by Naomi West
But hers got shallower and louder as her terror grew. She squeezed her eyes shut.Stay strong. Stay strong.
“I’m not gonna touch you.”
His low, rough voice startled her into silence. She swallowed. Didn’t answer.
“I promise. I won’t do anything to you. I’m not like that.”
What did a promise mean from a criminal?
He didn’t say anything else. But he also didn’t touch her. After a while, his breathing slowed and evened out. Was he really asleep?
She stayed up well into the night, waiting.
Chapter Twelve
Pistol’s stomach was growling when he woke. For a second he felt confused, disoriented. He’d been dreaming. He realized. He just didn’t remember about what. He pulled himself upright, and immediately regretted it. He had a killer headache. He closed his eyes for a few seconds until the worst of it passed, then blinked around the room.
Shit. That was right. He was in Leonard Smith’smarital fun house. He glanced at the space beside him. Empty. And that side of the bed wasmade. Christ and the fuckin’ Apostles. He sighed, rubbing his temples. He didn’t remember much about last night, but it was slowly coming back to him. He recalled leaving the empty whiskey bottle on the front porch, and staggering inside. Up the stairs … into the master suite.
And then he’d lain down beside her.
I didn’t touch her, did I?
No, no. He wouldn’t have done that.
He remembered the warmth of her body. Her rapid breathing, telling him she was still awake. That she was scared. Of him.
That used to feel like a victory, that ability to make people afraid. With words or guns or sometimes just his presence. Now it made him feel scummy.
He got up slowly, padded into the bathroom and pissed for about five minutes straight. Then he got in the shower and turned the water on hot as he could stand. Like he was trying to burn away the memories of the past month. The shower stall was big. Lots of shelves. On the outside, the house had looked almost old-fashioned. But on the inside, everything was stark and modern. Pistol hated it. He wanted a place that felt like it had been a home for a long, long time. A place with history, character.
Like the clubhouse. He’d go over there for a while today. Give Katrin some space. As long as Leonard Smith wasn’t stalking him, keeping track of how much time he actually spent in this house with his new “wife.”
When the water started running cold, he got out of the shower and searched around for towels. The bathroom closet was full of them — color coordinated, soft, expensive, and neatly folded.
Aw, thanks Leonard.
He dried off, then left the towel on the floor and walked back into the bedroom. His suit from the day before was crumpled in one corner. He went to his duffel bag and pulled out a T-shirt and jeans, pausing for a few seconds to actually look at the room — he’d barely noticed it last night. Beige walls, blue curtains. Bedspread and pillows a sort of shiny slate gray with gold trim. The bed was in an alcove, and had a swirly, gold metal frame. The whole place felt completely foreign.
He had to get out of here.
He rummaged around in the duffel for some boxers, and was startled by a creak behind him. He straightened and whirled to find Katrin in the doorway. She threw a hand over her eyes.
“Oh God.” She backed out of the room. “Sorry. Sorry…”
“That bad, huh?” he couldn’t resist cracking.
“I’ll come back when you’re finished.”
He heard her hurry across the hall and down the stairs.
Okay, so it wasn’t a great sign that his wife’s reaction to his naked body was to cover her eyes and run away. Maybe it was the tattoos? He grinned to himself, looking down at his inked body.
His smile faded. He hadn’t imagined that charge between them at the bar, had he? The heat that coulda given a Texas summer a run for its money. Or yesterday, thatkiss. The fierceness in her when she’d kissed him, like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kill him or fuck him. He ran a hand absently over his mouth.
Yeah. Definitely had to get out of here.
###
Katrin was making breakfast. Aggressively. Chopping peppers and onions for an omelet with a strength and speed she hadn’t known she possessed. She heard Pistolcome downstairs, and worked faster. Cracked two eggs into the tiny skillet. She was makingone omelet. If Pistol thought she was going to fix breakfast for both of them like a good little wife, he had another think coming.
But he walked right past her. Went to the fridge and pulled out the carton of orange juice.
She was still trying to get the image of his naked ass out of her mind. Okay, so she wasn’t trying that hard to get it out of her mind. If anything, she was purposely replaying it on a loop. Pure muscle, that ass. And those long, furrowed thighs, the depressions when he’d flexed his shoulders…
And then he’d turned, and she’d covered her eyes, but not before she’d glimpsed his dick.
The guy was hung.
Pistol opened the carton and began drinking from it.
“Hey!” she said, turning. “Don’t do that.”
He raised his eyebrows. Brought the carton down and smacked his lips. “Why not?”
“It’s gross.”
He shrugged. “I’m uncivilized. Get used to it.”
All right. So he was purposely trying to piss her off. Go figure.
He stuck the carton back in the fridge. Found coffee in the cabinet and started making a pot, while she pretended to be completely uninterested in what he was doing.
“I promise. I won’t do anything to you. I’m not like that.”
And he hadn’t. Probably because he’d been passed out drink. But still. It was getting easier to be around him without panicking. She wasn’t about to let her guard down. But she didn’t want to live in complete fear of him, either.
“Tomorrow, I have errands to run,” she said brusquely, using a spatula to scrape egg from the side of the skillet. She didn’t really have errands. But she’d find some. And then she remembered she didn’t have a car anymore.Shit. “And you… Do you have a job?” She could see him bristle.
“Matter of fact, I do. Work at J&J Auto. Be there eight to six tomorrow.”
“So we won’t see much of each other.” Was it her imagination, or did he look stung by the relief in her voice?
“Listen,” he said, leaning against the counter. Katrin looked up. Her gaze immediately went to his crotch, before she managed to pull it back up. “Are we gonna keep avoiding each other, or are we gonna talk about this?”
Katrin chewed her lip. “What is there to talk about?”
“Look, I ain’t happy about this situation either.”
Part of her felt a little hurt. What the hell was wrong with her? And part of her was furious. “You’renot happy?Igot married off to a criminal. My dad picked out my goddamn wedding dress. I have no idea what you’redoing here, whether you’re—”
“I’m here becauseyourdad made me marry you.” His voice rose. “You said you and your dad were close. Close, huh? You just didn’t notice that he was a complete fucking psychop—”
“Were you in on it?” She demanded. “Did you … plot with my father?”
“Hell no!” He sounded insulted. “He pointed a gun at me, beat the shit out of my best friend, shot one of my brothers, and told me how this was all gonna go down. Not exactly my choice.”
She flinched. Her dad hadshot one of the Blackened Souls?
They were both breathing hard again. Katrin had a bizarre urge to kiss him. Then the energy left her and the tension seemed to drain out of him too.
“You on the other hand.” He gave her a shadow of his cocky grin. “I thought maybe you were so hot for me you got your daddy to arrange all this.”
She tried to glare at him, but ended up huffing out a nervous laugh. “You sure think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “No one’s ever given me reason not to.”
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Bastard. “I’ll work on that.”
He splayed his hands. “Tough crowd.”
She paused. They were almost bantering. Like a … like a real couple.
He glanced at the stove. “Your omelet’s burning, by the way.”
“Shit.” She turned and tried to scrape it up, but it was unsalvageable. She braced her hands on the counter for a moment. Tried to breathe.
Finally, she threw the burned omelet in the trash and sought out some cereal. She poured them each a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with milk and carried the bowls to the table. She sat, and after a moment he came and sat across from her. She stirred her cereal anxiously for a moment, then decided to try talking to him.
“I just wish I knew who he was. My dad. I kept thinking … all these weeks, I kept thinking maybe he really was doing this for my protection. Maybe he was a good guy who got involved with the wrong people. They threatened his family, so he decided to stash me away somewhere…” She eyed Pistol. “That’s not true, is it?”
Pistol met her gaze. “He may have gotten involved with the wrong crowd. But I think that was intentional.”
She nodded, trying to ignore the pain his words brought her. How could she have been so wrong about someone for so long?
Pistol leaned back, looking uncomfortable in the high-backed chair. “He wants to own the drug trade around here. He claims he’s gonna work with my club, triple our profits. But I don’t trust him.”
“Okay.” They were getting somewhere. “So he’s a … a what, a druglord? A kingpin? Shit, I thought this stuff was only on TV.”
“He’s a businessman,” Pistol said. “That’s how my brothers and I think of ourselves, anyway.”
Her jaw dropped slightly. “You’re not like him, though. Are you? Do you ... do you kill people?”
Pistol shook his head. “We’re not like him. We rough people up sometimes to get them off our territory. But your dad, he’s playing a bigger game than we ever did.”
She didn’t answer. She felt sick again.
Pistol took a bite of cereal. “You realize I’m taking a risk telling you all this? For all I know, you’re his spy.”
“I’m not!” she said indignantly, meeting his gaze. “I’m as confused as you are.”
He gave a lopsided grin. “Relax. I don’t really think you’re a spy. You’re too innocent.”
“I’m a lot less innocent than you think.” Her face immediately heated.
“Really?” He raised a brow. “It’s always the quiet ones, as they say.”
She felt like her face might burst into flames. But she was almost relieved to have the cocky guy from the bar back. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she muttered.
He looked away, shrugging again. But she could see him trying not to smirk.
###
This was officially the weirdest breakfast of Pistol’s life. Not the breakfast itself — the cereal was fine, if maybe a little too healthy for his taste. It was just…
Sitting across from Katrin.
Being married to her.
Listening to her talk about her father.
Now that she’d started letting lose, she couldn’t seem to stop.
“I just don’t get how he could come here and after one day, be in charge of the … the drug trade or whatever,” she said. “He must have been doing this back in Ohio too. I just don’t see how. I mean, here, it makes sense. We’re close to Mexico. But up there…”
Sweet, innocent girl. “When drugs come across the border, you think they all stay in Texas? No, sunshine, they get distributed. Your dad probably oversaw the moving of drugs up North, and used his shop as a front, just like he’s doing now. Only now he’s in a position where he can be more directly involved in the trade. He’s got more power, more resources, and more connections.”
She glared at him. “Are you saying I’m stupid for not realizing before?”
He softened his voice. “Your dad’s good at what he does. He’d have to be, to get as far as he’s gotten.”
“I hate him.Hate him.”
Pistol wanted to snap at her that this wasn’t the time to act like a petulant child, but he was struck by a pang of empathy. He’d hated his mother — or believed he had — on so many occasions. When she was passed out on the couch, track marks on her limp arm. When she was screaming at him, throwing him against walls. Taking him out to the shed and whaling on him until he was covered in bloody welts, back when he was too young to defend himself, too stupid to run. Yeah, he’d hated her. And it sucked, to hate someone you needed. Someone you would’ve done anything for, even though they didn’t fucking deserve it.
“I know.” He said quietly. “But we can’t waste all our energy hating him. We have to think about solutions.”
“Yeah? What’s your idea for a solution?”
“We wait it out, for a little while. Live here together, pretend everything’s normal.”
“It’s not.”
“No shit.”
He saw her flinch.
“Sorry. Sorry, I know. But it really is too soon to tell what the next move should be. Give me a chance to talk to my brothers. We’ll figure out what to do about your dad.”
“Pistol?” She suddenly looked so vulnerable. So scared.
“Yeah?”
“What if I don’t want you to hurt him?”
Shit.
She swallowed visibly. “He’s … he’s still my dad. And he’s the only family I’ve got left.”
“Katrin, listen to me.” He almost wanted to reach across the table and take her hand. She was staring at him with those wide, hazel eyes, ready to run or fight, he couldn’t tell. “I’ll do what I can, okay?”
“Why should I trust you?” Her voice was fierce, but cracked just a little.
“What?”
“Why should I trust you? Maybe you and your brothers, they’re the real criminals. And you’re just trying to make my father sound like the dangerous one.”
Pistol stared at her for a long moment. Until the heat left her gaze, and fear replaced it. “Ride together, die together.”
“Huh?”
“Ride together, die together. That’s our motto. My brothers and I, we’re family. We’d die for one another.” He paused. “You’re … you’re my family now too. I promise, I’ll do what I can to protect you.”
She didn’t look convinced. But her gaze softened.
She ate her cereal in silence.
Chapter Thirteen
They set some ground rules. They’d sleep in the bed together, but they wouldn’t have sex. They were each responsible for their own meals during the day, but they’d alternate who cooked dinner each night. Except Tuesdays and Thursdays — those evenings, Pistol would spend with the Souls. Katrin wasn’t going to get saddled with all the cleaning and laundry either. Pistol agreed.
The first day was agony. Agony because Katrin wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe that ride together die together bullshit now applied to her. Because there were moments she could almost imagine that being married to him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Then she’d get a glimpse of his tattoos and wonder how many were decoration and how many signified the number of people he’d killed or the number of women he’d fucked and her imagination would run wild all over again.
Agony too, because Katrin wanted to touch him. Every time they brushed by each other in the kitchen, every time they passed each other on the stairs, every time she freaking laid eyes on him, sparks shot through her. And she could see the way he looked at her too — practically consuming her with his gaze in a way that made her feel both anxious and horny as hell. How much longer could they live together like this before the tension killed them both?
It was easier the next day when Pistol went to work. Then Katrin could breathe. Then she felt like she could actually explore the house without creeping around, trying not to catch his attention. There was a laundry room in the basement. A big backyard with no neighbors around. She sat there fo
r a while, listening to the birds and trying to imagine her life from here on in. Yesterday, she’d thought it would be terrifying. Now, she realized it was going to be boring. Without school, without a job, she’d have nothing but days of staring at this backyard.
So she needed to take action. Pistol had said wait it out, but that wasn’t enough. They had to create a life that worked for both of them.