“How so?” He didn't know all of Declan's business dealings, but felt he knew a great deal about this. Ruark had stopped by a few times and been quite heavy-handed in offering a partnership which would put fifty percent of the club’s profits into his own pockets. Terse words and veiled threats followed, but he’d seemed to go off the radar screen. Until tonight, anyway. “What the hell is going on?”
Declan squared himself on his feet and brought that cane in front of him like a gentleman from the 1800s might when confronted in the street. “I used to do business with the MacKenna's and now I don't.”
“I know.”
“What you don't know is Nathan killed Ruark's brother. It was an accident.”
So, Nathan had gone to prison for manslaughter. “So, he's here to basically … do what?”
“What do you think?” The muscles in his neck bunched and tensed, his teeth clearly grinding inside his mouth by the way the light bouncing off his jaw muscles.
“Harassing him isn't legal.”
“It isn't?” Declan filled in with no small amount of sarcasm. “It's more complicated than that. It always is when a MacKenna is involved. We need to keep a close watch. As far as I know, Ruark hasn't seen Nathan yet, but he will. Soon. It's a miracle he hasn't already.”
“And then?”
“And then we have a greater problem.”
It wasn't hard to figure out what he alluded to. Revenge. Vengeance. Warped justice. Trick understood more than Declan could probably comprehend. He'd seen it meted out in prison. He'd felt the desire of it in his own body. And he was so sick of it.
“Get Nathan a job elsewhere.”
“Can't do that.”
Why the hell not?
Declan answered his unspoken question. “Ruark would just find him elsewhere. I owe Nathan. Big.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Later.”
Another day, another night, he’d demand to know, but for now he wasn’t about to unsettle Shakedown any more than it had already been. “Then what will it take to get rid of Ruark?”
Declan raised his chin and placed both hands on his cane. “We're about to find out.”