“Let me guess. Draegan here didn’t tell you about the last time he visited.”
Draegan had sort of hoped to avoid this conversation. “We don’t see one another much.”
“Work a lot, do ya?” Dons asked. “Guess that’s right. From what I hear, you and your brothers have built ya-selves one hell of a city about twenty miles from here. What’s the name of it again?”
“Trouble,” Kens muttered.
“That’s right. Trouble.” He snickered. “I bet you fellas see all sorts of women at Trouble’s gates. Don’t ‘cha?”
“We do indeed,” Allister replied, his voice already changing.
Allister had a slow-brewing temper in a situation like this. Under normal circumstances, he might blow off some steam, but when they had their backs against the wall, Allister was real calculated.
Those who knew Allister knew how to gauge what he’d do next just by the tone of his voice. He was already at fifty percent and another minute or two and the Vance brothers would be eating those shotguns.
“Reckon you don’t leave Trouble’s city limits much. Do ya?” Dons was too interested in Trouble. Draegan had warned the others. He’d told them. The Vance boys were not the enemies they wanted.
A big old guy, Dons was as mean as he looked. He sported scars up and down his cheeks and seemed rather proud of them, too. He constantly stroked the one running from his forehead to his chin. Each time, he’d just grin a little wider.
“Because you’re well respected, I’m gonna let ‘cha go,” Dons said, arching his brows as if he had an enlightening moment about the time he made the announcement. “I hears you fellas do some good work with battered womens and childrens.”
“What is it with these guys and their S’s?”
“Allister, don’t kick a gift pig in the belly,” Draegan said out of the corner of his mouth.
Dons looked offended. “Were you tryin’ to insult me?”
Too late.
“If he wanted to insult you, you’d know it.”
“As I was sayin’…” Dons trailed his voice. “Might be bad for me and the boys if we didn’t just let ya go back down the hill the same way ya came up.”
“And what then?” Allister asked, his voice tight. “Are ya gonna shoot us in our backs?”
“You’re gonna walk, Mr. McCall. And you’re gonna walk now.” Kens aimed his gun a little higher.
“Somebody told us you have some dry wells here. Mind if we have a look around so we can at least go back to Trouble and let Bradley know we searched the property?”
“Like you did before? Humph. I don’t think so.” Dons smirked. “See, fellas. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ins didn’t trust me. Kens, tell them ‘em what happens when somebody lacks trust in us.”
“He gets real mad,” Kens said, practically programmed.
“I see,” Allister said, lowering his arms.
“Get ‘em back up,” Dons said.
“That shotgun is ready,” Draegan reminded him.
Allister thrust his arms about halfway, this time keeping them in front of his body with his palms forward. Draegan could almost smell the death in the air, the stench of blood filling his nostrils. He hadn’t wanted a confrontation. He had hoped to sneak in, sneak out, and be home in time to eat at the café and flirt with the little honey he was beginning to think of as his own.
“Allister,” Draegan warned him. “Let’s see if we can’t talk rationally here.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” said Allister.
“We can’t leave without the girl,” Draegan told them.
“That’s a problem, boys. See, we ain’t seen her.” Kens lowered his voice and his gun, likely an unintentional action.