It was a waiting game. These missions usually were. But tonight, Pistol couldn’t settle down. Being out here in the desert reminded him of the night he’d first encountered Leonard Smith.
They were on the Mexico side of the border this time. Leonard Smith had assured them they wouldn’t have to wait long.
All the Blackened Souls were on edge. Having Smith’s men here was throwing everyone off their game. Even Mica looked miserable, surrounded by Smith’s goons.
Pistol looked around, trying to recall the night he and Katrin had ridden out to the desert and embraced beneath the stars. Trying to feel her warm body pressed against him, to hear her soft voice.
I shouldn’t have left her like that.
But it was too late now.
“I’m so bored I’m about to poke this anthill, just to see what happens,” Deion said beside him, waving a stick at a small dirt mount.
Pistol tried to grin. “Good luck with that, asshole.” He gazed around again. “Where are these damn Mexicans? I wanna get back home to my wife.”
“You really do, don’t you?” There was a serious to Deion’s tone that made Pistol look around at him again.
Pistol nodded slowly. “Yeah. I really do.”
Deion clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.” He sounded like he meant it.
Pistol ever wondered if he could be. Be a good man. For Katrin.
“You’re brave. You’re strong. You matter, Pistol.”
You don’t know me.
Finally, one of Smith’s men stood up. “I think I see something.”
The others got into position.
Pistol’s pulse raced. He looked around, but didn’t see anything.
Suddenly, the Smith goon who’d first stood up whirled and fired his weapon.
The bullet whizzed past Pistol and struck Deion in the center of the forehead. Deion collapsed backwards, eyes blank, a dark hole between them.
Pistol stared for an instant in shock and horror, then spun around, gun drawn. All around him, weapons were being fired. Smith’s men were massacring the Blackened Souls. Pistol saw Bones go down, then Hap. He fired at a couple of the goons, who collapsed.
Nearby, a shape he recognized as Mica’s stood and fired round after round at the man who’d killed Hap. But two other goons turned on him.
“No!” Pistol shouted. But it was too late.
Mica’s thin body jerked under a hail of bullets, and he collapsed to the ground.
Pistol ducked behind a tall cactus. There was no shipment. Smith had set them up. Smith wanted to own the drug trade in this town, and to do that, he had to get rid of the Blackened Souls once and for all. How could Pistol have been so stupid?
Did Kong know?
No. Pistol would never believe Kong had willingly sent them to their deaths. Kong was a lot of things, but he was no monster.
He sent you out that night Smith came to town. Knowing Smith might step in. Might try to get involved in club business.
He stepped out briefly from behind the cactus and fired at a goon, then ducked back behind the cactus again. He heard a grunt, but wasn’t sure if the guy was down for good or not.
Heart pounding, Pistol looked around. His bike was several yards away. He needed to make a run for it. The gunfire was winding down. He had no idea how many of his brothers were dead.
He counted to three and bolted for his bike, zigzagging. He heard gunfire, heard a few bullets zing past, but he was almost there…
Something slammed him hard in the shoulder, and he doubled over. The pain was white hot. His gun fell from his hand.
I’m hit.
He staggered on toward the bike, but found himself suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun.
The goon grinned at him and took aim at Pistol’s forehead. Just then, two shots rang out, and the goon dropped.
Pistol glanced in the direction of the sound and saw Mica, still on the ground, but with his gun raised. He smiled weakly at Pistol. Blood was running down his face and chest. His leather jacket was riddled with holes. “Brothers,” he gasped out. Then collapsed.
There was no time to mourn. Not for Deion, or Mica, or any of the others. He had to keep going.
Pistol staggered the rest of the way toward the bike and mounted. He could barely turn the engine over, weak as he was, but he managed.
“He’s getting away!” A goon yelled over the roar. Pistol put the bike in gear and zoomed off across the sand. He had to warn someone. Kong. Ford. Hell, if anything had happened to them, even Jaws’s boys might help out in a pinch. They were rivals, sure, but they’d stand with the Blackened Souls on this one, Pistol was pretty sure.
But most of all, he thought, leaning low over the handlebars and trying to ignore the blinding pain in his shoulder. Most of all, he had to get back to Katrin.