Page 48 of Merciless

What the hell is he doing here?

I’m slowing down in the next moment, then bringing the bike to a stop. As I park and dismount, I pull my gun, cocking it, just in case. There weren’t no threat in the gesture, plus, the guy ain’t somebody who’d come at me. Even if he wanted to for personal reasons, he ain’t gonna with the business he’s got going with Thorns.

But he does want something and it has me worried as to what that something is.

Only one way to find out.

I stride up to him and when I’m close enough to see that he ain’t brandishing a piece or no other kinda weapon in either hand, I holster my gun.

“It’s been a while, Dealer.”

“For good reason, the way I remember it.”

“Debatable.”

It take him in.

The years have been kind to him. He’s still packing a ton of muscle on him. He ain’t got a single gray hair showing in his closely-cropped blond hair. Those gray eyes of his pierce into mine with the same sharpness and determination I remember from him all those years back. It don’t escape my notice that he ain’t in his cut. He’s decked out in all black, jeans and a leather jacket, keeping him blending in well with the dark. Well, except for all those rings on his fingers and those piercings in his face and ears, that keep glinting whenever he moves and catches the slightest bit of light.

I’ve got a decade on him and I ain’t faring too bad myself. Guys like us can’t afford to let up in that area. We always gotta be strong, or our enemies will sniff out that weakness like sharks to a wound in the water.

“Long way from Iron Kings territory, ain’t you, Spartan?”

“We got trouble.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we.”

“How’s that?”

We’re interrupted as another figure emerges from the shadows.

He steps into the light beside Spartan, shoving a hand through his spiky black hair.

This guy’s a world away from mine and Spartan’s get-up.

Sporting a black wool coat over a tailored pinstripe suit, he looks like a pussy-ass businessman who’s just stepped out of a board meeting. Appearances are real deceiving sometimes, though, because he’s really one of the most dangerous motherfuckers around. All that muscle and power he’s packing beneath the coat is only just a hint of that. His silver Rolex and chunky rings covering every finger catch the light, just like with Spartan. But it’s those ice-green eyes of his that stand out more than anything, cutting right through the dark like eerie beacons.

Cristian Cavalno. Former contract killer, now infamous mafia boss spearheading the Cavalno Syndicate.

Fuck. This ain’t good.

Bad enough Spartan stopping me on the road out of nowhere, no fucking warning. Now, Cavalno in on it too. I doubt trouble even covers it.

“What going on?” I ask the two of them.

Spartan tells me, “We got a lot to talk about, old man.”

Well, so much for keeping the latest bull off Ax’s radar.

With these two involved, there’s no hope.

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