When she smiled at his sexy grin, he threaded his fingers through hers. “Don’t leave me,” he murmured. “We have something here. I don’t know what it’ll turn out to be. But we’ll never know if we let The Crew tear us apart.”
He was right. There was no way to see into the future, no way to provide guarantees on either side. They could be hurt, physically or emotionally; they were taking a chance for love. She’d trusted her heart when she’d stayed. She’d pried it open and allowed herself to care about him and this place, despite what she’d been through. That was a victory in itself.
The rest she had to take on faith.
“Okay,” she said, and let him lead her back to bed.
Two men stood on the dirt and weeds that served as a backyard to Horse’s club. They huddled near the chain-link fence at the far corner of the house, speaking in low tones as they transacted some sort of business. Virgil had no doubt that whatever they were doing was illegal. Almost everything that went down here was. But they weren’t worried about his sudden appearance. When he rounded the corner, they glanced up to see what he wanted but went back to their negotiations as soon as they realized he wasn’t interested in them. Too many men came and went from here for his presence to alarm them. He was alone, which was hardly threatening, considering their numbers. And he looked as if he fit right in. He knew how to look that way; he used to be as much a part of The Crew as they were.
The fact that these men were along his escape route could become a problem, however. Once he shot Horse, they’d know he wasn’t an ally. He made a mental note of the complications they could cause as he swung the door open and stepped into a hallway that smelled of pot and cigars.
Blinds covered every window in the house, judging by the darkness. Privacy was important. The Crew wouldn’t tolerate strangers peering in—although the inhabitants of this neighborhood knew better than to get nosy. Too much interest could get them killed.
The only light Virgil could see came from a lamp in the living room at the end of the hall; there was also a bit of light drifting up from the club downstairs. The clack of balls told him some people were still awake down there, playing pool. If they were doing coke, they might not sleep for days.
Several doors lined the hallway—all of them closed, except the one leading to the stairs that went down to the club. Mona had mentioned that Horse was in the back bedroom. But there were at least three rooms and probably a bathroom and no way to tell the difference between them. Which room was it?
Leaning against the door closest to him, Virgil tried to hear if anything was going on, but there was no sound. He was about to turn the doorknob, risk looking in, when a woman appeared at the end of the hall and drew his attention with a little cough.
Dressed in fishnet stockings, high-heeled black boots, a skirt that didn’t quite cover her ass and a blouse tied open to reveal a set of sagging tits, she looked well-used and strung out. Women didn’t fare well inside The Crew. Two years spent servicing these men was equivalent to ten on the street. They were that demanding and abusive.
He’d never met Mona before, but he knew her instantly. The anxiety on her heart-shaped face, pale in contrast to the dye job that made her hair jet-black, gave her identity away. He nodded once as their eyes met. Then she used the tip of the domination whip she carried as part of her sexy attire to point at the door across the hall from him, and that was it. She disappeared. When the front door slammed, he knew she was getting the hell away.
Probably a good idea to go while she could. Whether she’d played it straight or sold him out, life was about to get interesting.
Or over.
Taking the gun from his waistband, he checked to make sure the safety was off. Then he stood to one side and opened the door of the room she’d indicated.
Two men sat at a desk, counting stacks of money—the night’s take. The closest one looked up, wearing a scowl, angry to be interrupted. But the expression on his face changed the second he saw Virgil’s gun. As his mouth formed an O, his eyes cut to his own weapon, a pistol lying within reach on the shelf.
“Go for it and I’ll shoot you,” Virgil murmured, his voice low.
“You do, and you’ll never get out of here.” A large man stood behind the first, head shaved, cheeks scarred by acne. This had to be Horse. Although Virgil had never met him, Rex had said enough about The Crew’s leader for Virgil to be able to pick him out of a crowd, especially a crowd of two. Not many men stood six foot eight and had such a bulbous nose, such bad skin.
“Horse.” Virgil managed a congenial smile. “Nice to finally make your acquaintance.”
Horse bared large yellow teeth as he laughed, and Virgil wondered if that was where he’d gotten his name. “You’re crazy for coming here.”
“A point I’m more than willing to concede.” Crazy was one thing, but Horse hadn’t expected such a brazen move and that was important. Virgil could read his surprise; the man wasn’t prepared, which meant Mona hadn’t double-crossed him, after all.
If this ended well, Virgil promised himself he’d thank her properly.
“Gully, if you’ll step out of the way, I’ll let you live,” he said to the stout man still standing in front.
Gully smoothed the leather vest he wore without a shirt. More biker style than street gang, it wasn’t a good look for him. He was overweight and his complexion was far too pasty to pull it off, especially during an L.A. summer. But it showed his tattoos, which was probably the whole idea. “How do you know my name?”
Virgil grinned. “I know everything.”
“Then you should also know that I’m not gonna let you shoot a fellow Crew member.”
“Your choice.” He lifted his gun. He didn’t plan on shooting Gully. Horse was tall enough that he could drop him if he had to. But he’d have to deal with Gully grabbing that pistol as soon as Horse fell behind him and was trying to decide how he’d get out of the room without taking a bullet himself. As determined as he was to save his family, to be free of The Crew at last, the prospect of killing someone, even Horse, didn’t sit well with him. He’d killed before, in prison. But he’d had no choice.
He felt he had no choice here, either. Yet it wasn’t the same, wasn’t two men coming at him with homemade knives.
“You leave me and my family alone, I’ll let you live, too,” he told Horse.
“I don’t make deals.” Horse made a move as if he was going to grab Gully’s gun. He couldn’t reach it, but Virgil couldn’t tell that when he fired. The bullet hit Horse in the shoulder. A dark spot bloomed on his shirt. Then Gully went for the gun, as expected, so Virgil had to shoot him, too.