Page 17

Pirate

The sun beat down on our shoulders, warming the dry patch of land behind the garage we’d been using as a makeshift shooting range for the past half hour. Dust kicked up with every step, and the smell of gunpowder hung in the air—sharp, familiar, and oddly comforting.

Yarder raised his Glock, lined up the sights, and squeezed off a single shot.

*Crack.*

The beer can on the top of the old fence post exploded backward and flipped through the air before landing in the dirt with a metallic clatter.

“Bullseye,” Smoke called and nodded in appreciation.

Yarder lowered his gun and exhaled slowly. “Now if only that was Boone’s face and not a beer can.”

“A-fucking-men to that,” I muttered and ran a hand over my jaw.

There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the guys—Compass, Aero, Throttle, and Smoke. Cue Ball, Fade, and Dice had stayed back at the clubhouse to hang with the ol’ ladies, which was fine. The rest of us needed to blow off some steam.

Compass reloaded, his movements fluid and automatic. “Soon,” he said. “We meet with Leo and Brynn tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Aero added and loaded a fresh mag into his gun. “But you really think they’re going to take care of it instantly? They’re just coming to get all the details. I know the Maranga are powerful, but I don’t think they’re fucking magic.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I raised my pistol and took a shot at a half-smashed can still wobbling on its side. Got it.

“Yeah, but at least we know something is going to happen,” I said.

Yarder nodded as he moved to reload. “Yup. We just need to hold tight, and soon all of this’ll be behind us.”

His voice was calm, but I could hear the grit beneath it. Yarder hated asking for help. We all knew that. And reaching out to the Maranga family, even through connections, had been a last resort. But this situation had gone so far past club-level shit it wasn’t even funny.

“I wish we could’ve handled it on our own, though,” he added.

Throttle grunted. “Yeah, well, if we’d tried, we’d probably all be six feet under right now.”

“Facts,” Compass muttered.

Smoke cracked his neck. “Anyone know what’s going on with the TV show?”

Yarder glanced over his shoulder at us and shook his head. “Right now, filming’s suspended. Don was pretty upset about Saylor being hurt.”

“But he didn’t give a shit about us being hurt or dying,” Compass said with a sharp laugh. “Typical.”

“That’s Hollywood for you,” Yarder muttered.

“Saylor said the footage they have is pretty good,” I offered. “Said Don’s been going through all of it, and they might not even need to shoot more.”

Yarder raised his Glock again and knocked down the last beer can. “Now that’s some good fuckin’ news. We get rid of Boone and Gibbs, and maybe also the cameras. Life back to normal.”

Aero shot me a look and cocked a brow. “That means Saylor leaves?”

I adjusted the strap of my cut and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess… as long as she wants to keep working for the production company.”

“Does she?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said and already felt the way my chest tightened at the thought.

“You good with that?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” Then I smiled. “I’ve never been to Hollywood before.”

Yarder chuckled. “You leaving us, Pirate?”

I shook my head. “Just for a bit. I’m not gonna make Saylor give up her life for me. We can mesh them together.”

Yarder studied me for a second, then nodded slowly. “Sounds like you two already talked about this.”

“We did.”

“You work fast,” he said, amused. “Last we talked, you didn’t even know what the hell you were feeling.”

I tipped my head back and stared at the sky for a beat before I answered. “Yeah. I got that shit figured out.”

“And what’s that?” Aero asked.

I took a breath and felt the truth settle in my bones. “Saylor is mine.”