Page 138 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

I walk across to Molly.

“Pretend to cry,” I murmur. She looks at me like I’ve finally gone insane. Her expression then changes as realization dawns. That beggars can’t be choosers. That we’re all each other’s got right now. That we’re all the others have too. She then does as I’ve asked and starts to fake sob quietly. I put my arms around her as a show of comfort. At the same time, I pull the Glock from beneath my jacket and pass it to her behind my back. She grabs hold.

I’m hoping she’s a better shot than me, and that the gun’s better off in her hands. I glance around, looking for any other weapon.

It’s then I remember them. The katanas. Are they still hanging on the wall? I don’t look. If they are, I don’t want to draw attention to them.

Silence. The men are seated and bound, and Molly and I are sitting on the sidelines watching.

The two Colombians are now talking in hushed whispers. While they’re distracted, Dylan deliberately catches my attention. I look at him.

Does he want me to go over?

“I think my friend has an itch, and I’m just going to scratch that for him.” I smile and look at our captors while trying to portray the dizziest blonde God ever put breath in. They’re bound. I can’t release them, so what threat can I possibly pose? My dumb blonde act works.

Juan nods reluctantly.

I walk over to Dyl, leaning forward so my ear is close to his mouth. His lips touch my skin. His breath is hot.

It may be precisely the wrong place. It may be precisely the wrong time. But I want that fucking mouth of his on me. He chuckles in my ear. He knows exactly where my thoughts are going.

“We can fuck when we get out of here,” he whispers.

My insides instantly turn molten. Well, we’re getting out of here, that’s for sure. Because Jessie O’Brien?

She’s on a promise.

CHAPTERFIFTY-EIGHT

JESSIE

The Ghost Whisperers’ Clubhouse, Colton, Nevada

“Pick up any bullets.”

I frown at him.

“If any shots get fired, I need you to find the bullets and pick them up.”

I nod slowly. It seems a bit of a strange request. But if I can, I will. I’m not sure of the importance. Maybe he has a collection going on. Maybe he’s geekier than any of us realized.

Bullets. Stamps. Who knows what else?

Walking away, I retake my seat beside Molly. Having glanced at the wall on the way back, I know the katanas are still hanging there. Hopefully not fake and hopefully very sharp.

More silence follows. More hushed whispers. Juan takes a call. A hushed conversation follows. He nods several times before he disconnects.

“We may proceed.” It’s directed at Luis.

Proceed with what exactly? I watch as the two Colombians drag the other men away from Eoin and Dylan. What the fuck is going on? Then it dawns on me. They’re singling the Irishmen out.

We watch as Juan switches his phone back on.

“Good evening, amigos, amigas.”

Is he going to live stream whatever it is they’re about to do to the faction behind all of this? Are there women involved too?

“As you can see, we have successfully secured both Irishmen. Unfortunately, they have declined your very generous offer to ally. As such, we will now be proceeding with Plan B.”

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