They set some ground rules. They’d sleep in the bed together, but they wouldn’t have sex. They were each responsible for their own meals during the day, but they’d alternate who cooked dinner each night. Except Tuesdays and Thursdays — those evenings, Pistol would spend with the Souls. Katrin wasn’t going to get saddled with all the cleaning and laundry either. Pistol agreed.
The first day was agony. Agony because Katrin wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe that ride together die together bullshit now applied to her. Because there were moments she could almost imagine that being married to him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Then she’d get a glimpse of his tattoos and wonder how many were decoration and how many signified the number of people he’d killed or the number of women he’d fucked and her imagination would run wild all over again.
Agony too, because Katrin wanted to touch him. Every time they brushed by each other in the kitchen, every time they passed each other on the stairs, every time she freaking laid eyes on him, sparks shot through her. And she could see the way he looked at her too — practically consuming her with his gaze in a way that made her feel both anxious and horny as hell. How much longer could they live together like this before the tension killed them both?
It was easier the next day when Pistol went to work. Then Katrin could breathe. Then she felt like she could actually explore the house without creeping around, trying not to catch his attention. There was a laundry room in the basement. A big backyard with no neighbors around. She sat there for a while, listening to the birds and trying to imagine her life from here on in. Yesterday, she’d thought it would be terrifying. Now, she realized it was going to be boring. Without school, without a job, she’d have nothing but days of staring at this backyard.
So she needed to take action. Pistol had said wait it out, but that wasn’t enough. They had to create a life that worked for both of them.
She went inside and got on her computer. She emailed the university to ask if there was any coursework she could do online. If her loans would apply to online classes. She also looked up work from home job. If she could start bringing in an income, she could start saving, and eventually she’d be able to strike off on her own. One of the sites asked for her bank account information. She entered it, but it came up invalid.
That was weird.
She tried it again. Same deal.
With a sinking stomach, she called her bank. And was informed that her account had been closed two days ago. “Then where’s my money?” she demanded.
“Your father withdrew it. His name was already on the account, and as long as he provided the necessary documentation…”
Katrin hung up.
Her dad had taken away her bank account. What else had he done, or did he plan to do, in order to keep her under his thumb? She stood up, furious. She hadn’t even learned whether he planned to give her the Ford back. That was her car — her mother had bought it for her on her sixteenth birthday. Without it, she was trapped here. Cut off, friendless, jobless.
Alone.
She sat down at her laptop again. Took a couple of deep breaths, then googled the Blackened Souls. The Wikipedia article wasn’t very helpful. Just said the Souls were a motorcycle club in Texas and Oklahoma, suspected of some outlaw activity. No word on who they’d killed or whether they removed their enemies’ eyes with razor blades, or scalped them, or raped women just for fun, or what.
There was one article about a shootout where the suspected parties were a band of Blackened Souls and a rival gang, but the article was spare on details.
Who is he?
Is everyone in my life a liar? A criminal?
Can I trust anyone?
Was it something about her that attracted these people? Some kind of karma? Some defect of personality. All her life, she’d wanted to be good. To do good things. And look where it had gotten her. If she was going to survive the coming weeks, she might have to prepare to get her hands dirty. Prepare to deceive others the way she’d been deceived.
Maybe she could help Pistol take back his territory from her father. Maybe they could both fight this thing together, and at the end of it, they’d go their separate ways. Pistol back to his brothers, and Katrin into a new life whereshe called the shots.
But Katrin didn’t have a clue where to start.
###
“It’s not that bad,” Pistol said.
Deion cocked a brow. “Not that bad, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s … I mean, she’s been forced to marry a guy she doesn’t know. It’s weird for her, obviously.”
Deion turned down the radio as he passed. Went back to work on a tire rotation. “Did you two … you know.”
Pistol shrugged. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Fuck you, you always tell.” Deion grinned. “So I’m guessing you didn’t make it with her.”
Pistol didn’t answer.
“She an ice princess?”
“No!” Pistol surprised himself with how quickly and angrily he answered. “I just told you, she was forced to marry me. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t feel like fucking.”
“All right, man, sorry.”
They each worked in silence. Part of Pistol just fucking wanted to tell Deion the truth. That he was confused. That he didn’t know what to do to help Katrin feel safe, to get them both out of this mess. That there was no way in hell he was gonna have a baby — Leonard powers could threaten to blow his dick off for all he cared; he wasn’t gonna knock up some girl who didn’t even want to be with him. That all he wanted was for him and Deion to jump on their bikes right now. Take that ride up to Three Sisters. And never fucking come back.
“Did you ever want to get married?” he asked Deion. Christ, listen to him. Like a thirteen-year-old girl at a sleepover.
“I dunno, man. Probably not. I don’t want anything to tie me down.”
“Yeah.” Pistol rubbed a scuff off the bumper of a Taurus. “Me neither.”
His mom had married young — eighteen. His dad had been twenty-five. His dad had once told Pistol he hadn’t been prepared for the responsibility of marriage. Not at all.“It’s not just about you anymore. You’ve got this other person who’s needs are just as important — sometimesmore important — than yours.”
Pistol’d always gotten the impression his dad had been a decent husband. Certainly he’d been a decent father. He just hadn’t known what to do about Pistol’s mom’s drug addiction. No one had. And he’d chosen to go out and play poker with his buddies rather than stay at home and protect Pistol from his mom’s tirades.
Deion cleared his throat. “Kong’s gotta get you out of there, man. We all gotta find a way to cut ties with Smith’s men. Smith called Kong last night, you know.”
“What?”
“Yep. Told Kong he needed to borrow a couple of our guys for a pickup.”
“And Kong said yes?”
Deion didn’t answer.
“Christ. Smith really is leading us all by the dicks, isn’t he?”
“We’ll find a way. Kong’s as tough as they come.”
Pistol wasn’t sure he believed that anymore. “Yeah. Let’s hope sooner rather than later.”