She showed up as advertised four hours later, a couple hours shy of closing time. Peanut knocked on the door, then held it open wide for her.

Holy shit – she was like a biker’s wet dream.

“Lou,” she said with a big smile as she walked on in.

“God damn, Sloane,” I said as I hugged her. “I might just have to hire you as a dancer.”

She laughed. “You can’t afford me, Lou.”

“Probably right. Let me look at you – shit, darlin’, you’re lookin’ good.”

“And you’re lookin’ handsome as always, you silver-tongued devil,” she said in that Southern drawl that always drove me wild. The face and body drove me even wilder.

But she hadn’t just come here on a social call. I was playing along, yeah, but I kept that fact first and foremost in my mind.

“How’s Tyler?”

“Tyler’s just fine – but I didn’t come to talk about him.”

Okay, so we were getting down to it.

“Sit down,” I said, gesturing to the chair opposite my desk. “Want a drink?”

“Why the fuck not, wash the dust out of my mouth.”

“It’s a long way to come from Phoenix,” I said as I poured us two glasses of scotch. “How’d the hell you make it in four hours?”

“Cuz I didn’t come from Phoenix, I came from Joshua Tree,” she said. “And guess who I was meetin’ there.”

I handed her a glass. “I hope it wasn’t who I think it was.”

“Like my momma said, ‘Hope in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.” She clinked her glass against mine before taking a sip. “Mm, that’s gooood, Lou.”

“Only the top shelf for you, darlin’.”

“Amen to that.”

I sat back in my chair. “But tell me more about your meeting.”

“So. Jack calls me up, says he wants to talk.”

Shit.

“And?”

“And he shows up with a two-bit slut named Fiona. I understand she was a key part of your little change in management a couple of weeks ago.”

I sat up a little in my seat.

What the fuck is Fiona doing back in the picture?

“Nicely played, by the way,” Sloane said. “I heard all about it through the grapevine. You’re a regular fuckin’ Abraham Lincoln when you get to speechifyin’. ‘Four score and seven years ago’ and all that shit.”

“What did Jack and Fiona say?” I asked, perturbed.

“Well, Jack had a little business proposition for me,” she said with a smile. “Seems he’s got it in his head he’s going to take you down.”

I relaxed. “Good fuckin’ luck with that.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t dumb enough to think he could do it on his own, which is why he asked for my help.”

I locked eyes with her. “And what did you say?”

“I said I’d think about it. ‘Course, about 30 minutes after he left, I decided to come have a little talk with you before I made any final decisions.”

“Why the fuck would you help Jack? You’re not the sentimental type, Sloane.”

“And Jack knows that. Which is why he offered what he was offerin’.”

My internal alarms were blaring red.

“Which was…?”

“Entire control of Southern California,” she said, her eyes never wavering.

“The Santa Muertes might have something to say about that,” I said drily.

“Jack says his plan includes takin’ them down, too.”

I laughed. Now that was funny. “Jack’s been smoking something, and you have, too, if you think that washed-up son of a bitch can take me on, much less the Santa Muertes.”

“Normally I’d agree with you… except you missed somethin’, Lou.”

The confidence in her voice gave me pause. I personally knew a dozen men who had underestimated Sloane. Thought that because she was a good-lookin’ bitch with tits out to here,  they were smarter than she was. Those men weren’t breathing anymore.

But I wasn’t about to tip my cards. “Oh yeah?” I asked contemptuously.

“You found out Fiona was a PI from Los Angeles, sure. What you didn’t know was that she’d been turned out by the DEA 24 hours before you held your little pageant at the Roadhouse.”

Shit.

Shit, SHIT, SHIT.

The problem was, I should have known… but a certain asshole had lied to me.

A dead asshole, now. But still.

FUCK.

“Whatsamatter, cat got your tongue, Lou?” Sloane taunted.

“Not at all. So the DEA is involved?” I asked, my heart beating faster.

“Oh, I ain’t finished yet. When you let Fiona walk, she told Jack all about it… and now Jack’s teamed up with the DEA to take you and the Santa Muertes down, as long as he gets the club back.”

Goddamn son of a BITCH!

I stood up in shock, not even realizing I had done it.

“Kinda need to work on your poker face there, hon,” Sloane said.

I struggled to regain my composure. “That’s – that’s bullshit. The DEA would never let him walk.”

“Well, according to Jack, they were willing to cut a deal. I doubt his pride would’ve allowed him to say he was a rat unless he really was a rat.”

“What makes you think they’re not after you, too?”

“Well, as Jack put it, if he wanted to get the drop on me, why the fuck would he tell me he’s workin’ with the DEA in the first place? I kinda believe him on that one.”

My mind raced through the possibilities.

Is the DEA really going after the weed?

How would they get the Santa Muertes on that, though?

Why would they let Jack walk?

And did they cut the deal because of what happened two weeks ago?

“So what are you telling me all this for?” I asked coldly.

“Because I want to hear your counter-proposal.”

“Counter-proposal to what?”

“Like I said, control of the entire SoCal drug trade.”

“Which you’re supposedly getting in exchange for what?”

“Jack said he needs the Bastards’ backing. He said it might involve a head-to-head with the Santa Muertes, although if the DEA delivers on their part, it won’t come to that.”

“You’re willing to go toe to toe with the Santa Muertes?”

“With the DEA on my side and all of Southern California in the pot? I’m all in, Lou. You can bet the family jewels on that.”

“I don’t understand – why the fuck would the DEA let you walk?”

“Cuz Jack’s not tellin’ ‘em about me. He only cares about fuckin’ you.”

Goddamn it…

That sounded about right.

That hypocritical, motherfuckering pussy – selling out to the goddamn DEA –

“And what’s your take on all this?” I asked.

She laughed. “To tell the truth, I think Jack’s about the losingest horse I could back. I don’t trust him to wipe the shit off his ass, much less take down you and the Santa Muertes. Be that as it may, the longest bets do have the highest payoffs.”

“…but?”

“But I’d be willing to trade a 50-to-1 longshot for a sure fuckin’ thing.”

“Like?”

“Talk it out with the Santa Muertes. Get me a slice of California – the Arizona border all the way to Riverside. Say, everything bordered by the 15 and the 40, ‘cept San Diego.”

Riverside was a city an hour east of LA. The 15 and the 40 were Interstates. Altogether, she was talking about 40,000 square miles. “That’s a shit-ton of territory.”

“Yeah, but San Diego and LA are the diamonds. I’m only askin’ for rhinestones, and you know it.”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have any dealings with the Santa Muertes,” I lied through my teeth.

Sloane then proceeded to knock out my teeth.

“Well then how come they gave you those jackets for that fake-ass rip-and-run you organized three weeks back?” she asked with a coquettish smile.

My guts went cold. “Who told you that?”

“Jack. Seems he and that PI slut figured it out.”

God DAMN it.

Jack wasn’t dangerous enough to actually worry me… but it might be a good idea not to underestimate him.

So I tested the waters on negotiations. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the Santa Muertes are gonna give you shit, Sloane.”

“Tell them it’d be in the best of both of your interests if they give me somethin’. Otherwise I’m gonna have to put my money on the underdog.”

I glared at her. “You walk in here and threaten me?”

“I walked in here to make a deal, Lou,” she snapped. “If you can’t make that happen, why don’t you tell me who I should talk to instead of you, and stop wastin’ my fuckin’ time.”

I grinned. I couldn’t help myself.

What a woman.

“Jack doesn’t know what he gave up when you guys split.”

“Yeah, well, I never did like that ‘for poorer’ crap they make you say when you get married. It was supposed to be ‘for richer’ all the way.”

“And taking the Riders legit wasn’t ‘for richer.’”

“Damn skippy.”

“What’s Jack planning?”

She shrugged. “I have no goddamn idea.”

“You want me to sell this to the Santa Muertes, you gotta do better than that.”

“He wouldn’t tell me – said he needed the Bastards’ ironclad guarantee before he spilled the beans. All I know is it’s supposed to go down seven days from now.”

Seven days?

“Alright. Say I can get Arizona to Palm Springs for you – ”

“Riverside, Lou.”

“Don’t push it. What do I get for my money?”

“You mean the Santa Muertes’ money, don’tcha?” she asked saucily.

“Time is money, and I’m spending my time. So what do I get?”

“I’ll tell Jack I’m in, and then I’ll pass along the entire plan to you. When the critical juncture hits, well… I’m afraid me and Tyler and the rest of the Bastards will just be off at spa day in Phoenix somewhere.”

I grinned. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

“Good. When’ll I hear from you?”

“As soon as I talk to the Santa Muertes. Give me till noon tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

“Where are you gonna be staying?”

“I think I’ll keep that to myself, Lou,” she said with a smile. “Sure would hate for somethin’ unfortunate to happen to me.”

“Wouldn’t be from my end, Sloane.”

“I hope not. Would tend to put a damper on our relationship. Pleasure doin’ business with you, Lou.” She got up from her chair and headed towards the door. “By the way – if you do end up talkin’ to Jack before you kill him, don’t mention I told you all that shit about the DEA. Don’t blow my cover.”

“Dead men can’t tell secrets.”

“Yeah, well, live ones can’t neither, long as you don’t mention it to them in the first fuckin’ place.”

“You just want to make sure you can play both sides in case I don’t deliver.”

“I am a girl who likes to hedge her bets, Lou. You should know that.”

I chuckled. “We should hang out some time, darlin’. After this is all over with.”

“You get me what I want, Lou… we’ll have ourselves a real good time,” she said with a smile and a wink, then walked out of my office.