Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(52)

I said, “We’re going in the front like regular people, man. No need to scare the f*cking women and kids.” I didn’t text Mahalia again before going around the corner. There was also no need to give Chiles warning we were arriving, if indeed he’d absconded with Mahalia’s phone.

I did take the precaution of stepping to one side of the door after entering. My eyes were still adjusting to the dimness of the bar when Mahalia flung herself at me.

“Gideon! My blessing! My dear, sweet blessing!” She buried her face in my neck as I circled her waist in my palms. She smelled fresh, like the pines of the high desert.

The coils of her elaborate hairstyle were soft against my cheek. So many times in that little single bed in the guest house I had jacked my dick thinking of taking her hair down. After such a string of bad luck lately, it was impossible to believe that doing that was within my reach now. Maybe it took Mahalia’s God to smile down on me, for once.

“You’re safe now,” I murmured into her hair. “It’s going to be smooth sailing from now on.”

Holding her tight, I glanced around. Skippy Cavanaugh was wiping the bar with a rag like some old timey western bartender, glaring at us as though we were Negroes—which Mahalia was, partially, in her background. Kimball sat at a table with two kids maybe eight or ten, kicking their legs impatiently. It looked like Kimball was the one who couldn’t wait for a glass of wine. Vonda was there, texting or Instagramming or whatever teenagers did.

Mahalia pulled back a few inches. “I’m sorry we came here.” I thought I could feel her heart hammering in her chest, tapping against mine. “Vonda and I were walking down the highway with our suitcases when Kimball drove up, and she wanted a drink bad after her narrow escape.”

“I’ll bet.” I turned to my men. “I suppose the coast is clear. Go ahead and have some drinks if you want.”

But when I went to sit down at an adjacent table, a white-haired riding club guy approached me. He said in a deep, gentlemanly tone, “Don’t mean to interrupt. But I just saw Allred Chiles and Parley Pipkin drive by, real slow like. Like they were scoping out this place.”

“Really? Thanks, my man,” I said. I sat Mahalia down at the table and went out the side door to look. Sure as shit, Chiles’ shiny black Humvee was in the process of another slow-mo drive-by. As if hoping to intimidate people with their mere glances, they were staring at me like I was a train wreck, slowly moving on down Crosstown Street.

The silver fox said, “They’ve been doing that for half an hour, ever since the ladies arrived.”

“They haven’t stopped or said anything?”

“Nope. Just doing that asinine driving, like they’re striking fear into people’s hearts.”

“We f*cking hate it,” said another riding club biker. “They do it all the time to put the fear of God into us.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Just to be big shot bastards,” said the silver fox. He held out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Maximus. Seen you around.”

“I’m Gideon. Yeah, I just bought a house down on Cumming Street, so you’ll be seeing more of us. Don’t mean to infringe on your turf. We’ll get these ladies out of here pronto.”

“Hell, you’re not infringing,” said Maximus. “We don’t consider this our turf. It’s not like we’re one percenters. This is just a convenient spot between St. George and Cedar City for us to meet up, play pool. We’re glad to have you here. See? There they go again.”

I couldn’t resist flipping off the Humvee, and several riding club guys joined me, laughing at their audacity.

“Whoo hoo!” said one. “Feels good to finally tell them off.”

I almost laughed, that they would think such a sign of rebellion was going to affect an arrogant peckerhead like Allred Lee Chiles. But I was too stressed to laugh.

Going back inside the bar, I sat down next to Mahalia. “Ladies. We’ll be taking you out of here in a few.”

“Let me order another glass of wine,” said Kimball.

“I’ve got whiskey and beer at the house,” I said, “and can easily get you wine. Mahalia, you’ve got Chiles’ cell number in your phone. Let me have it.”

“Sure.” Like a good old lady, she didn’t ask me what for. She just scrolled to the number and handed me her phone.

“What are you doing?” asked Sledgehammer, protectively sitting on the other side of the kids, near Vonda.

I held up my phone so he could squint and see the photos Dust Bunny had sent me. “I’ve got a way of keeping them away from Avalanche.” I tapped the photo of the recently dead guy’s gaping mouth. The skin pulled tightly away from his nose and eye sockets, like desiccated jerky. His arm even clawed its way out of the soil, as if he’d been buried alive. I hoped to hell not. Not in my mine.

“Ho ho!” laughed Sledge. “Those the photos you were mentioning? Extremely good one, Fortunati. That’ll keep that sleazy lizard off our backs.”

The moment I hit the SEND button a huge wave of relief washed over me. “Hang on,” I told Mahalia, and sprinted back outside.

“What’s he up to?” Maximus asked me.

The Humvee was stopped in the middle of the road, which didn’t get much traffic, thanks to Chiles turning it into a ghost town. I aimed to take it back from him, to reclaim the town for my own. Now, for the first time, this goal seemed within reach.