“She will if she’s scared enough,” Shep argued. “No more convincing: it’s time to scare the shit out of these people.”
“Says the guy who’s overly emotionally involved,” Kat drawled, and shrugged when Shep glared at him.
The double doors clicked open quietly behind them, and Shep twisted around in his seat. Prince had arrived, flanked by two of his men, as sharply-dressed as ever. His suit was midnight blue tonight. The shirt was the same color, and his tie patterned in soft swirls of indigo and burgundy. Heavy, gemmed rings glinted on all of his fingers as he lifted a hand in greeting to Kat and then made his way toward the oval-shaped table at the center of the room, the one beneath the Tiffany pendants.
Shep had no beef with the man, but he was just so…fashionable.
He got up to get a refill and Kat joined him at the bar cart a moment later. “Does your uncle know what to say? He up to speed?”
“Yeah.” Kat was mixing two drinks. One, Shep guessed, was for Prince. “Topino came by and briefed him in person, and he’s been on the phone with Mav.”
Did Topino, Shep wondered, stress the urgency of the situation?
On a club front: yes. He knew that. The Little Mouse was as solid and loyal as they came, and a stickler for details.
But Topino wasn’t currently pouring another double because he couldn’t stop picturing the Tres Diablos crew turning their sights toward Cass for a fat wad of yuppie cash.
Kat edged in closer, and his voice took on a rare earnest note. “Listen. Prince is very good at this. He knows the Dogs well at this point, and he’s a persuasive bastard.” He clapped Shep on the shoulder. “It’ll go fine.”
That was twice now that someone had touched him in support tonight, and Shep had no idea what to make of it.
The doors opened again while he was headed back to the table, and in walked Maverick.
He had the distinctly greasy, windblown look of a man who’d spent hours on his bike, hair helmet-flat and bridge of his nose marked from his sunglasses. He looked relaxed, though, as easy as he ever was. When he spotted Shep, he smiled, close-mouthed and friendly, and headed toward him.
Shep let out a big breath he didn’t remember taking, shifted his drink to his other hand, and accepted Mav’s warm, one-armed hug.
“Hey, man,” Mav said, close, right in his ear, and Shep exhaled again, some of the tension in his lungs loosening. Mav wasn’t the hardnosed asshole that Ghost Teague was, didn’t strike fear in anyone’s hearts on a personal scale. Shep had always thought the most “maverick” thing about him was his persistently kind and patient nature, a father figure for all of New York’s badly in-need outlaws. Hugging him always madeShep feel decades younger. Sometimes he chafed under the effect, but tonight he welcomed it, and walked back to his chair with a lighter step.
Mav greeted the others, then went to sit at the big table with Prince, off to his left, so he had a clear view of the doors. The two leaned together, talking too quietly to hear.
“Okay,” Toly said, when it got close to meeting time, when tension was strung through the room like Christmas lights. “Whatever happens, don’t say anything.”
Belatedly, Shep realized Toly was addressinghim.
“Who, me?”
“Yeah.” Toly’s expression was serious. “Tenny said that, earlier, you got a little—”
“A little what?” Shep snapped. “Sick of his shit? He could drive the pope to drink.”
“You gotta be cool, man,” Topino said. “Maybe they don’t know you and Cass are together. The more private we keep things, the better.”
Even Pongo nodded.
Shep glanced around the table. Tapped his officer patch. “You’re all giving me orders? Really?”
“Right now? Yes,” Toly said.
The door clicked.
“Here they come.”
Reese entered first. He and Tenny had been sitting watch outside in the main bar, ready to intercept and pat down the Tres Diablos when they arrived. Three men walked behind him: Hispanic, dressed in jeans, and clean sneakers, and hoodies. The one in the lead was spare and sharp-faced, with a sprinkling of gray in his swept-back black hair and his tidy beard. Clearly the leader. The other two had ham-sized hands and thick, tattooed necks: the muscle.
Tenny followed them in, and shut the doors. Leaned back against them, hands tucked at the small of his back, expression unreadable. Shep had no doubt he had a grip on a knife or a gun out of sight.
How easy it would be, Shep thought, longingly, to kill these assholes right here and now. With Prince’s crew, and the Dogs, and two of those Dogs being Reese and Tenny, they could easily overpower them, slit their throats, bundle their bodies into a van out back and be done with them.
