Page 84 of Lone Star

He took up a position at the corner of the desk, totally at ease, unruffled. He slowly pushed his shades up onto his forehead, revealing dark, intelligent eyes fringed with long lashes.

He looked first to Carlos, gaze hooded, mouth twitching with obvious distaste. A look that sent Carlos stepping back and bumping into a shelf. “This is him?” he asked, tipping his head a fraction toward Jinx.

“Sí. The Lean Dog.”

The young man’s head turned, then, a slow movement, followed by a slow, deliberate blink, as he raked an indifferent gaze over Jinx, from undercut to boot toes and back again. “Hmm. Dog indeed.”

“Not for long,” Jinx said.

A beat passed before a smile stole across the guy’s face, teeth straight and bright white. “You think you can lie to me. That’s cute.”

“I’m not lying,” Jinx said through his teeth, and called on every bit of stern sincerity he’d ever possessed. “The Dogs won’t be able to hold together when your people set up shop. I don’t want to be part of a failing club.”

“My people?” His brows went up. “You think you know who my people are?” Still smiling, helplessly amused.

His boys in black adjusted their stances; straightening their chains, checking their nails, making a show of looking bored.

Jinx kicked his chin up. “I think they’re the ones about to take over Amarillo.”

The boss chuckled, smile widening, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What’s your name,perro?”

“Jinx.”

He lifted a manicured hand and splayed it across his heart. “I’m Luis. And these” – a gesture to the others – “are my father’s people. This is his business. I’m only a poor soldier.”

“Poor’snot the word I’d use,” Jinx said.

Another laugh, light and easy. But Luis’s gaze sharpened. “Not as poor as you, probably. Look at you, you spent so much on your tattoos you can’t even afford a shirt with sleeves.”

His thugs sniggered.

“And your club has left you so bereft of soul that you come crawling to me, begging on your belly for scraps, just like the Dog you are.”

Oh. That didn’t sound…

“Do you know what I think?” Luis said, pacing slowly forward down the width of the desk, drawing closer. Behind him, his hired muscle stood with hands clasped in front of them, gazes shark-flat, ready for violence. “I think what your club needs is an exorcism. To have all the dark spirits driven out by a man of the Cloth.” He laughed again, low and vicious this time. “If you’ll beg for me, maybe you’ll get on your knees and pray for the Holy Father–”

The window behind Jinx shattered.

He didn’t care who’d provided the distraction, or why, but he was going to take it. He threw himself backward in his chair, tipping it over, curling up tight so he hit the floor on his shoulder, head protected. Sharp bits of broken glass bit at his bare arms, the pain little bright sparks, but he scrambled up onto his knees and drew his gun.

Overhead, someone shouted angrily in Spanish. He glimpsed feet shuffling as the two big goons shoved Luis behind them, shielding him. Someone let out a frightened yell – it sounded like Carlos.

He heard the crack-crack-crack of gunshots. Glass rained down on the back of his neck, and one of the Chupacabras in black fell back against the cabinets with a shout.

The window ledge was low, and right there. He swiped at the jagged glass teeth along the frame with his gun, and then dove through, pulling the blinds down with him and not giving a damn. He landed at Eden’s feet: braced apart, her gun raised and held expertly in both hands as she fired through the window and into the office.

“Bloody get on your feet!” she hissed. “We’ve got about two seconds before the rest of their boys come over this counter at me.”

If they survived this, he’d have time later to feel embarrassed about the fact that a woman had saved his ass, but right now, he was only grateful. He scrambled to his feet, untangling his arm from the blinds as he went.

After her next shot, Eden’s slide kicked open: she was out of ammo. “Shit,” she muttered as she ejected it.

“Go, I’ve got a full mag,” he told her.

She didn’t hesitate. Jinx ran backward, cracking off a few shots of his own. On the other side of the counter, he saw men running toward them, guns in their hands.

“Get low,” he shouted, and ducked down himself, running crouched over.

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