’ll come by tomorrow when Karen’s home.”

  Ian got up too, and Quinn managed not to hover when he saw his uncle sway a little. He knew better than to draw attention to Ian’s weakness.

  He did hug Ian though, because he’d genuinely missed him. Sure, Ian was a wannabe mob boss in a tiny Nevada town and tiny fish on the scale Quinn was used to dealing with. But he’d also been the more emotionally stable father figure in his youth, and Quinn missed having that sort of connection.

  * * * *

  Quinn ended up taking a detour to the main street to check things out. He started at the end where most of the quaint touristy shops were, and shook his head at how little things had changed in a decade. There were a couple of closed shops with boarded up windows, but there were also still the Wild West themed shopfronts that were kitschy as fuck.

  Hell, even the bar with a few rooms for rent upstairs, the Saloon, was still up and running. The diner was still open, too. With his growling stomach, Quinn was tempted as hell to go there and grab early dinner. He just didn’t want the questions, because in a town with a thousand people everyone knew everyone, and by now the townsfolk would know Robert MacGregor’s son was back in town.

  Instead of the diner, he headed to the tiny so-called grocery store and got a basketful of things that made healthy enough breakfasts and snacks. He could have most meals at the diner and he was sure Aunt Karen wouldn’t mind having him at the dinner table every now and then.

  He kept his head down and got out of the shop and to the middle trailer park without being interrupted. He passed one dark SUV which obviously belonged to Uncle Ian’s crew, but
he ignored it for the time being.

  Almost opposite the road down to the trailers sat the old sheriff’s house. He remembered it well, small and rustic as it was. That was where Aaron, his first actual true crush had lived. And then Quinn’s dad had killed Aaron’s dad and…yeah. Shaking his head, he headed down the dirt road toward his rental.

  It wasn’t much. Then again, he wasn’t willing to pay a lot and didn’t need much, so he didn’t care. There was a tiny bathroom, a kitchenette, a peeling and stained carpet, and a small bedroom at the end of the hall. The living room area was okay enough if you ignored the way the couch was slumped a bit at one end.

  Quinn had done some time on the streets so anything more than a sleeping bag was a near luxury. The mattress at the rehab had been shit, too, so when later that night he found that the landlord had bought a new mattress sometime in the last few years, he felt like fucking royalty.

  A prince with a gun under his pillow, but a prince nonetheless.

  Chapter 2

  Aaron Larsen woke to the sound of glass breaking. His heart raced as he rolled off the mattress onto the floor, wincing as pain shot through his knee and then through the lower right leg that wasn’t even there. Sharp stabbing pins and needles tortured the sole of the foot he didn’t have anymore.

  He pushed himself off the floor, wobbling like a bowling pin before he made a grab for his crutches. He jammed the crutch pads under his arms, curled his fingers around the grips, and swung himself out of his childhood bedroom into the dark hallway.

  Fucking stairs. The rubber tip of his right crutch slipped, and he lost his footing. His heart beat fast and his stomach flipped, but he managed to shift his weight back instead, landing on his ass on the top step instead of crashing headfirst down the steps.

  “Jesus Christ, Aaron!” Uncle Will loomed into view at the bottom of the dark stairwell. He was wearing his uniform, and the dim light gleamed on his sheriff’s badge. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”

  Kid, as though he wasn’t twenty-eight years old and a grown-ass man. The old term of affection always made Aaron feel like he was a ten-year-old again. It made him feel small, but in the best possible way. The world had made sense when Aaron had been small. It had seemed like a safe place as well.