Chapter Twenty-One #2
“You let my men pass through Palm Springs once a month,” he says. “Just pass. We don’t sell. We don’t stop. We move products to buyers. Fast. Quiet. No trouble.”
“And in return?” Spike asks, brow lifting.
“I clean up Billy’s mess. Take the product. Remove the risk. Ensure it never touches your streets again.”
I can feel the tension spike in the room. Foster’s already got his fingers twitching like he’s ready to launch something digital and lethal. Crusher looks one comment away from flipping the damn table. And Skip keeps looking at Max as if he’s trying to figure the man out.
“You’re asking for a monthly corridor through our territory?” Tank says slowly, like he’s trying to make sure this guy hears how insane that sounds. “For free?”
“No,” El Muerte says smoothly. “For peace .”
Skip scoffs. “Peace ain’t usually bundled with fentanyl and blood.”
Muerte’s smile finally fades. Just a flicker. But enough.
“It’s a good offer,” he says, eyes locking with Spike’s. “Better than war.”
I look at Max again. He’s still a statue. But something in his jaw twitches.
Something’s off.
Spike leans back slowly. Thinking. Calculating. Every man here knows what’s on the line.
“We don’t move drugs,” he says. “We carry them. For a price. Neutral ground. That’s our rep.”
“You let me through,” Muerte says, “and your rep stays clean. You say nothing. I say nothing. You profit from peace. I profit from efficiency.”
And there it is. The kind of deal that smells like gasoline and burns down everything if you say yes.
I shift in my seat, eyes flicking to Max. His gaze meets mine…just for a second.
Empty?
No.
Shielded.
Which begs the question…
Who the hell are you protecting, Max? Muerte…or us?
“Fine,” Spike says, his voice low and clipped. “But I have stipulations.”
“Interesting,” Muerte replies smoothly. “Do tell.”
“I’ll allow passage once a month,” Spike begins. “But your men will be escorted. Every damn time.”
“Fair enough,” Muerte nods.
“One vehicle. No convoys. No unmarked trailers. One.”
“Agreed.”
“You’ll sign a contract, drawn up by my lawyer, outlining every stipulation. Trial basis. One year.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Muerte says, voice still calm, though his eyes glint like he’s chewing glass.
“You clean up Billy’s mess. All of it. Find his distributors, his buyers, and get that fucking drug off my streets.”
He nods once. “He was reckless. A grunt. I should’ve handled him sooner.”
“You’ll also make a generous donation to the families of those who died because of that reckless little grunt,” Spike adds. “All of them.”
Muerte tilts his head, then shrugs. “Of course.”
Spike doesn’t blink. “And I get Max.”
That one lands.
Muerte stills.
Across the table, Max finally shows a flicker of life…his jaw tightening, just a tick, but it’s there.
Muerte’s smile wavers. “Max is… useful.”
“He’s not yours,” Spike says, voice like a loaded gun. “He’s a Shadow. You want passage? You give him back.”
A tense beat passes before Muerte speaks again, voice quieter now. “He came to me willingly.”
“I don’t care if he tap-danced his way into your compound singing mariachi songs,” Spike snaps. “He’s ours .”
Silence thickens.
Max stares straight ahead, unreadable. That damn blank expression he’s worn since walking in hasn’t cracked once.
But everyone in the room can feel it. This isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
“I’m aware of his past with you,” Muerte says, folding his hands calmly on the table. “However, he now belongs to Los Fantasmas. If that is your stipulation, then I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. As efficient as this would have been for me and my men, losing Max simply isn’t worth it.”
“What?” Knuckles sneers, leaning forward with a sharp grin. “Is he your fuck toy or something?”
Muerte laughs. A cold, mirthless sound that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“ Al contrario, ” he says smoothly. “Max is an asset. One I paid for in blood and loyalty. He knows my routes. My contacts. My secrets. Releasing him would be… negligent. ”
“Funny,” Spike says, voice steel-wrapped fury. “Because keeping him could be fatal. ”
Muerte’s smile doesn’t waver, but the air thickens with unspoken threats. Max doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. He just sits there like a statue. Stone-faced, silent, and still.
“You can have everything else you’ve asked for. I’ll even throw in a very hefty monthly payment for the passage. Five thousand a month just to travel for a few hours across your territory. They’ll drive the long way back.” Muerte says after a long pause. “Or you can have Max. But not both.”
Spike doesn’t answer right away.
He leans back in his chair, arms resting on the sides. His face? Blank. Calm. That kind of calm that only comes before something explodes.
He doesn’t look at Muerte.
He looks at us.
One by one. His eyes flick across the table, catching each of us in that silent, weighted way he does when he’s gauging how far he can push before someone breaks. He’s not just asking if we’re okay with this. He’s asking if we’re ready to go to war if it backfires.
My jaw tightens when his eyes land on me.
I give the smallest nod.
It’s not approval.
It’s readiness.
With a sigh that sounds like a death knell, Spike tips his chin.
“We accept,” he says, voice like iron.
Across the table, El Muerte smiles. “Excelente.”
Max doesn’t react. Doesn’t blink. Just keeps that blank, dead stare like the man inside him left the room a long time ago.
If he’s acting… he’s damn good at it.
But if he’s not?
Then we just made a deal with the devil while holding hands with a fucking eel who knows all of our secrets. Including the location of the bunker where my woman is currently hiding.
And I don’t like eels.
They’re too slippery to stab.
We make the deal.
Doesn’t mean I like it. Sure as hell doesn’t mean I trust it.
Muerte adjusts his cuffs like this is some kind of boardroom handshake instead of a powder keg dressed in leather and lies. Spike shakes his hand… barely. No smiles. No goodbyes. Just steel.
Max trails behind him. Blank-eyed. Detached.
Until he gets to me.
He pauses.
Then he smirks that same smug, twisted grin I remember too damn well.
“That woman of yours,” he says, voice just loud enough to carry, “she’s real pretty.”
I don’t think. Don’t pause. Don’t care.
I explode.
Tackle him to the ground. My fist slams into his jaw. He gets one under my ribs, and another across my cheek. Doesn’t matter. I keep swinging.
Shouting breaks out around us. Arms grab me, dragging me back.
“Bones! Stand down!”
Max lies there, coughing blood, still laughing. “Touchy.”
Muerte glances back, one brow raised, but Max is already on his feet again, wiping blood from his mouth like this is all part of the game. He falls in line, chuckling like a bastard.
Spike looks ready to kill. “Get them out of here.”
Knuckles and Crusher escort them out. The rest of us stand there, breathing hard, fury simmering just under the surface.
I flex my fingers. Blood drips.
And that’s when I feel it.
Something small. Tucked in my palm.
I open my hand to find a small folded piece of paper.
Carefully unfolding it, it reads…
Back off. Stop coming for me.
They’re everywhere.
You won’t see it coming.
They’ll kill you all.
I’m sorry, brothers.
-M
“What’s that?” Spike asks.
Passing the note over, I wait as he reads it.
“What the fuck is going on?” he sighs.
That’s a very good question.
But, my main thought is that I brought Sunny into this life. A life of violence. How could I be so fucking greedy?
There’s only one thing to do.