Five fucking days and not a word has come from Colin. The fucker’s going to strike, I know it… I just don’t know where or how. I feel it in my bones.

“You got a minute?”

I look up at Pistol standing at the door. His eye’s black still, his arm is in a sling, and his ribs are taped. His brother asked me to give him one more chance, even knowing what a fuck-up he was. My gut instinct was to say no before Cade sweetened the deal: I get the support of his club and his charters in my war. He’s even sending up a crew of a hundred as backing. This is why that motherfucker Pistol is still breathing enough to be standing. I beat him down. I took out every fucking frustration I had on his ass. He got a few hits in, but not very many.

I lean back in my chair and look at him. Why the fuck not? I’ve just been spending the day twiddling my damn thumbs. Why not just cap off my piece of shit day?

“What’s up?”

“We need to settle this between us, especially if we’re in a war.”

“I thought we settled it on the court… when I kicked your ass.”

The court is a ring out back in our common area where we fight. We either beat each other to vent frustrations or to prove a point. It was the latter between me and Pistol. If he had one thought in him that he was strong enough to overtake me, I beat that shit out of him.

“I was being a dick, I get that. But fuck, what do you expect? I’m second here. It’s my club, too. I have a right to be worried about your choices.”

“Maybe, but you don’t have a fucking right to talk shit to me. You bring your concerns up in Church, motherfucker. You call for a vote. You challenge me to a fight. I don’t give a damn which you choose, but what you do not do is talk shit and mouth off to me in front of my men. This is my club. Mine. I will not be disrespected or undermined.”

“Point made. We don’t have to be enemies. Not during this. No matter how we feel about each other, we both care about the club. Can we work together to protect it?”

“You can work with me, but I warn you, motherfucker, one wrong step and your brother won’t save you this time.”

His face closes off, but he gets points for the way he pushes down the hate and continues looking me in the eye.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“The Donahues use the Saints to do a lot of their fucking dirty work,” he tells me. “Shit they think is beneath them. I’m pretty sure they think you are beneath them.”

“You think they will have the Saints attack?”

“I think they will use them,” he answers, and the idea is not without merit. He may be onto something. I can’t deny having the same thoughts.

“What do you suggest?”

“We plant someone in the Saints.”

I sigh. “I doubt we could get anyone in there they will talk freely with. Especially if they are helping the Donahues.”

“Maybe, but I know someone in their clubhouse who hears a lot of shit.”

“Who?” I ask, alarm bells going off. I don’t trust Pistol. This sounds too easy.

“Claire.”

“A muffler bunny?” I shake my head, discounting his suggestion. “No way they’d be stupid enough to talk in front of a woman.”

“We wouldn’t. The Saints aren’t that disciplined. I’m telling you, this could work.”

“You trust this Claire?”

“Fuck no, but I trust her to jump on money if it was offered.”

“Without setting us up?”

“That won’t be on the table. All we need is for her to give us a heads-up if she hears them planning.”

“You deal with it. If you think it will pan out, we’ll try it.”

“Got it. Are we good?”

“I don’t have to like you. We’re good as long as you don’t pull that fucking shit again.”

“Fair enough. I’ll let you know if I hear anything further from Claire.”

“Sounds good.”

I stare at the door after it closes. I’m not sure how I feel about what just happened. I have warning bells going off in my head, but that may have more to do with the fact that Pistol’s involved. I rub the tension at the back of my neck, studying the file in front of me. Colin’s ugly face stares back at me.

“What are you planning, you son of a bitch?” I ask the ugly face. “And just when the fuck are you going to strike?”

I don’t do well waiting. I don’t like not taking the first strike. I thought about going on the offensive, but I know in my heart that this battle is going to be bloody. I’m not ready to put lives on the line until I have to.

I pick up my Bowie knife off the table and stab it into Colin’s picture—right between his eyes. I fucking hate waiting.