by Naomi West
She inhaled sharply. “Pistol!”
“I just got an earful from Kong. I don’t need you lecturing me either.” His gaze was stony, hollow.
How could she tell him now? When he was like this?
She went to him and tentatively put her arms around him. At first, he tensed, and she worried he might push her away. But suddenly he sagged, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her so tightly it almost hurt.
“I need you,” he whispered against her neck. “You’re all I have now.”
Something about the vulnerability in those words broke her heart. She held him tightly, wanting him to know it would be okay.
Tell him. You have to tell him.
“Shh,’ she murmured. “It’s all right now.”
“It’s not all right,” he said savagely, pulling away and striding across the room. “I might have just cut ties with them for good.”
“But…” She didn’t know what to say.
“Except your father. Your father still owns my sorry ass.”
She stepped toward him, determination rising in her, her voice firm. “No, he doesn’t. Don’t say that.”
Pistol laughed humorlessly. “Why not? It’s true.”
“We’re going to figure out what to do.”
Pistol whirled. “We keep saying that. Both of us. And yet we don’t do anything. We’re like figurines in his little dollhouse.”
“So let’s do something. Let’s make a plan. Let’s decide when we’re going to leave. Figure out what it’ll take to get new identities. And then let’s do it.”
It was like holding a match to the wick of a candle — she could see the moment her determination lit his, the way the flame slowly rose in his eyes.
“Okay. Okay, let’s do that. We’ll need money, but I can get that. Give me three days.”
“I’ll finish this transcription assignment tomorrow. Then we’ll have a couple hundred extra from that.”
He gazed into her eyes. Cupped her face in his hands. “We’re really doing this, huh?”
She placed her hands over his. “We’re really doing it.”
Her heart pounded with fear — for the two of them. For her unborn child. But on the outside, she was steady.
He leaned down, and she pushed herself up to meet him. Crushed her lips against his. It was a long, passionate kiss, one she felt in every nerve of her body.
Three days. Three days, and they would find the freedom they both desperately sought.
“Together,” he whispered, looking into her eyes again.
“No matter what,” she whispered.
###
It was the eighth text he’d gotten from Deion that day. This time Deion wasn’t mincing words.
Get your ass over to the clubhouse.
The first three texts had inquired as to why Pistol was absent from the auto shop. The next four told him in progressively more insistent terms that he needed to go make things right with Kong, with the other Souls.
What was the point? The Blackened Souls were fucking doomed. Leonard Smith owned them now, and Pistol ought to cut ties with them for good. Ought to leave with Katrin, right now. Three days, he reminded himself. Three days to get as much cash as he could.
They had a little saved, but they needed more if they were going to truly and effectively hide themselves from Leonard’s watchful eye.
Pistol?More texts.Talk to me. Please.
Damn, you’re worse than a woman, he texted back, then felt a stab of guilt. He needed to quit saying shit like that.
I’m serious, buddy. This is important.
Ok, he texted finally.Be there soon.
Pistol rode to the clubhouse, still feeling out of sync with the rest of the world. Everything looked strange — sort of shadowy and gray. He’d slept uneasily last night, both excited about the possibility of sweeping Katrin off into a new life, and terrified that he could never really be what she needed him to be.
His heart sank when he saw Smith’s car parked outside the clubhouse.
Motherfucker.
He hopped off the bike in the driveway. Propped it up and went through the back door.
Immediately, he could tell something wasn’t right. It was like the first time Smith had made an appearance at the clubhouse, but worse. Everyone was tense. Bones had an expression like someone had died.
Deion stepped forward to greet him. Clapped him on the back. “Hey, man. Glad you made it.”
“What’s going on?” Pistol asked.
Deion led him into the hall. Nodded at the closed door to Kong’s office. Low voices sounded from within. “They’ve been in there all morning,” Deion said. “Talking. I think something big’s about to go down.”
A couple of the Souls gave Pistol uneasy looks. A couple of others greeted him like he still belonged here. That was something, he supposed.
They waited. Pistol was about to fucking nod off by the time the door opened. Leonard and Kong walked out together. Pistol was immediately alert, looking at Kong’s face for any indication of what was going on. Kong’s expression gave away nothing.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Leonard said, giving the Blackened Souls an insincere smile. “Your president and I have an announcement.”
Those who had been in other rooms made their way into the hall to listen.
Pistol’s heart beat wildly.
What are you playin’ at now, you sick bastard?
“You see, tonight is the night the rest of my shipment comes in. It’s the largest shipment you’ll have ever dealt with. I’ll need several of you to join my men in collecting it.
The Souls were silent.
Kong nodded, looking weary. “There’s big profits, you guys.”
Leonard pointed at Mica. “You, Mica. I’ll need your help. This time Mica didn’t preen at all. He looked nervous.
Smith indicated Deion. “You. You’ll go as well.”
He named a few more club members.
Jesus, that’s practically all of us, Pistol thought.
Finally, Leonard turned and nodded politely at Pistol. “And you, Pistol. You’ll lead.”
“What?”
“You’ll be in charge of the mission.”
What the fuck? Smith hated him. Why would Smith trust him with a mission this huge? Why not put one of his own men in charge?
“Don’t you need me home impregnating your daughter, asshole?”
“This is a very serious mission. You leave in two hours. You’ll go down to Mexico. Once it gets dark, my contacts will meet you there with the shipment. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to screw this up. I can’t emphasize how much you’ll regret it if you do.” He looked right at Pistol. “Are we clear?”
Not now. Not when Katrin and I are so close to leaving…
But here was the perfect chance to get the money they needed.
Pistol nodded grimly. “Crystal.”
“Excellent. Be ready to ride out at precisely six.”
He left.
The silence that descended then was eerie.
Mica lurked nearby, glowering at Pistol.
“Hey,” Pistol said. “If we’re gonna ride together, we need to have each other’s backs. No more of this bullshit.” He held out a hand. “I’m sorry.”
Mica grudgingly shook his hand. “Me too,” he muttered.
“Brothers,” Pistol reminded him firmly.
The kid nodded.
###
Katrin was ready when Pistol arrived home. She’d spent the day rehearsing what she wanted to say.
There was a hard, frantic energy about her husband again today. But she ignored it. She had to tell him. As he stepped into the kitchen, she opened her mouth to say she had something to tell him. But before she could, he spoke.
“Kat. I have to go on a mission tonight.”
Her blood ran cold. No. Not a mission. Not now, when they were so close to escaping. Was he crazy? “Pistol, no,” she said softly.
“I know it’s no
t ideal but—”
“We’re leaving.”
“Yeah. This is a way to get some money before we leave. A lot of money, Katrin.”
“I don’t care how much money. I don’t want you risking your life. Not now.” Her voice was growing increasingly frantic, but she couldn’t stop it.
“Sweetheart, it’s just one more mission.”
She went to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking into his eyes. “Pistol, you don’t understand. You can’t. I’m—”
“You don’t understand.” His voice grew hard. “I have to.”
“No. Pistol, listen to me—”
But he was already pulling out of her grasp.
“Did you meet with my father?” she asked desperately. “What did he say?”
“Just this last mission, Katrin,” he repeated, not answering her question. “Then we’re free.” He handed her an envelope. “If anything happens to me, I’ve written down some contacts. Places you could go.”
Her jaw dropped. “What are you—”
“Just take it. Keep it hidden. Nothing’s going to happen to me, but just in case—”
“I don’t want you going anywhere you might not come back from.”
“Please, take it.”
She couldn’t.
He set it on the table behind her and started to walk away.
“So he says jump, and you jump?” She demanded, wiping her stinging eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. Couldn’t cry.
He rounded on her. “It’s my choice, Katrin. Mine.”
“It ought to beour choice now.”
“What?” he snarled. “You think just because we fucked few times, we decide everything together?”
“You said we were in this together. You promised you’d protect me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“And that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He strode toward the door.
Katrin’s heart sank with horror. The selfish bastard. And yet, as furious as she was, she was still terrified of losing him. The father of her unborn child.
“Pistol please. Look at me.”
He stopped but didn’t turn.
“Look at me,” she repeated, voice raw.
He turned.
“Don’t go,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “If you care about me at all, you’ll stay here tonight.”You’ll listen to what I’m trying to tell you.
He gazed at her for a moment, and she felt that spark between them — the spark that had been there the night at the bar. That was there every time they made love. Every time they held each other afterward.
Please, she begged silently.Don’t do this to me. To us.
He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said grimly. “This is the way it has to be.”
He walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a waiting game. These missions usually were. But tonight, Pistol couldn’t settle down. Being out here in the desert reminded him of the night he’d first encountered Leonard Smith.
They were on the Mexico side of the border this time. Leonard Smith had assured them they wouldn’t have to wait long.
All the Blackened Souls were on edge. Having Smith’s men here was throwing everyone off their game. Even Mica looked miserable, surrounded by Smith’s goons.
Pistol looked around, trying to recall the night he and Katrin had ridden out to the desert and embraced beneath the stars. Trying to feel her warm body pressed against him, to hear her soft voice.
I shouldn’t have left her like that.
But it was too late now.
“I’m so bored I’m about to poke this anthill, just to see what happens,” Deion said beside him, waving a stick at a small dirt mount.
Pistol tried to grin. “Good luck with that, asshole.” He gazed around again. “Where are these damn Mexicans? I wanna get back home to my wife.”
“You really do, don’t you?” There was a serious to Deion’s tone that made Pistol look around at him again.
Pistol nodded slowly. “Yeah. I really do.”
Deion clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.” He sounded like he meant it.
Pistol ever wondered if he could be. Be a good man. For Katrin.
“You’re brave. You’re strong. You matter, Pistol.”
You don’t know me.
Finally, one of Smith’s men stood up. “I think I see something.”
The others got into position.
Pistol’s pulse raced. He looked around, but didn’t see anything.
Suddenly, the Smith goon who’d first stood up whirled and fired his weapon.
The bullet whizzed past Pistol and struck Deion in the center of the forehead. Deion collapsed backwards, eyes blank, a dark hole between them.
Pistol stared for an instant in shock and horror, then spun around, gun drawn. All around him, weapons were being fired. Smith’s men were massacring the Blackened Souls. Pistol saw Bones go down, then Hap. He fired at a couple of the goons, who collapsed.
Nearby, a shape he recognized as Mica’s stood and fired round after round at the man who’d killed Hap. But two other goons turned on him.
“No!” Pistol shouted. But it was too late.
Mica’s thin body jerked under a hail of bullets, and he collapsed to the ground.
Pistol ducked behind a tall cactus. There was no shipment. Smith had set them up. Smith wanted to own the drug trade in this town, and to do that, he had to get rid of the Blackened Souls once and for all. How could Pistol have been so stupid?
Did Kong know?
No. Pistol would never believe Kong had willingly sent them to their deaths. Kong was a lot of things, but he was no monster.
He sent you out that night Smith came to town. Knowing Smith might step in. Might try to get involved in club business.
He stepped out briefly from behind the cactus and fired at a goon, then ducked back behind the cactus again. He heard a grunt, but wasn’t sure if the guy was down for good or not.
Heart pounding, Pistol looked around. His bike was several yards away. He needed to make a run for it. The gunfire was winding down. He had no idea how many of his brothers were dead.
He counted to three and bolted for his bike, zigzagging. He heard gunfire, heard a few bullets zing past, but he was almost there…
Something slammed him hard in the shoulder, and he doubled over. The pain was white hot. His gun fell from his hand.
I’m hit.
He staggered on toward the bike, but found himself suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun.
The goon grinned at him and took aim at Pistol’s forehead. Just then, two shots rang out, and the goon dropped.
Pistol glanced in the direction of the sound and saw Mica, still on the ground, but with his gun raised. He smiled weakly at Pistol. Blood was running down his face and chest. His leather jacket was riddled with holes. “Brothers,” he gasped out. Then collapsed.
There was no time to mourn. Not for Deion, or Mica, or any of the others. He had to keep going.
Pistol staggered the rest of the way toward the bike and mounted. He could barely turn the engine over, weak as he was, but he managed.
“He’s getting away!” A goon yelled over the roar. Pistol put the bike in gear and zoomed off across the sand. He had to warn someone. Kong. Ford. Hell, if anything had happened to them, even Jaws’s boys might help out in a pinch. They were rivals, sure, but they’d stand with the Blackened Souls on this one, Pistol was pretty sure.
But most of all, he thought, leaning low over the handlebars and trying to ignore the blinding pain in his shoulder. Most of all, he had to get back to Katrin.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The junker began to sputter as Katrin neared home. She sighed, eyes filling with tears of pure frustration. She’d gone to the grocery store because she’d needed something to do. Something to give herself some sense of normalcy, and to keep her mind off Pistol. So she’d roamed the aisles for close
to three hours, taking things off the shelves and putting them back, reading the ingredients list on a box of Mediterranean Herb Triscuits, and watching parents with their children, imagining herself standing her someday, patiently explaining for the tenth time why they couldn’t get cookies.