Page 84 of Ridin’ Dirty

Again, this wasn’t the first time Pistol marched me through the place—clearly on a mission—but this felt different. I wasn’t his problem this time. I was his date.

I was his wife, which was how I found myself entering a large room I’d never seen before. The walls were covered in maps. I couldn’t tell if they were part of the décor or meant for practical use. There was also a huge bulletin board. Some of the items tacked to it were stickers or small flags from rallies or bars—but some of it looked official.

In the middle of the room was a large round table with enough space to seat twelve. A few of the chairs were already occupied. Nighthawk, Fury, Spurs, and Nomad all looked our way upon our entrance.

Nomad flicked his hat up on his head and sat back in his chair, as if to be sure he was seeing us correctly. I then watched the corners of his mouth tip down in quiet surprise.

“Pistol.” My eyes shifted toward Nighthawk in time to catch his expression as he greeted, “Lyla.”

He didn’t sound angry, but there wasn’t exactly a tone of invitation in his voice. Not that I blamed him. There was a reason I’d never seen this room before, and I was beginning to feel like an intruder.

Pistol squeezed my hand and pulled me further into the room.

“She stays. After the other night, with her brother in the mix, she’s part of this, too.”

Nighthawk paused to consider this a moment, then dipped his chin in a nod.

“Fair enough.”

I was getting ready to ask Pistol what was going on when Cobra entered the room. Rooster entered behind him, lagging only a couple seconds. I understood this was all who were expected as Nighthawk dove right into business as soon as Rooster pulled out a chair to sit.

Pistol didn’t sit, so I didn’t either.

“Got a call from Max,” Nighthawk began. “Route 66 got some unwelcome visitors today. The Kings are stirrin’ the pot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Cobra. “Viv welcomes everyone. It’s neutral ground.”

“Inside the restaurant, sure. Outside of it?”

“What are you gettin’ at, Prez?” asked Fury.

“Hookers loitering outside the building tryin’ to turn tricks.”

“Fuck,” I heard Pistol swear under his breath.

Nomad propped his forearms on the table and aimed his scowl at Nighthawk. “Sounds to me like they haven’t been able to find jack to trace their missin’ guy back to us, and they’re pissed about it.”

“Pissed enough to start a fight,” added Spurs. “Prostitutes dealing drugs at Viv’s? That’s not just pickin’ some corner in our territory—that’s spittin’ in our fuckin’ face.”

Nighthawk quirked an eyebrow at his Road Captain. “You think you’re tellin’ me somethin’ I don’t know?”

“Question is, what are we gonna do about it?” interjected Cobra.

“Lot of things I wanna do. Smart enough to know, not much we can do. We won’t retaliate. Last thing we need is to draw unwanted attention to ourselves. We start fightin’, law enforcement takes notice, they’ll start turnin’ over rocks.”

“They won’t find anything,” stated Pistol.

Nighthawk looked straight at him. “Not takin’ that chance. We agreed to lay low. We aren’t takin’ their bait.”

“You can’t tell us we’re doin’ nothin’,” said Rooster.

“Not nothin’. It’s our job to keep our streets clean. Starting tonight, we’re on patrol. We’ll do it in pairs. Round the clock.”

“They won’t be able to prove shit, but they won’t stop at this. This is the beginning,” warned Pistol.

“No doubt,” agreed Nighthawk. “All the more reason to be vigilant. We start now.”

“I instigated this shit storm. I’ll own it, and I’ll do my part—but not tonight. We’ve got reservations, and we’re already late.”