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He stammers for a second, incoherence babbling on his lips, before he swallows, tries to shake his head — wincing again as he bumps his head into my gun — and then says, “Look, the Twisted Devils keep this area quiet. Business ain’t like it used to be. Only other piece of news is the psychos who trashed the Meds & More store. Bashed it to hell and graffitied the fuck out of it. Death threats, too, from what I heard. Maybe it’s related.” The bartender gives me a plaintive look. “Buddy, I don’t know more than that. Truth is, even though I’m a bartender, people don’t talk to me much. If I’m being honest with you, I know that some of it is because I’m not that attractive. When I was five, my mother started telling me I looked like the ass of a mangy German Shepherd, and since then, she’s not gotten more complimentary. That, and everyone knows I’m a shady fucker, so unless people are looking to score drugs, they don’t talk to me.”
“We appreciate your honesty,” Diesel says. “And we’re not going to kill you tonight.”
“Oh, thank fuck for small miracles.”
Diesel takes a wadded receipt out of his pocket and snatches a pen from the bartender’s shirt pocket. On it, he scrawls a phone number. “You hear anything about Victor Moretti, you even think you hear that name, you call and tell me.”
Diesel gestures for me to follow, and we turn away from the ratty bartender, leaving him alone in the shit-filled alley.
“You gave that ass your phone number?”
“It’s a burner number. I only give it out to hookups I never want to see again and to my great aunt Gilda.”
“Gilda? Why her?”
“She’s fucking annoying, but she’s family. Can’t exactly refuse to give my number to her, but I’ll be damned if she gets my real phone number. I think only you, Tank, and Brandy have that number.” Diesel pauses, his voice trailing off, then he shakes his head. “Had to give him something, because I know this guy wants to work for us. Prove himself. He’ll especially want to once I come by tomorrow after closing time to remind him how lucky he is.” He’s quiet again, and he stops, looking down at his shoes, which are perilously close to a puddle that almost looks luminescent. “I want to impress this on you based on personal experience, Hunter. But you realize this shit is serious, right? If they’re arming themselves, they’re ready to move. You don’t make a risky play like that unless you’re about to act.”
I grunt. I don’t want to do more than that. Speaking that truth out loud would make it more real. Emily’s a part of my world now, and the danger that lives within it is coming for her; the family I never expected to find may be just days away from being taken from me by the same monsters that killed my brother and my sister-in-law.
“We’ll keep them safe, brother,” Diesel says, as if reading my mind. “Whatever it takes. You’ve got me in your corner, and you and I have done tougher stuff before.”
I don’t answer.
We have walked through fire before, but it’s never been that easy. The faces of everyone we lost in the service flashes through my mind, and I know that the odds that someone I love die are higher than either Diesel or I are willing to admit. These battles are rarely won without a cost, and if it comes down to it, who do I protect if I have to choose: Charlie or the woman I love?
We exit the alley when the bartender calls out.
“There’s somewhere else you two should look.”
I stop. Turn. Raise my gun. “Tell me.”
“It’s an underground gambling hall. Called The Red Room. It’s a few miles west outside of town, built into an abandoned theater. Lots of shady characters go there to play high-stakes poker and make deals. If anyone knows about new players in town, it'd be the manager there.”
"Thanks for the tip," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Remember what my friend said about calling if you hear anything."
The bartender nods. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just... don't come back here, alright? I like my skull without bullets in it."
“No promises,” Diesel says.
“One last thing: there’s a reason the Twisted Devils haven’t run the owners of The Red Room out of town. They’ve got plenty of men and serious guns. They’ll have the answers you need, I’m sure of it, but if you make one wrong move, they will kill you and everyone you love.”
We leave the bartender there in the alley and walk back to our motorcycles. As I slip my leg over mine, I catch Diesel’s eye. He’s grinning.
I am, too.
“What about it, Diesel? You feel in a gambling mood?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Emily
Sophie and Harper and I arrive at the meetup point just before the designated time. We step out of our cars and into the parking lot of a store on the outskirts of town called Gary’s Guns and Games. The sign has a picture of a few animated Japanese cartoon characters on it, and they’re all carrying automatic weapons. The parking lot is empty, and Sophie and I occupy ourselves staring up at the sign and then looking over to Harper, who seems to be doing her best to hide herself in the darkness.
“So his name is Gary?” Sophie says.
“Yes, our contact is Gary. He owns the store,” Harper says.
“And he loves guns and little cartoon animals and animated girls with gigantic tits?” Sophie says, slowly, her eyes going back and forth from the sign to Harper.
