by Naomi West
Pistol cocked his gun.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the white man said amiably.
“Why the hell not? I’ve given you plenty of warning.”
The white man nodded at something behind Pistol. “Friend of yours?”
Pistol whirled to see Deion in the clutches of two men Pistol hadn’t even noticed before. One had a gun against Deion’s temple. Pistol whirled back to the white man, who now had a pistol trained on Pistol.Fuck.
The white man took a step closer. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his free hand. “Jax Wilson? I’m Leonard Smith. I believe you know my daughter.”
Chapter Five
Katrin was nearly finished unpacking her last box. Night had fallen, and outside, she could hear the chirps and whirrs of the desert at night. She gazed out the window for a moment, at the velvet, dark-blue sky. So different from industrial Ohio, out here under all these stars.
Her father had wanted a fresh start. Couldn’t stop talking about Texas. About the opportunity Rex had set up for him there, with the general goods store. Leonard had run a shop back in Ohio too. He’d worked long hours, and a few nights he hadn’t come home at all — claiming he’d fallen asleep behind the front counter.
“You work too much,”she’d tried telling him when she was in high school.“Mom misses you. I miss you.”
Her friend Maddy had asked,“You sure your Dad’s not in the CIA? I mean, the store’s not even open twenty-four hours. What’s he doing sleeping there?”
“There’s always something to be done around there,”she’d replied. But she’d wondered too. She didn’t doubt that her father loved her. But sometimes he seemed distant. Off. He’d answer a question a beat too late. He’d look at Katrin as though he’d never seen her before. It had happened more often after Jess died, but it had happened before too.
She lifted the last of her books out to put them on the cherry wood bookshelf her father had brought home from the general goods store. Underneath the books was a small photo album — floral print, almost granny-ish. Katrin had gotten it for her eighth birthday.
She smiled as she opened the album. There were pictures of that eighth birthday — a cake with little plastic collie dogs on it. Katrin grinning broadly, face smeared with icing, dark hair wild. Her mother and father on their honeymoon — a beach in the Caribbean. She’d loved that photo so much they’d had a copy made just for her.
Katrin and her dad posing with Goofy at Disney World, when Katrin was ten. Another Disney photo of her dad talking animatedly with Mr. Smee. That was her father — making friends everywhere he went. She turned the page and saw a photo of her and her mother in matching Disney sweatshirts. Her heart ached, and her eyes stung.
She took a deep breath.
No point in crying. You’ve done enough of that.
She thought instead about happy things. Thought of the day she might have a family of her own. A little boy or girl to take to Disney World.
A twist of fear in her gut.What if something happens to me? What if my baby has to fend for herself?
And even worse…
What if something happens to my baby?
A photograph slipped out from between the pages of the album. Katrin’s mother, in uniform for her baseball league, the Cin City Crushers. Jess Smith had played right up until her diagnosis. Had joked she was going to become the first female player for the Cincinnati Reds, at the ripe old age of forty-eight.
Katrin studied her mother’s familiar expression — one of cheerful determination. Her mother had always been the strongest person she knew. Cheerful even in the worst of times. But she hadn’t been able to hold onto that optimism in the end. Katrin remembered all too well the way she’d looked the day of her diagnosis — like someone had ripped the world right out from under her. Like the doctor, with those few simple words, had drained all hope from her.
Katrin remembered her mother in the hospital bed years later. Frail and already gone — even if she was still breathing. Remembered her own failure to get there in time to say goodbye.
“Are you sure you won’t come to the library?”Maddy had asked. They were walking across the quad at U of Cincinatti. “Finals are two weeks away. I need to drink fifteen cups of coffee and then study for the next two days straight.”
Katrin had forced a smile.“I think I’m just gonna study in my room.”
She’d been doing that more and more lately — locking herself in her bedroom in her off campus apartment and worrying over her mother. Maddy knew something was going on with Katrin’s family, but no one at school knew the details. It was her last year here, after four long years of trying to balance school with caring for her mother.
She’d gone back to her apartment and sat at her kitchen table, staring out the window and willing herself not to cry. She didn’t know what to do. Every time she talked to her mom on the phone, she told her not to leave school. That her studies were the most important thing right now. That she had to graduate. But Katrin couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be home with her mother, taking care of her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window — face thin and drawn, eyes shadowed. Not at all the happy, healthy young woman who’d arrived at the university last year, shy but eager, thrilled to at last be carving a path for herself in the world.
She’d been just about to lose the battle against tears when a knock came at her door. She opened it to find Maddy standing there, holding a box from LuLu’s bakery.“I brought cake,”she said.“We’re going to eat it, and you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”
Over the next two hours, Katrin had poured out the whole story to Maddy: her mother’s diagnosis, the weeks of tests and theories and unsuccessful treatments. Her mother’s insistence that Katrin return to school each semester as though everything were normal. Katrin’s struggles to pay attention during class, her falling grades, her insomnia… Her mother’s voice sounding weaker every time Katrin spoke to her; her father sounding strange, broken.
“Katrin,”Maddy said.“You need to go home. For as long as it takes.”
It had been such a relief to hear those words. To know that she wasn’t crazy for wanting to be with her family right now. No matter what her parents said, finals could wait. Her familyneeded her.
But then the call came that very night. It was her father, sounding happier than she’d heard him in months. Going on about how well her mom was responding to a new treatment. How the doctors were optimistic. How Katrin could stay at school and complete her finals.
Katrin cancelled her plans to drive home, though she still felt uneasy, guilty. She called home every day after that. But most times, when she called, her mom wasn’t around to talk. She was sleeping off the effects of radiation, or was in the hospital for another test. The few times Katrin did talk to her, her mother sounded tired but optimistic.
Except for one evening. One evening, she’d called, and she could hear at once that something was wrong. Her mother sounded agitated, nervous.“Mom? Is everything okay?”
Her mother had gone silent. Then she’d said,“Your father’s out. He’s been gone for hours.”
“Is he at the store? Have you been able to call him?”
“He’s not answering.”Her mother took a deep breath.“Honey, there’s something…”
Katrin waited, holding her breath, her heart pounding. “What?”
“Never mind,” her mother said eventually.
“Mom, what is it?”
“I’m just tired. Anxious. These medications, they do strange things to my mind.”
“I should come home. I should be there.”
“No, honey. You focus on exams. I’m sorry to have worried you.”
Katrin had stayed and taken her finals. They hadn’t even gone that badly. And on the evening of her last exam, some of her fellow nursing students had invited her out for drinks.
It had been on the tip of her tongue to say no.No, I should leave tonight. I need to be home as
soon as possible. But she’d been giddy with relief at exams being over and her mother’s health improving. She’d agreed to go out, planning to start home early the next morning.
Late that night, she’d gotten the call from her father. Her mother was in a coma. Unlikely to wake again.
Katrin had been too stunned to speak.
Eventually, she had to process it. She would be coming home, not to wrap her arms around her mother and tell her how proud she was of her for beating this — but to say goodbye.
Maddy had offered to drive her home, but she insisted on doing it alone. Hands shaking on the wheel, she’d set off from her apartment, driving north to the Cleveland Clinic.
In Katrin’s pre-med program, there’d been a whole course senior year on interacting with the families of patients, and with patients themselves. The idea was that anyone who wanted to be a nurse or a doctor needed to start learning about bedside manner now. How to be calm in horrible situations without seeming callous. How to deal with parent sobbing over the death of a child, children terrified over the loss of a parent. Elderly patients who had no one left in the world but their caretakers.
Katrin had excelled at remaining calm and collected. If only she could draw on some of that strength now.
She’d arrived at six a.m., thoroughly sobered by the drive, and stumbled into the hospital. She knew its labyrinthine halls well by now. Into the elevator — the fluorescent lights made her nauseated — and up to the fourth floor.
She checked in at the nurse’s station and was directed to room 408.
Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her mother. She was small and frail, her hair gone, her lips cracked and dry, her skin tinged blue. Tubes in her nose. Body unmoving.
What happened? She was fine. She was doing better. What thehell could have happened?
Katrin emerged from the memory gasping, like she’d surfaced in a chilly ocean.
There were still days where the grief was all consuming. Days where she could barely get herself out of bed. And other days where shecould get out of bed, but felt guilty because of it. Guilty, because she enjoyed a day out on the town. Because she felt determinedly ready to continue her studies and go to nursing school. Because she fantasized about a wild night with someone like Pistol, someone hot as hell and uncomplicated.
Pistol.
She set the photo album aside and closed her eyes. Allowed herself to sink into a fantasy. A fantasy where Pistol wasn’t just some asshole hitting on her in a bar, but a strong man, a good man — underneath that cocky attitude. A man who could make her feel safe. Who could take some of this pain away.
She recalled his face as he’d leaned over the bar next to her. He was movie star sexy. Bad boy sexy. Close-cropped, light brown hair. Blue eyes — they’d been vivid even in the bar’s murky light — a nose with a slight bump at the bridge. A strong jaw, sharp cheekbones. The kind of guy she’d never even pictured herself with before.
Now she pictured it. Pistol, with his head between her legs, making her squirm, making her scream. She’d never screamed during sex. She’d only ever had quiet, polite sex, like the good little girl she was. She wanted to have wild sex, loud sex, bent-over-the-back-of-Pistol’s-motorcycle sex. In theory, she couldn’t stand guys like Pistol.
But if she wasn’t looking for boyfriend material, just a one-night stand…
Stop.
It’s too late. You didn’t give him your number, and that was the right choice. You don’t need to get mixed up with a guy like that.
She shook her head. This was exactly the kind of thinking that made her feel guilty as hell.
Because she was moving on.
Mom would want me to.
She stared down at the photo of her mother. At Jess’s grin, the light in her hazel eyes, the fullness of her cheeks.
I was too late, wasn’t I?
You kept telling me not to come home because you didn’t want me to see how bad it was. But I could have helped. I could have done something.
She blinked back tears. Took the photo over to her desk and propped it against the wall. She’d buy a frame for it later.
Actually, no, she had a frame that would fit the photo nicely. She just hadn’t come across it yet in her unpacking. She frowned over her shoulder at the box. That was the last of her stuff. So where was the frame?
Then she remembered she’d had to throw a few items into one of her dad’s boxes. She walked down the hall to his bedroom and pushed open the door.
His room was mostly tidy, except for several large bins in one corner. And his closet door was open a crack too.
She went through the open bins, but couldn’t find the frame. She noticed another box in the closet, some of her dad’s work shirts piled on top of it. The box was sealed with plenty of packing tape, and had KEEPSAKES scrawled on it in black marker. This might have been the box where she’d put some of her stuff — she couldn’t remember. She pulled out her metal nail file and made a slit in the tape. Then she sawed through it and pulled the box open.
She removed several wads of packing paper and discovered her mother’s salt and pepper shaker collection. Her chest constricted sharply, but she smiled. The shakers had passed from Katrin’s grandmother to her mother, and Jess had added to the collection over the years. There were dancing penguins, droopy-faced hound dogs, a pair of quant cottages, a kissing Dutch boy and girl… She lifted up one of the hound dogs and paused. Underneath there was something long and olive green. She pulled up more of the shakers to reveal the object.
An assault rifle.
Katrin was half afraid to touch it at first. Was this a joke? A costume piece? She removed all the shakers and set them on the floor, and carefully lifted the gun.
There were more underneath. Weapons of all shapes and sizes, with at least two assault rifles in the mix.
Katrin was too stunned to know what to do. She glanced at the matched cottages, and noticed something of sticking out of the bottom one of them. She lifted the shaker and turned it over. The plug was missing, and there was a roll of cash in there. She picked up all the other shakers one by one and pulled the plug from the bottoms. Money in every one of them, right rolls of hundreds.
Katrin sat back, heart racing.
What the hell was her dad doing with guns and cash?
Chapter Six
“What are you talking about?” Pistol growled. Glancing around, he saw he’d made a huge miscalculation. Smith had henchmen everywhere. The Souls were outnumbered at least two to one.
“Put the gun down, Mr. Wilson, and we’ll talk.” Leonard was soft-spoken, but Pistol could hear the steely edge to his voice.
Slowly, Pistol and the others lowered their weapons.
“That’s right, that’s right. Very good.” Leonard motioned. “Down on the ground.”
Mica and Bones both looked to Pistol for guidance. Pistol didn’t move. Giving up their weapons meant giving up their last shred of power.
Leonard wasn’t having it. “Now, please. Or I’m afraid I’ll have to have my men put a bullet through our friend’s head.”
Pistol glanced at the others and gave the slightest of nods. The Souls put their weapons down. A couple of henchman went around and collected them.
“Now then.” Leonard smiled almost cordially, still focused on Pistol. “I have a few questions for you.”
“Fire away.” No one seemed to appreciate the pun. Shame.
“Did you, by chance, chat up a pretty brunette this evening? Slim, brown-eyed, a bit shy…”
Good fucking God.
Sweet, demure little Katrin had neglected to mention that her dad worked for a fucking cartel.
Pistol would have killed for a cigarette right now.
“Sound familiar?” Leonard pressed.
“Sounds like half the girls I’ve gone to bed with in this town,” Pistol replied coolly.
Leonard smiled. “Oh, I don’t think so. I think you remember this one. It was only a few hours ago, after al
l. And she certainly remembers you.”
Pistol’s chest tightened. Why did some part of him hope that was true?
I remember her. God, I remember her. Sweet smile. Quiet, husky voice. Those curves that could give him a hard-on right now, even standing face to face with her fucking weirdo of a father.
Leonard went on, “She came home talking about the handsome local boy who’d chatted her up.”
“I saw her in a bar. I went over to say hi.”
Leonard laughed. “I’ll bet you did.”
Jesus, what was goingon? Had Leonard staged all this just because he was pissed at Pistol for hitting on his daughter? Katrin hadn’t been kidding about the guy being overprotective.