Leather and Sand (Riding the Line Series) Read Online Free PDF

Whatever he was looking for, all the pussy and liquor in the world didn’t seem to be helping him find his way. Shit, at this point, maybe he just needed to be alone for a while.
    Wince shrugged in response to Dax’s explanation, awkwardly adjusting his tie as they headed into the sea of suits and evening gowns. “Hope they have an open bar.”
    Dax nodded. “I’m sure they do. It cost me five big ones each for the damn tickets.” A grand would be considered chump change once The Phantoms secured the routing plan through the port.
    Once they entered the large ballroom, Dax cased the place. There were a few men he considered for the connection. Then, his eyes fell on the one person he prayed wasn’t the owner of Mako Shipping. While there were plenty of well-dressed donors flanked by their sequined dates, there was only one suit flanked by a goon with an earpiece and an entourage of eager-looking women. Women like that followed money the way a hungry dog chased a juicy bone— even if the money was attached to a pompous ass who looked like he couldn’t shoot his way out of a paper bag.
    Dax narrowed his eyes as he studied the man. Spotting the logo that Hawk mentioned on the man’s tie, he felt his heart sink. This dipshit was the connection—Vance Vidal. Vance was drunk, from the looks of it. Or rolling. Dax assessed the young shipping company owner, unable to suppress his grimace as the other man sloshed half of his martini all over a slim, young blond. Dax continued his inspection, noting that despite his careless behavior, Vidal was dressed immaculately from his spiffy cravat to his polished, wing-tip shoes.
    Another petite, dark-haired woman approached on his left and the man puffed his chest out, but his eyes shone from the attention rather than with intellect. Dax groaned inwardly. He knew this kind of guy. This kind of guy liked to feel important. He would want fine wine and a private table in a prestigious restaurant to discuss any new venture. Looking at the man’s shiny, tailored tux and his gaudy, oversized Rolex , Dax knew the suit probably fancied himself a mobster.
    Fuck! Why me?
    Dax sighed, hoping he would be able to suppress his sentiment long enough to make the deal. Men who craved recognition were greedy. If they sighted something better, they couldn’t be trusted not to turn over. Maybe this kid’s just young and drunk, Dax told himself. Drunk on power and martinis. Gonna have to give him a chance. He’s our only lead, anyhow. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair then turned to locate Wince as the lights in the place dimmed. Wince appeared with two drinks and Dax nodded at Vidal, who was making a display of rubbing a woman’s behind.
    Wince raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
    “Let’s find a seat, man.” Dax tried to prevent the irritation from coloring his voice, and failed.
    The ballroom was packed but there were still some open spots at the tables on the periphery of the room. Perfect. He and Wince loped to the back corner, seating themselves directly behind the contact and his entourage. Dax noted rather uncomfortably that most of the women at the man’s table were petite and very young. Were they even old enough to be called women? They looked more like girls than adult females. Vidal seemed to have his type and they all looked to be barely out of puberty.
    Dax took a long swig of amber liquid, letting the fire that burned its way down his throat erase some of his discomfort. His suit itched and the tie felt like a noose around his neck. Dax shifted, trying to find a position that caused less chafing from the offensive article of clothing.
    Fucking ties.
    The place was decorated like a damned wedding, with folded napkins and little place cards on each table. Dax continued to observe the obnoxious kid who sat in front of him. Vidal inherited a load of money and a bunch of long-standing contracts along with it. Dax prayed that he would honor his father’s legacy and agree to the