Page 28 of Ridin’ Dirty

She told him she wouldn’t tell, but talk was cheap.

What he risked that night was everything.

He wasn’t about to stake his life on the word of a stranger.

Before he could articulate his thoughts, Nomad drawled, “You could marry her.”

Pistol jerked his head up, locking eyes with his friend.

Nomad shrugged. “You get caught—and brother, I sure as fuck hope it doesn’t come to that—but this thing goes south and she’s got your ring on her finger, she won’t be called to testify against you. They can’t make her. Not as your wife.”

A frown tugged at Pistol’s brow as he stood frozen in thought, contemplating Nomad’s idea.

Fury barked out a laugh. “Man, that shit’s crazy.”

Pistol did not laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

His gaze still trained on Nomad, he wondered if his idea—crazy as it was—would work.

The corner of Nomad’s mouth curled up in a lazy smirk, a low, gravely chuckle sounding from the back of his throat. “Might be. But he’s thinkin’ about it.”

“Right—well, it ain’t goin’ down tonight. If tonight’s your bachelor party, you picked one hell of a way to go out. Lyla might be inside, but she’s not the only loose end we got. Her car’s back at the diner. Viv, or anyone else, finds it there in the mornin’, there’ll be questions.”

“You got her purse, I’ll grab her keys,” offered Nomad, pointing toward the truck. “I’ll call Max, pick her up, swing her by the diner so she can bring Lyla’s car here. You two handle the body as planned.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Pistol, trying to refocus his thoughts. “Spurs is supposed to meet us back here when he’s done. You do the same. We’ll figure out what’s next after we’ve cleaned up the mess.”

“Best get movin’.”

As Fury went to mount his hog, Pistol retrieved Lyla’s purse and rifled through it for her keys. They weren’t hard to find. Once Nomad pocketed them, he reached for his mobile and initiated a call to Maxine. Pistol didn’t wait around to listen to their exchange. He got behind the wheel of his truck and shifted it into drive.

Reaper whined from the backseat before reaching to nuzzle her nose behind his ear, like she sensed his pensive mood. As he began to pull off the compound’s lot, he couldn’t shake away her name.

Lyla.

Lyla.

He forgot it before, until Fury spoke it aloud.

He remembered the feel of her mouth.

He remembered the taste of her kiss.

He remembered the birthmark on her left hip.

Lyla.

Fuck, he thought with a shake of his head.

He didn’t know her last name.

But it was entirely possible, within the next twenty-four hours, it would be his.

It had been hours.

I didn’t have my phone. There was no clock in Pistol’s room. I wasn’t the kind to wear a watch, but I knew it was morning, and not just the wee hours of a new day. No, the sun was up. I was sure of it. There weren’t any windows in the room, but I didn’t need windows to know a new day had dawned. The quiet of night had long since passed, and I was still in the prison of Pistol’s making.