And then it happens. Except it's not like in the movies, where the door explodes from its hinges and the furniture flies out of the way. The door buckles and cracks open, creating a foot-wide gap, and then an arm, shoulder, and half the torso appear inside the gap and all I can think of is Jack Nicholson in The Shining, grinning at us and announcing, here's Johnny.

Well here's Sloane, motherfucker. I don't hesitate; I forget about the whole leaping out from behind the door bit and instead bring the bat swinging down onto the shoulder of the man who is trying to shove the sofa out of the way. The wood connects with a satisfying crack, and the doctor in me immediately begins making calculations. Dislocation? Shattered joint? From the agonized cry that comes from the other side of the door, the chances are reasonably high that I’ve done some serious damage.

“Ahhhh! Fucking bitch just hit me,” a voice cries. I lash out and hit the guy again, this time in the arm. “Fuck!” The arm attached to the man on the other side falls limp and dangles loosely as he tries to pull himself back through to safety. I'm feeling a little proud of myself when the guy's body vanishes and suddenly I'm staring into the face of a grey-haired, attractive guy in his fifties, with a glint of insanity lurking in his irises. I know this face. The cops passed a photo of Charlie around the hospital—he looked normal. Unassuming—when Archie Monterello was shot, but seeing the man in the flesh is entirely different. Way more intimidating.

A labored silence follows where the man grins broadly at me, quick eyes giving me an amused once over. The sound of my continually ringing cell phone serves to make the moment even tenser. The man takes a step forward and places the muzzle of a large, heavy handgun through the gap in the wood. His grin expands even further, displaying a wall of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

“Well hello, Princess. Don't you think you ought to get that?”

Julio doesn't expand on his bizarre comment. He hangs up and I make a quick phone call to Rebel, but the words are lingering throughout the conversation I have with the president of the Widow Makers MC.

Rebel answers quickly and efficiently, already well aware of who is calling him. “Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?”

“I'm sure it's not fucking surprising at all,” I reply. He'll never let you walk away from him.

“Okay, maybe not. But I am honored that you've deigned me worthy of contact now, given I've been trying to reach you and your lovely girlfriend for some time. What can I do for you?”

Because with a man like Charlie Holsan, you can never turn your back on blood. “Sloane’s business with her sister is exactly that—hers. If she hasn't been very receptive in responding to you or your wife, then maybe Alexis shouldn't have cut her out of her life and left her to worry for two fucking years.”

Rebel makes a grunting sound on the other end of the line. “Not our fight to have, brother. This one's on the girls, but you know things are never as simple as they seem. Take this situation with my boy for example. Our Mexican friend has taken Cade and is telling me he'll only let him go if I’m present to collect him. Now, why do you think that might be?”

So he does already know about Cade. As for his question, there's only one reason I can think of and that's a glaringly obvious one. “Because he's planning on killing you and he needs to know where you're going to be.”

“Exactly what I figured. So here I am, on my way to pick up my boy, knowing Julio’s planning on shooting me in the face. Now why do you think that it is?”

“Because Cade's your boy. And you have something on Julio. You must have for him to be so careful around you. Fuck, I hear you have something on everyone.”

Rebel laughs again, his breath crackling down the line. “You might just be right, brother. It's always advantageous to have a few interesting pieces of information up your sleeve at all times, especially when dealing with people like these. With people like you.”

If that's Rebel's idea of a subtle way to let me know he has information on me, he needs to work on his delivery. “Whatever, man. You have this Julio thing fucking handled or what? ’Cause I have other places I can be. I just wanted to make sure Cade was safe.”

“You can rest easy. Cade’ll be fine, and so will I. Information isn't the only thing that I have on Julio Perez. I've had a gun trained on his back for the last three years. It's a good idea to plant a guy every once in awhile. An inside man, if you will.”

This guy seems to have everything worked out. It's almost a relief; Rebel will take care of his VP, and I can go back to the apartment and have a conversation with Sloane. She needs to leave town for a while. She's not gonna like it, not one bit, but it's the only solution I can think of where she'll be safe while I deal with the Charlie situation.

The fucking Charlie situation. You can never walk away from a man like Charlie Holsan. You can never turn your back on blood.

I inhale sharply, trying to push that thought out of my head. There's no way Charlie is blood to me. No fucking way in hell. I would know. After all the years of working for him, living with him, doing exactly what he asks, I would fucking know if he was related to me. It’s just not possible. “When everything is squared away with the Mexicans, come by my apartment. I trust you know where that is?”

“I may. Any chance you feel like telling me why?”

“I have something I need you to take back to New Mexico with you.”