Read The Skeleton King (Dartmoor Book 3) for Free Online Page B

million.”
                  “Jesus.” Mercy whistled. Then his expression froze. “Wait, you’re not – I mean, I’ve got the mortgage on this place–”
                  “No. No, of course not. I don’t want your money. I think the club can swing it, between Dartmoor, and if we take a loan from Texas, shift some stuff around, sell that strip club Lorenzo’s been after us to buy. He’s offering cash; that’d be a nice little bump.”
                  Mercy took a deep breath, massive shoulders lifting. “You’re the Money Man,” he said. “I trust your judgement on all this. Even if I don’t know what the hell we’re gonna do with a horse farm.” He snorted.
                  “Never say no to a money laundering opportunity,” Walsh said, and Mercy grinned.
                  “Nah. Guess not.” He sobered. “Ghost’s gonna be the one to convince.”
                  “I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you first. See if I’ve lost my mind – or if I’ll have some support when I bring it to table.”
                  Mercy set his mug down with a decisive thump. “Long as my girl and my kids are alright, I’ll support whatever you need, brother, you know that.”
                  A comforting assurance, one Walsh didn’t take lightly.
     
    ~*~
     
    The thing about being largely silent was that when you finally opened your mouth, everyone shut their own and listened. Walsh presented his farm-buying idea at a mid-afternoon church meeting, in front of the entire club, even Troy, who’d been dragged in for the occasion. He’d put together a logical plan after leaving Mercy’s that morning, and he outlined it point by point, touching on questions before they could be asked, walking through all the risks.
                  “I want to talk to Richards about profits and losses first,” he said, in conclusion, “but I’m optimistic we could make some money off the place. Not too different from running a strip joint or a restaurant.”
                  Then he was done, hands curled on the arms of his chair, waiting for his brothers to come back to life.
                  Ghost was the first to speak. With deceptive calm, he said, “So the Lean Dogs would run a horse farm – which, by the way, none of us have any idea how to do.”
                  “I do,” Walsh said, and heard the creak of chairs as people sat forward in surprise.
                  Ghost’s brows went up, an expression a lot like the one his daughter had given Walsh that morning.
                  “I didn’t run the place, exactly. I was a jockey. But I know how it works, generally. And there’s already a manager in place. Maybe we could keep her on.”
                  “Did you just say you were a jockey?” Aidan asked.
                  Beside him, newly pathed and mostly silent at church, Carter said, “Like, as in the Kentucky Derby?”
                  Ghost waved for them to be quiet. “Isn’t it gonna look real damn suspicious if the club up and buys something like that? What the hell would we need with a farm?”
                  “Which is why I buy it privately,” Walsh said. “Everybody in this city knows I’m a recluse who likes it out in the country.” He shrugged. “And I do have a reputation with money.”
                  His bluntness drew a small grin from Ghost. “Yeah, you do.”
                  “I like it, boss,” Mercy spoke up. “It’s the only fool-proof way to keep the developers the hell away from our place. Nothing like being your own neighbor.”
                  “Horses can’t be as high-maintenance as dancing girls,” Rottie said, earning several chuckles.
                  Ghost still didn’t look convinced. “This would be a