by Naomi West
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 all. 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.
“What exactly do you think I did to her?” he demanded.
Leonard’s grin broadened. “Oh, I don’t think you did anything to her.”
“Then what—”
Leonard cleared his throat. Gave his pistol a spin around his finger and held it back up to Pistol’s chest. “Jax, I’m going to tell you and your friends how things are going to be from here on out. I’d like you to listen very carefully.”
“I don’t take orders from assholes.”
“Actually, I think you will. I think you’re going to do exactly what I say. Otherwise you’ll all be exterminated.”
Exterminated. This guy had seen way to fucking many James Bond movies. Pistol’s blood heated. “Here’s another idea. You can fuck off.”
Leonard signaled to the henchmen behind Pistol.
Pistol heard the sickening sound of a fist meeting flesh, and a grunt from Deion.
Pistol whirled to see Deion’s nose dripping blood. One of the henchmen raised his gun and brought the butt of it down on Deion’s head. Deion slumped, spitting blood.
“Jesus Christ!” Pistol snapped, turning back to Leonard. Okay, he was sweating a little now. “What the fuck do you want?”
“First,” Leonard said calmly, handing Pistol a phone. “I’d like you to call your president.”
Pistol glared at him, “The fuck do you mean, my president?”
He heard Deion take another blow. Then another.
Pistol couldn’t watch. Couldn’t look at his brother in pain. During their first raid of a minor drug cache downtown, years before, Pistol had gotten himself in a bad situation. The Blackened Souls hadn’t known there was someone guarding the cache, and when the guard had shown himself — all six foot seven inches of himself — Pistol had gotten into a pissing contest with the guy, which had resulted in him being beaten half senseless. Deion had come charging in like some fuck-ugly, out of shape superhero and bashed the hell out of the guys who’d worked Pistol over.
Pistol couldn’t let Deion get hurt now.
“Okay. Okay. What the fuck do you want him for? Why not just settle this you and me?”The old-fashioned way. No guns. Just fists. I’ll punch your fucking stomach up into your throat.
Leonard gave a thin smile. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Now make that call. I don’t have all night.”
Pistol took the phone. He wanted to hurl it to the ground and stomp on it until it was nothing. “I don’t know his number.” He knew he needed to quit getting in this guy’s face, for Deion’s sake, but he couldn’t help himself.
Leonard raised a brow.
“I’m serious,” Pistolgrowled. “He’s in my contacts. If you let me getmyphone out, I’ll call him. I don’t have people’s numbers memorized.” Except hedid know Kong’s. He’d known it since he was seventeen. He had once dialed it from a payphone outside of San Antonio, shaking with adrenaline and fear, his bloody knuckles gripping the receiver tight.
A horrible crunch and a groan behind him. Fuck. “Okay,” he snatched the phone from Leonard. “Look, I’m dialing. What the hell am I supposed to say?”
“Tell him to come to this spot, alone and unarmed. If he disobeys those instructions, things will go very badly for your entire club.”
“He won’t recognize this number. What if he doesn’t pick up?”
“Oh, I think he’ll recognize it.”
That slugged cold fear into Pistol’s gut. The phone rang once, twice. He could hear Deion spitting blood behind him.
Kong answered. “What?”
“Pedro? It’s me.”
“Pistol. What the fuck?” Kong sounded instantly alert.
“I need you to come out here. To the drop spot. Alone, and—” He met Leonard’s eye, giving him another steely glare “—and unarmed.”
A second’s silence.
“I’ll be right there.” Kong hung up.
So Kong wasn’t surprised to get this call. What the fuck?
This made no sense. What was Leonard Smith doing here? Why would Kong recognize that number? What the hell did Leonard plan to do once Kong arrived? Line the Blackened Souls up to face the firing squad?
He heard harsh breathing to his right and glanced to the side. Mica was starting to lose it. He was paler than usual in the moonlight, and looked like he was about to hurl.
“It’s okay, kid,” he said gruffly, hoping he wouldn’t get shot for saying it.
He met the gazes of each of Leonard’s henchmen in turn. The Mexicans didn’t say a word. The duffel bags of cocaine lay at their feet.
They all waited.
###
At first it was just a faint purr in the distance. Then, the sound of Kong’s KTM 1290 grew louder and louder, until Pistol could see it through the moonlight, kicking up a spray of desert sand. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or dread. Some part of him — that dumbass, seventeen-year-old part of him, hoped Kong could fix this somehow.
The twenty-five-year-old part of him knew something damned shady was going on.
Ride together, die together. Kong had come alone, even knowing this might be a mass execution.
Unless Kongknew itwasn’t going to be an execution.
Kong dismounted, looking intimidating in his thick leather jacket. He wore a fierce scowl, and his eyes glinted as he surveyed the scene. “Leonard,” he said, turning his focus on the white man. “What’s going on here?”
Pistol’s stomach plummeted. It sounded as if Kong knew Leonard. Had communicated with him before.
“Ah, Pedro,” Leonard Smith said mildly. “Glad you could join us. I was just having a chat with your boys here.”
“I see that.” There was tension in his tone.
Leonard stepped forward, his gaze on Kong but his pistol still trained on Pistol. “I have a set of rules I’d like to convey.”
“We were going to work out a deal, Leonard,” Pedro said harshly. “You can stop with the dramatics.”
“But it’s so much more fun this way. AndI am going to set the terms of this deal, Pedro. Something you seemed to have trouble understanding when we spoke the other day.”
Jesus. Pistol looked back and forth between the two men. A deal? Kong had actually been trying to cut a deal with this psychopath?
“So here’s the plan.” Leonard glanced around at the assembled Souls. “From now on, I’ll be controlling business in this area.”
Ford sputtered something, but the henchman nearest to him raised his gun.
“The Blackened Soulsare certainly welcome to lend theirservice for a small cut of the profits. But any unauthorized transactions, any failure to comply with these terms, and I’ll be forced to eliminate all of you.”
Pistolfelt rage snake through him.Keep your temper. Don’t let your brothers get hurt.
“You think we’re gonna bow down quietly?” Ford demanded. “You’ve just declared war, asshole.”
“Quiet!” Kong barked. The Blackened Souls fell silent. The Mexicans shifted uncomfortably.
Leonard turned to Pistol. “And you, Jax.” His closed lips curled into another disconcerting smile. “You’re an integral part of my plan.”
This guy seriously thought he was a supervillain or something. “Drooling all over myself here,” Pistol said. “Can’t wait to hear this.
Leonard cocked a brow. “Tell me … did you enjoy talking to my daughter tonight?”
“Sure,” he said with a bravado he didn’t feel. “Nice girl.”
“She’s beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree?”
What the fuck? Did this guy have a hard-on for his own daughter or something?
Leonard cocked the pistol. “Jax?”
She’s the most beautiful goddamn woman I’ve ever seen. But I’m not gonna stand here and dance for you all night.
More fists meeting flesh. Deion made a few noises of pain, then went silent as the beating continued.
“She’s beautiful,” Pistol ground out.
The words seemed to set something free inside him. Katrin. God, Katrin. That thick, dark hair, those wide, expressive eyes that held a deep sadness. Lips you could kiss all night, a body any man would die to touch. That sadness somewhere deep inside her, a sadness Pistol recognized, even if he was afraid to get too close to it.
Leonard nodded. “She’s a very sweet girl. Even-tempered. Obedient. Mostly quite intelligent.” He said it all breezily, as though he were describing a horse to a potential buyer. “But
she’s got a rebellious streak too. She’s got … spirit. Really, Jax, in spite of your many vices, I think you and she would be a good match.”
“What are you talking about?”