Pendejo,I think to myself, grinning. I love Nacho like a brother, and he’s one of the people I’d kill and die for.
His past isn’t great, either, but he’s really made something of himself. After spending a year in jail, he moved to the Hill Country to get away from his problematic family.
Nacho finally convinced his mom to move here, and last month, he set her up in her own little trailer on his and Bram’s property. Señora Rivera is shy and tends to enjoy her solitude, but I’m told she’s starting to make friends in the community.
As we pull up past the Wild Heart Ranch gate, Nacho whistles under his breath. Two of the guys I admire most in this world are waiting for me, and their expressions aren’t exactly happy.
“Dude, CharlieandJavier are waiting outside for you. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do nothing!” I protest, even though I’ve—secretly—definitely been up to no good.
Just as I say that, Erik joins them on the porch, and Nacho gestures at the fucking Nordic tree. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Fuck. This probably has something to do with that damn list. I’d given the list to Erik, and after his own research hit a wall, he handed it over to Anders. Anders and his black ops buddies have a lot more resources and were able to scour the web for personal data on the hundreds of men on my list.
All of them deserve to die screaming, and I’m guessing that, while Erik’s on board with the sentiment, he thought the black ops folks would take it from there. He wasn’t counting on my Murderer’s Row buddy having my back.
“Shut up,” I grump. “Just…drop me off and go home to your husband. Blech.”
I stick out my tongue to show him how disgusted I am with their schmoopy, awful love, but all he does is grin at me.
“Okay, but text me later. And, uh, go with God,” he says, cackling as he takes off.
Pen. De. Jo.
I grab my backpack and hitch it over my shoulder as I shut the truck door. I spy Nacho’s jackass smile through the window and flip him the bird. He breaks into peals of laughter as he reverses the truck and turns it around to drive to his guy next door.
Domnext door, more like it.
Ugh.
Squaring my shoulders, I make my way up the stairs and face the firing squad.Hrn. Maybe this is about the guy I took out last weekend. I was careful, and Anders helped me make it look like a tragic heart attack, but maybe I fucked up a detail.
The reasons for them to be disappointed in me are endless.
“Yes?” I ask, adding a little sass to my voice.
Charlie and Erik exchange one of their mind-reading looks, and Charlie gestures toward the front door. “Why don’t we go inside?”
“Oh, I can’t wait for this,” I crack, letting myself in.
I’m immediately swamped by Moose, Erik’s droopy search-and-rescue hound, and Bunny, the muscle-bound brindle pit bull I grabbed from one of the colonia takedowns a few months ago. Smokey, the one-eared cat, is waiting for Erik and does his usual leap into his arms so he can crawl on Erik’s tall shoulders and look down on the rest of us with judgment.
With the dogs nudging at my calves, I walk toward one of the oversized chairs flanking the modern-rustic coffee table Nacho refurbished for us. Tossing my backpack to the side, I take off my shoes, then drop into the overstuffed cushions. Crossing my legs, I press my forearms into the armrests and await their judgment.
Bunny and Moose sit on either side of me, looking like a pair of gargoyle statues.
My uncle raises his brows. “This is good news, Ant. You can call off your guard dogs and drop the attitude,” he says in Spanish.
I’m told my facial expressions leave little to the imagination. Oh, I know how to put on a mask. I simply refuse to do so with the people that I trust. Even when they’re pissing me off.
So, yeah. If it looks like I’m ready for a fight, that’s because I am, in fact, ready for a fight.
“It doesn’t look like good news,” I snipe back, though I give the down order, which my canine bodyguards immediately obey.
I’ll give Erik this—he knows how to train dogs, and them surrounding me like this is his doing. It’s meant to help me out of a bad or difficult mood and works about half the time.
Charlie and Javier sit on the couch while Erik takes the overlarge, overstuffed chair opposite me. For a beast of his size, though, it just looks like a regular chair.
