by Naomi West
“All right,” he whispered, a renewed sense of determination growing within him. He could do this. Put an end to Leonard Smith’s reign, free his brothers, and then settle down with his wife and child. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d been in tough scrapes before.
Just, maybe not this tough.
“I’ll be right there with you,” she assured him. “Helping any way I can.”
“No,” he said immediately. The thought was too terrifying for words. “I can’t let you help. It’s too dangerous.”
“Christ, Jax. Riding that bike was dangerous. Holing up in a cave in the middle of the desert was dangerous. I think that ship has sailed.”
He shook his head. “But this is something else entirely. I’ll take you into town and we’ll check into a motel. Fake names. I’ll leave you there, where you’ll be safe.”
“Jax—”
“Kat, please?” He wasn’t sure how to convey to her how important this was to him. “Please, sweetheart. I know nothing is completely safe right now, but I need you as safe as possible. I can’t risk losing you or the baby. I just can’t.”
Not after everything else I’ve lost.
She seemed to hear the unspoken plea.
She gazed at him evenly for a long while. Then she sighed resignedly. “All right.” She started to get to her feet. “Let’s go, then.”
He checked his phone. “Your father’s goons said the party would start in an hour. That was thirty minutes ago.” He helped her up. “It might be too late by the time we get there.”
She shrugged. “Then let me come along.”
“No,” he said again. “I can’t let you do that. I’m sorry.”
He thought he’d never forget the mingled pain and resentment in her expression, as long as he lived. He wished he could tell her it was okay. That she could come with him. Help on his mission. But she was pregnant. She’d just had a fall. She might have miscarried. He had to make sure she was as safe as possible.
“Well,” she muttered, starting down the hill, holding her shoulders rigid — a
posture he’d learned meant she was frustrated but trying to make the best of things. “You probably won’t be too late.” She threw a glance back over her shoulder. “I get the sense my father likes to play with his food before he eats.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The ride back to Rialto hurt, but Katrin wasn’t about to complain as she clung to Pistol’s waist and tried not to wince at each bump in the road. The only ill effects from the fall were some aches and scrapes. The bloodstain on her pants was worrying, but she knew, with growing confidence, that the baby was all right. She could feel her mother’s presence with her now, stronger than it had ever been. And she knew that this was the way things were meant to be. Jess had passed from this world, but her legacy lived on in Katrin, and would live on too in Katrin’s child. God wouldn’t take this baby away from her. Not when she had already lost so much. She could feel her mother all around her, protecting her and the baby — and Pistol — from harm.
They found a small motel on the outskirts of town and gave a false name. The clerk looked too bored to give them much scrutiny, but Katrin was still anxious to get into the room.
“That’ll be fifty-six fifty-three, the clerk said.”
And that was when Katrin remembered they had no money.
“Listen,” Pistol said. “My wife’s not feeling well. She just had a fall. We just need a place for her to rest until I can bring someone back to help her.
The clerk finally glanced up from his iPhone. Looked Katrin up and down. “Shit. What happened to you? You okay? Want me to call, like, the hospital or something?”
“No,” Katrin and Pistol said together.
“Um…” Katrin put on her most charming smile, trying not to think about what she must look like to this guy. “I can’t. No insurance. But we have a friend who’s a doctor. If I could just rest in a room here, my husband will come back with our friend, and with some money. I promise.”
The clerk looked at them both suspiciously. “Uh, I’m not allowed to rent rooms unless you pay.”
“Is there a way you could comp our stay? Just for now?” Pistol asked.
“Uh … what?”
Pistol sighed. “I promise I’ll come back with the money. But please, for the love of God, just give my wife somewhere to lie down.”
So much for not attracting attention, Katrin thought.
But eventually, the clerk agreed, though he still seemed troubled by the whole situation. He gave them a key to a corner room that — thankfully — had a good view of the motel entrance and parking lot.
The small room was too cold — the AC was blasting. It looked like it hadn’t been more than cursorily cleaned in sometime. The bedspread was rumpled, and the TV remote’s buttons looked like they’d been nibbled by mice.
“Your luxury resort, ma’am,” Pistol joked, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.
“Wow, very nice,” Katrin said.
“You’ll be all right?” Pistol asked as Katrin sat on the edge of the bed. “You’ll call me if there’s trouble.”
She nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Go rescue your brothers.”
“All right.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “Keep an eye out.”
She nodded, her eyes widening slightly. “That clerk. He’ll remember us.”
“I don’t think he’s in Smith’s pocket. I think he just wants to get back to Candy Crush. But be aware all the same.”
“Okay.”
Then they kissed again, more passionately. Katrinput all the love she felt for him into that last kiss. And she could hear her mother’s voice: I’lllook after him too. Don’t you worry. I’m here for both of you.
I know, Mom, she said silently.I know.
When they parted, he looked deep into her eyes. “I will come back.” He looked as if he needed her to understand this. As if he needed her permission, approval.
“I know,” she said again, a little lightheaded.
Pistol left then, and Katrin felt a coldness in her gut. Even her mother’s warmth couldn’t quite fend off the restlessness she felt, the sense that she ought to be helping. That taking down her father was her destiny too, not just Jax’s.
Come back soon. Please. Please, Jax. Come home.
###
Pistol roared down the residential streets toward the clubhouse. By this time, Diaz ought to have gotten his ass the fuck out of the Blackened Souls’ HQ, and Pistol would be able to swing by and pick up some weapons on his way to Leonard’s house. Katrin was right —Leonard did like to toy with people. And it would have taken some time for the van to get to Smith’s house. But Pistol had used up quite a bit of time tending to Katrin in the desert, and then getting her checked into the motel. He had no idea if the remaining Blackened Souls would still be alive.
But he had a funny feeling that Leonard Smith had planned to use his brothers to bait him. Rather than turn the whole town and surrounding desert upside down looking for Pistol and Katrin, he’d wait until Pistol came looking for him.
Which was why Pistol had to be especially careful returning to the clubhouse. As much as he wanted to roar right up the driveway, he parked a couple of blocks away again, and slunk onto the property.
It looked completely deserted. Diaz’s vehicle was gone. Pistol let himself in the side door, pausing to grab a knife from the kitchen. Then he made a quick search of the house.
No one on the first floor. He opened the basement door quietly and listened. Didn’t hear anything but the furnace. He made his way down the steps, pausing every few seconds, wondering if he’d suddenly come face to face with Diaz, or another goon. Nothing happened.
He headed for the loose floorboards at the far side of the basement and pried them up.
Bingo. The goons had missed this stash. Pistol helped himself to a semi-automatic and tucked a Colt revolver into his waistband for good measure. He grabbed a couple of grenades too, for good measure. Go
big or go home, right?
He tried to think whether there was anything else he needed to do to prepare, and realized this was it. His moment. His destiny. The only thing left to do was to get to Smith’s house and get this show started.
He raced back up the steps and into the demolished kitchen. Paused suddenly.
Had he just heard a laugh coming from the back of the house? He listened again, but didn’t hear it.
But for a second, that laugh had been so clear, so familiar. Had brought up memories of late nights, passing a whiskey bottle back and forth. Of early morning rides up to Vulture’s Hill to watch the sunrise. Or long, hot afternoons at the auto shop, shooting the shit or blasting music to make the time go by faster.
I can’t believe I ever thought about leaving my brothers behind. There won’t be justice in this world until Smith is dead.
He hurried to the back door and burst out of the clubhouse.
Hang on, Deion. I’m gonna do you proud.
He ran the two blocks back to his bike, guns ready.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Katrin paced the small motel room, unable to relax. She’d called the front desk and was relieved to discover that it must have been shift change — a woman answered, not the sullen man who’d checked them in. She tried to ignore the irrational fear that the man had known who she was and had taken off to go tell her father she was here.
She explained she’d had a minor injury that had resulted in some blood on her clothing but didn’t have a chance of clothes. The desk worker had invited her to come up and look through the lost and found items that had been there two weeks or more. With her jacket tied around her waist to hide the worst of the blood, she went up and searched. There, she found a light blue sundress that looked like it would more or less fit. She thanked the woman, who was appraising her curiously, and went back to the room to change.
Then she paced some more.
Maybe it was strange that she wanted to be out there where the action was instead of cooped up in here. Maybe she should have been more concerned about her life and the life of her unborn child. But she truly hated the thought of letting Pistol face this danger alone.
She was a different woman than she’d been when this whole crazy mess had started. She didn’t wait in the shadows to be told what to do. She wasn’t interested in living in Daddy’s pocket, as Pistol had put it. She’d experienced tragedy and grief, and she’d survived it. Now she wanted to help Pistolovercome his past, wanted to fight the obstacles that faced both of them. Together. Just as they’d faced that frightening wedding day — neither sure how the other felt; neither able to trust the other. She recalled the first time he’d offered to help her cook — how much better things had felt when she’d started workingwith him, rather than avoiding him. The night they’d first made love, their bodies learning one another, Katrin’s fear dissolving as she’d realized this man wanted to make her happy.
They had so much left to face as a family. As the parents of this life that was taking form inside her. Why not start now?
There’d been a day long ago when Katrin had gone to one of her mother’s baseball games. The Crushers had lost after a tense, tied ninth inning, due to a bad play by one of Jess’s teammates.
“Aren’t you mad at Lauren?” Katrin had asked afterward. “She lost you the game.”
“No,” her mother had replied with a small, private smile. “A loss belongs to all of us. Just like a win belongs to all of us. No individual player wins or loses the game.”
Katrin hadn’t been sure at the time that she bought that, but as she’d grown older, she’d begun to see.
And now, she understood so clearly.
She stopped pacing, suddenly calm, collected. Certain that she knew what had to happen next.
Our lives are intertwined now. A victory belongs to both of us. So does a loss.
She slipped her room key in her pocket and headed for the door.
So let’s make sure it’s a victory.
###
Pistol dismounted in a cul-de-sac. He vaguely recognized the street from his smoking hot afternoon with Peggy-Patty a couple of years back. He walked quickly past her house, then slowed as he approached the next home, several yards away.
Leonard Smith’s house didn’t particularly look like the home of a criminal mastermind. Or the house of a man who’s gotten rich off the drug trade. It was one story, stucco, almost quaint. He tried to imagine the nights Katrin had spent here, waiting anxiously for her wedding day. Had she tried to get out of it? Begged her father? Packed a bag and fantasized about running away?
He remembered the tenderness in her eyes as she’d told him she loved him. How crazy was it that she could have gone from a virtual stranger to someone he couldn’t live without?
He made his way around the side of the house, holding the semi-automatic close to his body. The front windows all had their blinds down. A movement in that backyard caught his eye. Pressing against the house, he crept around until he could peer around the stucco wall and into the backyard.
The yard was privacy hedged with an array of desert-faring shrubs. There were hardly any neighbors anyway — the nearest was an adjacent lot a few hundred yards away. Occupants would have had a hard time seeing anything going on here.
This house had been selected for privacy. To keep its occupants in, and others out.
And yet … Katrin had made friends with Peggy-Patty after only a day in town. She hadn’t let privacy landscaping stop her, hadn’t let her father’s words of warning that the world was a cold, dark place, keep her from making friends. Her bright spirit shone through any attempt to keep her imprisoned. He felt a pang of tenderness as he pictured her.
Hold on, Katrin. This is almost over.
He crept around the corner, searching for the source of the motion he’d seen moments ago. He finally spotted the action, around the other side of the deck, by the attached garage.
Ford, Kong, Viking, Jackson, and Rhino were all tied to the deck chairs and gagged with strips of cloth. They looked like they’d been beaten to within an inch of their lives. Pistol’s gut clenched, and rage blazed through him at the sight of Ford’s bloody clothes, Kong’s swollen, purple eye socket.
This wasdefinitely bait. How purely stupid was it to leave the hostages outside, apparently unsupervised? The only reason Smith would have done that was because he was putting them on display for Pistol. But the fact that these five were alive filled Pistol with a massive gratitude.
He wanted to go right to them. Free them and gun down anyone who tried to get in his way. But that was probably the kind of recklessness Kong had always cautioned against. He needed to find out who was in the house.
He crept around to the front. A couple of goons were sitting out on the porch, in the fucking rocking chairs, with assault rifles.
Only in Texas could you sit on your front porch with AK-47s and attract zero attention. All right, these two were gonna have to go. But taking them out meant announcing his presence, and he wasn’t sure whether that was wise.
Here’s the thing about recklessness. Sometimes it’s the only option. Make a big enough racket, and maybe they won’t know it’s just li’l ol’ you. Maybe they’ll think Judgement Day is actually here.
He grabbed a grenade from his pocket.
Here goes nothing.
He pulled the pin, threw it onto the porch, and scrambled backward. It took a few seconds, but then the guards started shouting and clamoring, yelling at each other tokick it away, kick it away…
Pistol decided to put them out of their misery and shot them both just before the grenade went off.
Mm. Felt good to have a gun again.
The explosion wasn’t enough to bring the house down, or anything, but it blew out the front windows and made some impressive noise. And judging by the shouts from inside, had created a considerable amount of chaos. Footsteps thundered, crunching over glass. Someone threw open the front door. Pistol took them out. “Sorry
about that,” he said mock-politely to the dead goon, stepping onto the porch.
Then he stepped over the pile of corpses, and walked inside.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Katrin would really have preferred to hitchhike with a woman driver. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Out of the corner of her eye, she surreptitiously studied the bearded, Ducky Dynasty castoff who’d pulled his pickup over in response to her outstretched thumb. So far, he hadn’t tried to hit on her, which was good. But he was a talker. He’d already told her all about his job installing car radios, his sick cat, and his dream of becoming a crime writer.
