“What are you talking about?” Pistol growled. Glancing around, he saw he’d made a huge miscalculation. Smith had henchmen everywhere. The Souls were outnumbered at least two to one.

 

“Put the gun down, Mr. Wilson, and we’ll talk.” Leonard was soft-spoken, but Pistol could hear the steely edge to his voice.

 

Slowly, Pistol and the others lowered their weapons.

 

“That’s right, that’s right. Very good.” Leonard motioned. “Down on the ground.”

 

Mica and Bones both looked to Pistol for guidance. Pistol didn’t move. Giving up their weapons meant giving up their last shred of power.

 

Leonard wasn’t having it. “Now, please. Or I’m afraid I’ll have to have my men put a bullet through our friend’s head.”

 

Pistol glanced at the others and gave the slightest of nods. The Souls put their weapons down. A couple of henchman went around and collected them.

 

“Now then.” Leonard smiled almost cordially, still focused on Pistol. “I have a few questions for you.”

 

“Fire away.” No one seemed to appreciate the pun. Shame.

 

“Did you, by chance, chat up a pretty brunette this evening? Slim, brown-eyed, a bit shy…”

 

Good fucking God.

 

Sweet, demure little Katrin had neglected to mention that her dad worked for a fucking cartel.

 

Pistol would have killed for a cigarette right now.

 

“Sound familiar?” Leonard pressed.

 

“Sounds like half the girls I’ve gone to bed with in this town,” Pistol replied coolly.

 

Leonard smiled. “Oh, I don’t think so. I think you remember this one. It was only a few hours ago, after all. And she certainly remembers you.”

 

Pistol’s chest tightened. Why did some part of him hope that was true?

 

I remember her. God, I remember her. Sweet smile. Quiet, husky voice. Those curves that could give him a hard-on right now, even standing face to face with her fucking weirdo of a father.

 

Leonard went on, “She came home talking about the handsome local boy who’d chatted her up.”

 

“I saw her in a bar. I went over to say hi.”

 

Leonard laughed. “I’ll bet you did.”

 

Jesus, what was goingon? Had Leonard staged all this just because he was pissed at Pistol for hitting on his daughter? Katrin hadn’t been kidding about the guy being overprotective.

 

“What exactly do you think I did to her?” he demanded.

 

Leonard’s grin broadened. “Oh, I don’t think you did anything to her.”

 

“Then what—”

 

Leonard cleared his throat. Gave his pistol a spin around his finger and held it back up to Pistol’s chest. “Jax, I’m going to tell you and your friends how things are going to be from here on out. I’d like you to listen very carefully.”

 

“I don’t take orders from assholes.”

 

“Actually, I think you will. I think you’re going to do exactly what I say. Otherwise you’ll all be exterminated.”

 

Exterminated. This guy had seen way to fucking many James Bond movies. Pistol’s blood heated. “Here’s another idea. You can fuck off.”

 

Leonard signaled to the henchmen behind Pistol.

 

Pistol heard the sickening sound of a fist meeting flesh, and a grunt from Deion.

 

Pistol whirled to see Deion’s nose dripping blood. One of the henchmen raised his gun and brought the butt of it down on Deion’s head. Deion slumped, spitting blood.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Pistol snapped, turning back to Leonard. Okay, he was sweating a little now. “What the fuck do you want?”

 

“First,” Leonard said calmly, handing Pistol a phone. “I’d like you to call your president.”

 

Pistol glared at him, “The fuck do you mean, my president?”

 

He heard Deion take another blow. Then another.

 

Pistol couldn’t watch. Couldn’t look at his brother in pain. During their first raid of a minor drug cache downtown, years before, Pistol had gotten himself in a bad situation. The Blackened Souls hadn’t known there was someone guarding the cache, and when the guard had shown himself — all six foot seven inches of himself — Pistol had gotten into a pissing contest with the guy, which had resulted in him being beaten half senseless. Deion had come charging in like some fuck-ugly, out of shape superhero and bashed the hell out of the guys who’d worked Pistol over.

 

Pistol couldn’t let Deion get hurt now.

 

“Okay. Okay. What the fuck do you want him for? Why not just settle this you and me?”The old-fashioned way. No guns. Just fists. I’ll punch your fucking stomach up into your throat.

 

Leonard gave a thin smile. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Now make that call. I don’t have all night.”

 

Pistol took the phone. He wanted to hurl it to the ground and stomp on it until it was nothing. “I don’t know his number.” He knew he needed to quit getting in this guy’s face, for Deion’s sake, but he couldn’t help himself.

 

Leonard raised a brow.

 

“I’m serious,” Pistolgrowled. “He’s in my contacts. If you let me getmyphone out, I’ll call him. I don’t have people’s numbers memorized.” Except hedid know Kong’s. He’d known it since he was seventeen. He had once dialed it from a payphone outside of San Antonio, shaking with adrenaline and fear, his bloody knuckles gripping the receiver tight.

 

A horrible crunch and a groan behind him. Fuck. “Okay,” he snatched the phone from Leonard. “Look, I’m dialing. What the hell am I supposed to say?”

 

“Tell him to come to this spot, alone and unarmed. If he disobeys those instructions, things will go very badly for your entire club.”

 

“He won’t recognize this number. What if he doesn’t pick up?”

 

“Oh, I think he’ll recognize it.”

 

That slugged cold fear into Pistol’s gut. The phone rang once, twice. He could hear Deion spitting blood behind him.

 

Kong answered. “What?”

 

“Pedro? It’s me.”

 

“Pistol. What the fuck?” Kong sounded instantly alert.

 

“I need you to come out here. To the drop spot. Alone, and—” He met Leonard’s eye, giving him another steely glare “—and unarmed.”

 

A second’s silence.

 

“I’ll be right there.” Kong hung up.

 

So Kong wasn’t surprised to get this call. What the fuck?

 

This made no sense. What was Leonard Smith doing here? Why would Kong recognize that number? What the hell did Leonard plan to do once Kong arrived? Line the Blackened Souls up to face the firing squad?

 

He heard harsh breathing to his right and glanced to the side. Mica was starting to lose it. He was paler than usual in the moonlight, and looked like he was about to hurl.

 

“It’s okay, kid,” he said gruffly, hoping he wouldn’t get shot for saying it.

 

He met the gazes of each of Leonard’s henchmen in turn. The Mexicans didn’t say a word. The duffel bags of cocaine lay at their feet.

 

They all waited.

 

###

 

At first it was just a faint purr in the distance. Then, the sound of Kong’s KTM 1290 grew louder and louder, until Pistol could see it through the moonlight, kicking up a spray of desert sand. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or dread. Some part of him — that dumbass, seventeen-year-old part of him, hoped Kong could fix this somehow.

 

The twenty-five-year-old part of him knew something damned shady was going on.

 

Ride together, die together. Kong had come alone, even knowing this might be a mass execution.

 

Unless Kongknew itwasn’t going to be an execution.

 

Kong dismounted, looking intimidating in his thick leather jacket. He wore a fierce scowl, and his eyes glinted as he surveyed the scene. “Leonard,” he said, turning his focus on the white man. “What’s going on here?”

 

Pistol’s stomach plummeted. It sounded as if Kong knew Leonard. Had communicated with him before.

 

“Ah, Pedro,” Leonard Smith said mildly. “Glad you could join us. I was just having a chat with your boys here.”

 

“I see that.” There was tension in his tone.

 

Leonard stepped forward, his gaze on Kong but his pistol still trained on Pistol. “I have a set of rules I’d like to convey.”

 

“We were going to work out a deal, Leonard,” Pedro said harshly. “You can stop with the dramatics.”

 

“But it’s so much more fun this way. AndI am going to set the terms of this deal, Pedro. Something you seemed to have trouble understanding when we spoke the other day.”

 

Jesus. Pistol looked back and forth between the two men. A deal? Kong had actually been trying to cut a deal with this psychopath?

 

“So here’s the plan.” Leonard glanced around at the assembled Souls. “From now on, I’ll be controlling business in this area.”

 

Ford sputtered something, but the henchman nearest to him raised his gun.

 

“The Blackened Soulsare certainly welcome to lend theirservice for a small cut of the profits. But any unauthorized transactions, any failure to comply with these terms, and I’ll be forced to eliminate all of you.”

 

Pistolfelt rage snake through him.Keep your temper. Don’t let your brothers get hurt.

 

“You think we’re gonna bow down quietly?” Ford demanded. “You’ve just declared war, asshole.”

 

“Quiet!” Kong barked. The Blackened Souls fell silent. The Mexicans shifted uncomfortably.

 

Leonard turned to Pistol. “And you, Jax.” His closed lips curled into another disconcerting smile. “You’re an integral part of my plan.”

 

This guy seriously thought he was a supervillain or something. “Drooling all over myself here,” Pistol said. “Can’t wait to hear this.

 

Leonard cocked a brow. “Tell me … did you enjoy talking to my daughter tonight?”

 

“Sure,” he said with a bravado he didn’t feel. “Nice girl.”

 

“She’s beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

What the fuck? Did this guy have a hard-on for his own daughter or something?

 

Leonard cocked the pistol. “Jax?”

 

She’s the most beautiful goddamn woman I’ve ever seen. But I’m not gonna stand here and dance for you all night.

 

More fists meeting flesh. Deion made a few noises of pain, then went silent as the beating continued.

 

“She’s beautiful,” Pistol ground out.

 

The words seemed to set something free inside him. Katrin. God, Katrin. That thick, dark hair, those wide, expressive eyes that held a deep sadness. Lips you could kiss all night, a body any man would die to touch. That sadness somewhere deep inside her, a sadness Pistol recognized, even if he was afraid to get too close to it.

 

Leonard nodded. “She’s a very sweet girl. Even-tempered. Obedient. Mostly quite intelligent.” He said it all breezily, as though he were describing a horse to a potential buyer. “But she’s got a rebellious streak too. She’s got … spirit. Really, Jax, in spite of your many vices, I think you and she would be a good match.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Leonard twirled the pistol again. His grin returned. All he needed was a fuckin’ mustache he could twirl. “Mr. Wilson,” he said, with supreme satisfaction. “You’re going to marry my daughter.”