The rider of the Ducati leans over his handlebars and speeds up to close the distance between us. I speed up as much as I dare and then take a sharp left onto a side street. It's narrow enough I can barely fit. The Ducati speeds right past, unable to follow. Sparks leap up in our wake, and I grimace. Though the damage to the paint job is the least of my worries, it's still annoying.
When we come out the other side I find still more of the Kings waiting for us. I have to swerve to avoid the nearest and pull to a complete stop when I realize there are no breaks in the line. We're hemmed in, unable to move an inch without the risk of being riddled by bullets. It's little better than the situation we faced with Trent. But once again, I'm comforted by the idea that Cleo might survive this.
There are no Harleys in the bunch, so I can tell that at least Gardel isn't here. I can't tell if that's fortunate or not.
The leader of this little band reaches up and pulls off his face, revealing the ugliest mug I think I've seen in years. His head is shaped like a lumpy potato, and the tats on his face don't do him any favors. I've got my fair share of ink, but I drew the line at the neck. Too easy for police to identify facial tats. His dark eyes narrow in dislike as he looks us up and down. His eyes flick down to my right hand, just for confirmation. It's as plain as fucking day what I am, and the snarl in his voice makes it clear even a slack-jawed thug like this one knows of it too.
"Spade."
"Ryker, actually," I drawl, trying to affect the air that I'm comfortable. "And you are?"
"Like I'm going to give you my name," Slack-jaw shoots back. "You're in our territory, Spade. We should just kill you."
I cast around wildly for any excuse that will extend our lives even a few minutes longer. There's nothing except white static, that calm that I find just before leaping into a burning building or into a wreck. It's only after the danger is over that I get the shakes.
Cleo squirms out from behind me and tries to put her tiny body before mine to shield me.
"Get behind me, Cleo," I hiss. Doesn't she know things are different here? Kings don't adhere to Spade ethics about women. She's just as vulnerable to harm as I am. The best case scenario they let her live to ransom her to Cruz. At worst, she could be beaten, addicted to drugs, and then peddled like a common whore for any King man who wants her.
Slack-jaw gives Cleo an appraising look that has my blood boiling again. Even with the horrible blazer, she's still a knockout. The breasts that strain the buttons of her blouse are evidence enough that she has an attractive body beneath all the layers. Like hell am I letting anyone else gets a look at it. I side-step to hide her from view.
She pushes at my arm. When that fails to move me, she huffs out a breath and peeks her head around my elbow.
"We need to speak to Calamity Gardel," she says, voice sure and steady.
I crane my neck to stare at her. Is she insane? We shouldn't be in King territory at all. The original plan had been to circle back and enter Spade territory near one of our businesses. I could barricade it until I could get a message to Cruz or Penny. They'd deal with the threat while I made sure Cleo was safe. The plan had never been to stick around. It sure as hell hadn't been to march up to Calamity Gardel himself and offer ourselves up on a silver platter.
But I didn't contradict her. Doing so would be suicide at this point. So I draw myself up to my full height, gratified when a few of the Kings seemed a little leery of approaching. My voice comes out sure and steely.
"Where is Gardel? We need to speak to him."
The riders exchange glances. Whatever they were expecting us to say, this wasn't it.
"What do we do, Axel?" a voice near the front asks. The man has tugged his helmet off to reveal a tuft of thick black hair. He doesn't look to be over seventeen. Were the Kings recruiting kids straight out of high school now?
Axel shoots a poisonous glare at the speaker and he had the good grace to duck his head and mumble an apology.
"We're not taking you to the boss. For all we know, you're trying to kill him."
"Does it look like there's a piece on either of us? Take us to Gardel. If we don't return in the next two hours, they're going to send a group in after us. Maybe you beat them, maybe you don't. But you won't get this offer again, I assure you."
My heart thumps. I know full well that no one is coming. Even if Cruz finds out about the ambush, there are too few men willing to brave the King's territory to retrieve us. We're on our own. I keep my poker face in place until Axel finally blinks.
He shoves one meaty hand into his pocket and withdraws something silver. It's a simple flip phone, one that can be discarded and is hard to trace. He punches in a number and lifts the phone to his ear, never taking his eyes off me. He lets his gun hang in the other hand. I could probably take it from him, if I try hard enough. But with Cleo in the line of fire, I can't risk it.
The man switches from English to Spanish when the man on the other end of the line talks. My frustration mounts higher. My Spanish isn't very good, and I only catch about every fourth or fifth word. My name is thrown around a lot, as is the Spades'.
When the conversation ends, Axel doesn't seem pleased. He jerks his thumb toward the street they've blocked off.
"The boss says he'll see you. But if we find you with a piece on your person, we'll gut you like a fish."
"Duly noted," I drawled.
"And ditch the coat, doll," he says, leering at Cleo. I barely resist the urge to turn his face into so much hamburger. "Gardel likes his women pretty."
"I'm nothiswoman," she shoots back, but she does as she's told. She shrugs out of her jacket and lets it fall into one of the many muddy potholes. I know the loss won't trouble her. Her aunt was a hag and Cleo wouldn't have even worn the damn thing if she didn't have to.
The rain makes her shirt see-through in minutes, and more of the men stare at her, clear lust in their eyes. I once again side-step to put her out of their line of sight. This time, she lets me, sheltering behind the broad expanse of my back. She presses a gentle kiss between my shoulder blades and I warm by a few degrees. I'm not going to let any of these bastards hurt her.
