Page 128 of Kings Fear No One
I cut across town ’til I’m on the highway.
The warm air runs through my hair. The sun beats down on me as it rises higher into the sky. There’ll be no escaping its rays on a hot afternoon in July.
I ride the eighty-four miles outside Pulsboro ’til I’m coming up on Jefferson.
Sweat sticks my shirt to my back by the time I’m braking outside the Zapote bar. My leather boot crushes the gravel under me as I step off my bike and stride toward the entrance. There’re a couple stragglers hanging around outside who look me up and down like they’re on the verge of stepping in.
None of them do.
I shove open the doors to the dive bar, ready to accept what comes of this. I could be walking into another trap; I could live to regret returning to the place affiliated with my worst enemy.
But it’s worth it, all things considered. If it means I’m closer to destroying Abraham, I’ll do anything.
The hum of conversation drops off once everybody inside recognizes me. Members of the Barreras can only gape across the room then check for their leader’s reaction. His is a lot more interesting.
Miguel Barrera quirks a brow, his lip curling. “Mira lo que arrastró el gato. ¿A qué le debemos el honor?”
30
LOGAN
“How about we talk?” I ask. “Man-to-man. Nobody else.”
Miguel scratches under his chin, tilting his head back. His gaze never leaves mine, eyes darker than coal as he sizes me up. He’s younger, inexperienced despite the show he puts on. Like Mace, he took over an organization prematurely. Before he ever thought he would.
A few beats of us glaring at each other, and I’ve got him figured out. His whole story unfolds in his behavior and body language.
He tips his head at the others, signaling for them to leave. The hulking guy on his left with the tear tattoo on his face is the only one who hangs back.
“Go ahead, jefe. I have this.”
The guy takes his leader’s command, but not before he warns me with a murderous look. He’s made his intention clear—if I fuck with Miguel, he’ll be coming for me.
I remain unfazed. I’ve got more important shit to focus on.
“Have a seat,” Miguel says, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “Would you like some tequila?”
“Depends. Is it really tequila?”
His laugh is short and brittle. “If this is about the situation the last time you were here, I’m not sure what you’re expecting. If you’d like an apology, maybe you’re in the wrong place.”
“An apology,” I repeat. My large hand curls around the glass of tequila he’s poured. “You mean for what you pulled with my wife?”
“I had no hand in your wife visiting our bar.”
“Cut the shit. She told me what happened.”
“I had no hand in the situation. If that’s what you have come to discuss, then we are done here.” He half rises out of his chair.
“That’s not what I came to discuss,” I grit out. “But let’s get one thing straight. I don’t like you. I don’t like your group. Matter of fact, I might make it my mission after this is all said and done to come for you. It’d damn sure be deserved. Lucky for you, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. More important enemies to go after.”
Miguel doesn’t sit back down. His fingertips graze the tabletop as he leans closer. “Then what are you here for? Rápido. Mi paciencia se está acabando.”
“I’ve got a proposition for you. It’ll be in your best interest to accept.”
“And what is this proposition?”
“Cards on the table. We both know you haven’t been open with us about your affiliations.”
