This was our only run for the night before we stayed at a nearby campground. Unloading the three-truck delivery would take the cartel a couple of hours, and afterward, they would expect us to get the fuck out. Until then, we had carteblanche access to the girls upstairs. I’d been up there enough to know why they were excited. El Filo Negro always delivered.
There was a stack of crates near the back wall, and I made my way over there to sit. The brothers were turning the corner of the stairs when I heard loafers clicking on the cement floor behind me.
“Amigo.” El Filo Negro perched on the corner of a crate. It was like we’d been here before, neither with good news. We weren’t friends, but each faction had its own set of rules that we each respected. There was a difference. “You’re not partaking in my gifts again. I’m getting offended.”
A laugh bubbled out of my chest, not expecting him to crack a joke. “You’re not offended. Whatever those boneheads don’t wear out will be more for you and your men later tonight. A man of your position would only feel insulted if I asked you to prospect for the club.”
“You’re right. I’d get dirty if I had to ride around on a hog all day, amigo. Not my thing. I’d rather get dirty after a workout upstairs.”
“How’s the pool boy?” I asked, still chuckling. A smirk danced at the corner of my lips.
“Alive. For now. When I get my marching orders, someone will tell my wife.” He shrugged. “I’m more concerned about the Lopezes.”
We didn’t do any business with them, so I wasn’t familiar with the name. Shifting on the crate, I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to continue.
“El Sombra Roja has been trying to expand his legit business in America, so he set up an arranged marriage with the Lopez cartel.” His hand came up, rubbing at his lip as his foot dangled. “My cousin isn’t having a simple time of it, and if she can’t produce a child, the marriage falls apart. War is coming.”
“You know we won’t pick a side.” This wasn’t our fight, and as long as the money was flowing, we would take our cut and promptly sit this one out.
“The biker gang—they’re working with the Lopez cartel to interrupt our cargo lanes.”
My poker face remained in place as I processed what he was telling me. It sounded like the biker gang I had asked him to look into had nothing to do withus, but it could all change in a second. If the cartel or those bikers showed up in Tombstone, they would force us into their war. While the club didn’t include women, if they wanted revenge, the saloon would be fair game for whomever could hit it first.
Before I could say anything, my phone dinged with an incoming text. I didn’t automatically reach for it, in case it was actually club news I needed to hide from the cartel.
“If you head out those doors,”—the Black Blade pointed—“no one will interrupt your conversation. It was good to see you, amigo. I just wish it were under better circumstances.” He walked away, heading towards a couple of offices near the back of the warehouse.
Taking his advice, I snuck out the door, walking away from the building until I could barely hear the workers unloading inside. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I pulled out my phone. Wiping the moisture away, I froze.
Eights
We got a visitor at the saloon today.
Chapter fifteen
The Queen's Gambit
Roxy
I’d survived another day of tourists and their kids begging to see the cowboys. The boys had a staff meeting this morning, but that didn’t stop the tourists from whining when no one showed up. A few of the families left disappointed, but Angelica had always made a point of not guaranteeing a sighting. It kept the mystery alive. The two high school girls who worked the evening shift would be here soon. Unless their bus was late, it was no longer my problem.
I was wiping down the tables. The corset was pinching me more than usual today. I couldn’t wait to take the uniform off and breathe in nothing but my underwear. Dinner was lukewarm mac and cheese—if the temperamental microwave didn’t quit on me first. Sounded like the perfect end to the day.
Bri sighed near the door—the universal sign for boy problems. I buried the chuckle that desperately wanted to escape my chest. Bri was an only child, and while the saloon was close-knit, she didn’t have anyone to talk to. I wanted to keep my promise to check in with her, like a pseudo-older-but-definitely-not-wiser sister.
“Hey,” I called out to her. She wiggled around the tables, phone still in her hand. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen,” I threw out there. “Sometimes, it’s easier to let go of your troubles with a stranger.”
Her eyebrow lifted. Sighing again, she pulled out a chair from the table I’d been wiping down. “There’s this boy,” she started. Bri looked up at me through her eyelashes. “He wanted me to sneak out last night, but I told him no.” Her shoulders sagged, waiting for the lecture she thought I was going to deliver. I’d always chosen the bad boy, and I was the last person to take the moral high ground when I had a cemetery full of regrets.
“Is that him?” I tipped my chin toward her phone.
“Yeah. He won’t stop. I told him I wasn’t interested anymore if he was just going to make me break curfew.”
“You should be proud of yourself. You’re seeing the bullshit and calling it what it is. That’s more than most girls your age.” I smiled, hoping I was delivering something that would empower her. “I was always knee-deep in the wrong guy before I realized I was sinking in quicksand.”
“Yeah.” She sighed again. “Uncle Grant dished out some advice that made sense. He said boys who don’t care if I’m in trouble are not worth my time. The right one wouldn’t want to see me hurt.”
“That is good advice.” My face lifted, surprised.
