“You’re late, ese.”

“It happens,” I tell Diesel. We’re sitting across from each other in a little diner just at the Tennessee state line. Diesel picked the place. I don’t really get it. Then again, I’m not much for truck-stop food.

“Any news?” he asks. Beside him is his second-in-command. He’s an okay dude, nothing special, but he and Diesel seem to get along well. He’s quiet. Too quiet for my tastes, but then again I’m used to Torch’s constant fucking chatter.

“Not since the attacks. It’s been nothing but radio silence,” I tell him.

Beside me is Sabre. Torch is out with the others keeping watch on the perimeter. I gave the job to Pistol, but I don’t trust that motherfucker, even with him swallowing his pride down and getting with the program.

Also, something about Beth’s question today doesn’t sit right with me. There has to be more to what she asked. I saw something flash in her eyes. I’m going to have to quiz my lovely esposa. My dick pushes against my pants at the thought. Who knew having a woman you want to put a ring on would make your dick so fucking hard? Then again, everything about Beth does that to me.

“We’ve been picking up more chatter about Redmond Donahue. Supposedly, he’s been spotted just on the outskirts of your town,” Diesel said. “Bell, give Skull the file,” he says to his second-in-command.

I open the folder. There’s a picture of a man standing by a limo in a perfect three-piece suit. He stands there looking straight at the camera that snapped the picture, like he knows they’re there.

I study his face. He’s Edmund’s brother, but they look nothing alike. There’s nothing similar about them, except maybe the coldness in their eyes. Something about Redmond hits me. Something about him seems familiar. His facial features, maybe… or the way he holds himself.

I shrug it off, closing the file to look at it more later. “Thanks. It doesn’t matter, though. The plan stays the same,” I tell Diesel. “I just need to know if you’re in with me. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“Fuck that shit. The day I back down from a fight, they can throw my ass in a hole six feet down and cover me up.”

“It’s not your fight, hermano.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have my back if the roles were reversed?” Diesel asks, looking away to acknowledge the waitress who comes to our table.

“What can I get you boys?” she asks.

She’s pretty. Before Beth, I would have been tempted to talk to her. She has dark hair, the color of a raven. Her face is almost too sweet for the circles she carries under those deep brown eyes. She does nothing for me, but when I look over and see the way Diesel is drinking her in, I’m starting to understand why he picked this shithole to meet in. She does pack some serious dynamite for her small frame. In fact, the faded pink t-shirt she wears is stretched so tight over her chest, you figure her tits can burst out at any minute. I’d estimate Double-D’s, easily. Diesel always was a breast man. I guess some things never change.

“Just coffee, bonita,” I tell her.

“Same here,” Bell and Sabre join in.

“And you?” she asks Diesel, looking bored and obviously ignoring his not-so-subtle looks.

“I’d rather have you than coffee,” he says, and I want to roll my eyes. The motherfucker is usually so easy with the ladies, but that’s one dumbass pick-up line.

“Coffee, it is,” she says, not responding even a little to Diesel, then walks away.

The table erupts in laughter. Diesel just strains to look around the side as the waitress walks away.

“I don’t think she’s buying what you have to sell, amigo.”

“She just hasn’t seen me unleash the whole package yet, Skull, my brother. Just wait. She’ll fall. They all do eventually.”

“That’s how you got your son, if I remember correctly.”

His face loses that easygoing attitude. Apparently, there’s more to that story than I thought.

“That was a mistake,” mutters Diesel, “though I have Ryan. So I don’t regret it. His mother, though? Pure bitch.”

“Ever hear from her?”

“Only when she wants money. I don’t think she’s seen Ryan more than twice since he was born.”

“Fuck,” Sabre says, his voice full of disgust.

“It doesn’t matter. Ryan is worth everything to me. You will see. You too, Skull. Don’t tell me you aren’t trying to knock up Beth every chance you get.”

I flip him off with a grin, not bothering to deny it.

The waitress comes back and puts our coffees down, again ignoring Diesel. I can’t help but laugh. Diesel looks at me and shrugs it off. “Fuck you, Skull.”

We’re just about to dive into the particulars when gunfire breaks out. Outside the window, I see my men with Diesel’s pulling out their weapons and running for cover. The window shatters as a bullet drives through it and hits perilously close to our seats.

“Motherfucker!” Diesel yells out, and my grunt can’t be heard, but it’s right there with him.

We all move away from the booth and grab our weapons, but not before more bullets shower in. I feel a sting hit my shoulder and I know I’ve taken a hit. I glance down at it and notice it’s a through-and-through, which is good. I’ve had a sawbones dig around inside of me for a fucking bullet before and that’s not something I’d like to revisit.

I hear a loud grunt of pain, then clanging of the metal table. My attention jerks up to see Bell’s taken a hit. He’s not as lucky as I am. Blood blooms from his chest, the crimson color overtaking the pale gray t-shirt he’s wearing.

I help Diesel drag him to the ground. Sabre is in position and fires back. The few occupants in the diner are screaming and crying, hiding under their tables. The waitress that Diesel has his eye on is huddled to the side of the bar looking panicked. We drag Bell over to her. Diesel grabs her apron roughly, ripping it from her body. She screams. He ignores it.

“Hold this to his chest to stop the bleeding,” he commands. “Do you have a fucking cellphone?”

“W-What? Yes,” she answers, instantly pressing the wadded fabric to Bell’s chest.

“Call 9-1-1. Tell the dispatcher to tell a Detective Grady that Diesel said he’s going to want to be here.”

“What? Why wouldn’t—”

“Just fucking do it!” Diesel yells as a bullet wizzes by his head and he pulls away from the woman and his buddy.

I’m shooting now too, but we’re basically shooting blind because I can’t tell where the fucking bullets are coming from. There are a few close up, but the ones hitting in here are snipers.

Sirens ring in the distance. I doubt it has anything to do with the waitress’s call; there’s not been enough time. I watch as I see two more of my men fall down. I scream. I can’t tell who they are—there’s just dust and chaos out there. I see their jackets as they fall. I’m going to kill the fucking Donahues. There’s not a doubt in my mind that this is their doing. This is their strike back. Fuck. I should have had more men watching the mountains. This is on me. Why didn’t I even think about snipers?

Fucking hell.