Tex (Hell's Ankhor #5) - Aiden Bates Page 0,80

drawn, carefully out of Crave’s eyeline. He gave me a short nod of acknowledgment.

The front door opened and Logan stepped onto the porch. “You really think that, Crave? You think you’re still able to run a club? Is Melvin the only Viper you have left?”

Crave’s eyes flashed at the sight of his youngest son. “The Vipers are strong,” he hissed. “Once they’re out of the joint, we’ll be stronger than ever.”

“They’re never getting out,” Logan said, almost bored. “You’re delusional.”

“Logan,” Blade said through gritted teeth. “Go inside.”

“Trust me,” Logan said, barely a whisper.

Blade looked furious, but didn’t push. I kept my gun trained low to the ground, near Tex’s feet, as Crave walked him closer to the porch. “You ready to atone for what you did, son? Give yourself up for your enforcer buddy?”

Tex rolled his eyes like this was all way too much drama.

Rebel caught my eye. He cut his eyes to Tex and raised his chin.

Suddenly, I understood their plan.

I nodded at Rebel, and then caught Tex’s eye and glanced down at my hand. He followed my gaze. I motioned down, a gesture so subtle no one but Tex could’ve caught it. But when he met my eyes again, they were sharp with acknowledgment. Words weren’t necessary with us.

Without warning or preamble, Tex reared his head backward hard, slamming his skull into Crave’s nose. The shock of it loosened Crave’s hold, and Tex dropped to the ground just as Crave’s gun went off wildly askance.

Rebel pivoted out from the side of the house and fired his gun once.

Stillness fell over the clubhouse. Even the birdsong disappeared as the gunshots sent the singers spiraling into the sky.

Crave wavered, and then crumpled wordlessly to the ground. A single red gunshot wound bloomed on his forehead, dead center. All that police academy training paid off for Rebel.

Crave’s scrawny crony shouted wordlessly in fear and scrambled backward. Blade slipped the knife from his sleeve and threw it in a clean, straight line, and it buried itself in the guy’s throat. For a long, darkly satisfying moment, the only sound was the gurgling of the crony’s final wet breaths as he hemorrhaged into his mouth.

Tex got to his feet, dusting himself off, but the slight waver to his legs belied his casual demeanor. He picked up his hat from the gravel just as the dark pool of blood began to threaten it.

“Well,” he said. “That was exciting.”

Then like a rubber band stretched to its full elasticity, the atmosphere snapped. Logan’s knees buckled beneath him, and Blade caught him without thinking, pulling him into a protective embrace as Logan buried his face into Blade’s shoulder.

Rebel lowered his gun, a stunned expression on his face, like he couldn’t believe it’d happened—that he’d done it. That it was suddenly all over. Coop leaped over the front porch rail and barreled into Rebel so hard he nearly knocked him off his feet, wrapped his arms around Rebel’s waist and swung him around like he weighed nothing.

“Great fucking shot!” Coop set Rebel back on his feet and kissed him then, slow and sweet, pushing him back against the exterior of the house like Rebel wasn’t quite able to hold himself up. Likely, he wasn’t.

I couldn’t imagine how the two brothers felt, to finally be free of the shadow that’d been hanging over them for so long. But right now, that wasn’t my main concern.

Tex and I moved toward each other like magnets, meeting in the gravel lot between the front porch and the corpses. Relief flooded me at the sight of him okay, smiling, his green eyes happy even if his face was pale with the remnants of fear and a bruise bloomed on his cheek where Crave had struck him with the butt of the gun.

“Jesus,” I said. “You’re okay.”

“Hell of a morning shift,” Tex said.

We stood in front of each other, face-to-face but not yet touching. Tex held his hat in hand. Love and fear and relief all warred inside me, beating against my ribs like a drumbeat, so overwhelming and powerful I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him, or shove him, or hold on to him and never let go.

“Don’t make that face,” Tex said, low.

“I’m not making a face,” I shot back automatically.

“You are. It’s your kicked-puppy, distract-Tex look. The face you use when you’re about to try to convince me to do something stupid.”

“Maybe that’s just the way I look at you,” I said.

Tex softened. He reached out and touched my