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She withdraws, shaking her head vehemently. “You barely know me. My life is not your problem.”
“I don’t see you as a problem. And despite what you think, walking out that door doesn’t mean you’ll be rid of me. Not now. You may as well—”
Piper barks and growls at the door. I spin around, drawing my gun as I rush past her and look through the peephole. “Fuck.”
“What is it?!”
“The red Mercedes.” Holstering the gun, I spin around and narrow my eyes on Marisol. “You. Stay put.”
To Piper, I command, “Wache.”
She instantly shifts into guard mode on the order. I open the door, and Piper automatically precedes me outside. We step off the deck, lingering around the bottom of the steps. Piper is still as death by my side, and my hand rests on the butt of my gun. I stare at the men in the flashy sedan, issuing a challenge in the broad daylight.
Knowing they’re being called out, the men leave the car and casually cross the street. Piper tenses beside me but doesn’t even bark. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
“We just want to speak to the lady. Our boss has a job offer for her.”
I snicker. As if you’d allow her to refuse. “She’s already got a job. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
I turn for the door, giving them my back, knowing Piper has mine. They’ll see the action for the slight I intend, but I’m not worried. As I reach the bottom step of the front porch, Piper growls, and I turn back to see that the men have advanced a step. Piper’s threat stopped them cold.
They haven’t even drawn their weapons. If they tried, she’d get to one before he could aim, and I’d get the other. I almost wish they would. “I already told you, fellas, she’s not interested. You’d be doing yourself a favor if you left now. Piper doesn’t like trespassers.”
Marisol must have been watching through the window. When I turn toward the door again, it opens, and she steps out. Dammit. I should have told her to stay hidden no matter what. The men focus on her, and Piper lowers her head and growls again, the sound coming from her resembling something from a nightmare.
She doesn’t like the way these men are staring at her mistress. One of the assholes flinches, and the other looks at me and sneers, gesturing to the dark Mali. “I hate to say it, mijo, but your girlfriend’s a real bitch.”
My expression doesn’t change, but I whistle a strange note, and Piper activates. In point three seconds, she’s got the asshole on the ground, standing on his chest. Her teeth are bared, and she’s snarling half an inch from his face.
I’ve drawn on the other guy, who stands frozen. I approach the asshole still standing and strip him of his gun. Keeping mine trained on him, I squat next to the other guy and take his as well. “Want to say that to her face?”
Piper barks and gets even closer. The guy snivels and whimpers in response. “Apologize,” I command.
“¡La concha de tu madre!” he spits. Motherfucker.
I gesture with my hand, and Piper opens her jaws, placing them around the guy’s throat. The murderous rumble continues, but she won’t clamp down unless I command. The bastard pisses himself as soon as her sharp teeth contact his skin, and he begins apologizing profusely.
He jumps and screams when I pat him on the shoulder, thinking he’s going to die, but Piper doesn’t move a fraction. “You know what? I believe you. What do you say, Piper? Do you think he’s sorry?”
Another slight hand gesture has her moving away from the guy’s neck. I issue the German recall command, and Piper joins me at my side. I pat her on the head, with my gun aimed at the man still standing. “If I were you, I’d work on my people skills. You should never disrespect a lady.”
I study the men’s tats, committing them to memory and rise to back up a few steps. “Now, I suggest you get your asses out of here and not come back.”
The men scramble to the car, promises of death darkening their faces, and peel off down the street.
Marisol rushes down the steps, joining me on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? What they could do to you? To Piper?”
I watch the car until it disappears. Turning my focus to Marisol’s panic-stricken face, I report what I learned during our standoff. “These guys are not with the Puerto Ricans. They’re working for someone up here.”
“How do you know that?”
“They had Pastrana tattoos. Why is the Pastrana family after you?”
Marisol’s face pales. She laughs, but the sound is hollow. “I’m so stupid. I never had a chance. The harder I try to get out, the bigger the target I have on my back. Belisario Pastrana. I should have known.”
“Should have known what? What do these people want with you?”
“Think about it, Austin. What did I study? What am I?”
