Gazing at the rail track suspended a few meters overhead, Fiona realized why she’d never noticed the marketplace sprawled across the flatbed of the decommissioned double-rig semi below it. At the far end, near the cab where the eldest Brother Gomez presided, panels of mesh-plated canvas hung from the track, shielding the flatbed when the market was closed.

  As she took in the scene, Teodoro waved off the guns in display—10mm repeater pistols and .357 Magnum revolvers—noting they were too fierce for her hands to handle consistently.

  Fiona cast enamored glances at Teodoro as they wove through the crowded display cases. Even as he racked a pistol’s slide to inspect it, his lips curved into a knowing smirk, catching her frequent gazes.

  She’d never met anyone with sharper intuition.

  His scent—cedarwood, fine leather, and brush sage—lingered, tempting her to lean closer to his leather overcoat.

  She could just wrap herself up inside of it.

  But with a slow exhale, she steadied herself, remembering her meeting with Rubin was less than an hour away. It would be all business. Another deep breath, another quiet sigh.

  Teodoro’s voice broke her reverie.

  “Alright, you want my recommendation? This 1902 .38 Colt Sporting Model, rebuilt as a double-stack, is your best bet. Laredo Armory’s take on the design. Their craftsmanship is always solid. Any guess what makes this one special?”

  He handed her the pistol. The word L.A. Redux was emblazoned on the right-hand grip side. The charcoal-blue frame caught a subtle luster under a set of golden seasonal bulbs above them. The rounded barrel accented by radial serrated mounts would need custom optics to fit the design.

  A well crafted gun with these such aesthetics could be an expensive hobby in its own right, Fiona considered.

  Teodoro chuckled. “I don’t blame you for eyeing it like a prize, but my question’s about function,” he teased.

  Fiona gripped the pistol, testing its balance as if ready to fire, searching for what set it apart. Then she noticed it: a sleek switching mechanism curving along the trigger guard, requiring a deliberate press to engage.

  Teodoro grinned. “Press it down to disengage the safety for single-shot mode—one pull, one round. Slide it to the last notch, and it’ll unleash all eighteen rounds in the magazine, plus the chambered one. The second-to-last notch fires nine rounds per pull, and the third option’s a three-round burst.”

  He extended his palm, and she returned the pistol.

  “It’s built for speed, too,” he continued. “Empty the magazine, and the next trigger pull ejects it. Release the trigger, and it grabs your spare mag automatically. Back at the range, we’ll drill this until it’s second nature—if you’ve got the time.”

  Her Extenza Personal Assistant hummed sharply in her earpiece, jolting her senses. She’d forgotten that it was still buried inside.

  Fiona’s nose crinkled above a severe frown; her irritation flared at the untimely intrusion.

  Fiona turned over her wrist to glance at the message relayed from the PA sitting in her python-leathered satchel to her wrist reader’s LED screen.

  No meeting tonight. Called off. Stay away from the Segunda. Lay low until I call. últimos Días has inquisitors prowling Matorral Viciosa. I’ll know more in 24.

  He'll know more in twenty-four hours? Hell does blaze, Fiona cursed. Inquisitors answer directly to Rubin. How can he not know?

  Teodoro leaned closer, his eyes scanning the message from over the nape of her neck.

  “Rubin’s spooked? That’s hardly reassuring.”

  Her cheeks flushed at the amateurism of reading text out in the open. Bad tradecraft, Fiona.

  “I’m not sure you were meant to see that.”

  Teodoro shrugged, his long, wiry shoulders easing back as he answered, “Probably not. Rubin’s tossed me commissions to clear territory for his hunting parties, but I’m no insider. Little brother is much closer to your people”

  She flashed a tight grin, affecting a wide-eyed, puppy-dog appearance.

  “Likely no harm done, and now you’re in on my little predicament.”

  Teodoro nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Now that your evening’s free, we can have you shooting like a seasoned pro before dawn cracks.”

  Rubin’s warning—Stay away from the Segunda—echoed in her mind like a distant alarm. She lifted her gaze to Teodoro’s eyes, their wolf-gray depths staring back in predatory fashion.

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  That look he gave thrilled the hell out of her.

  She silenced Rubin’s caution lingering her doubts with determination to see the evening through. To not just lay low, but make her investment in it pay off.

  Nodding vigorously, Fiona answered, “I think I’d like that.”

  Teodoro’s training regimen didn’t disappoint. After testing the Laredo Armory 1902 Sporting Redux’s polished mechanics for himself, he handed the gun back to her with a grizzled murmur. “Full-auto loadout clocks at 1.2 seconds. I caught a slight hitch in the chambered round, but it’s nada. So, I’m setting your goal: two seconds to aim and fire, two more to swap your mag. With four magazines per test round, that’s sixteen seconds total.”

  He slid four magazines into her leather satchel, pushing them neatly under an internal band to keep them upright and secure, then laid out the challenge: empty a full magazine into each of four targets in under sixteen seconds.

  Teodoro rested his palm on her left shoulder, where the satchel’s strap bit into her blouse. His touch, rough but pleasantly so, warmed up against her skin.

  Focus, Fiona. It's not the time… At least, not yet.

  “When I lift my hand, start,” Teodoro said, his voice commanding, his eyes demanding her to pay attention as they nudged her gaze back to the gun.

  When he raised his hand, her first magazine took fifteen seconds to slam into the mag well, switch to full-auto, and pepper the target. The next target took eight seconds from start to finish, at which point Teodoro raised a hand to pause her.

  Frown lines weighed on her brow as Fiona muttered, “So sorry.”

  Teodoro’s chuckled with aplomb, and he made light of it. “No need for an apology. I’m assessing your gaps, and trust me, aim’s not one of them. Those groupings are tight.”

  Fiona followed his nod, her breath catching as she saw how precisely her shots clustered on both targets.

  “Damn,” she whispered. A grin chided her out of her funk.

  He leaned in, his wiry frame brushing her left shoulder, his hip grazing hers with a casual touch. Now beset with adrenaline, her thighs quivered.

  Though unspoken, it was obvious where this was leading.

  The grey eyes narrowed with a teasing edge. “Just a bit of muscle memory work, and you’ll be a first-rate shootist, mi chica.”

  He lingered a beat, his gaze holding hers before stepping off the range's floorbed to retrieve more clips for the mags from inside the supply shack, leaving her tingling wantonly in his absence.

  Half an hour was how much either could endure of the teasing give-and-take before Fiona made her own first move.

  The range had nearly emptied out of everyone else but the two of them by this point. When the last gentleman, who wore a casual floral shirt, stepped off the range with his workspace cleared off and his bags intact, Fiona was ready to initiate.

  As Teodoro demonstrated the need to keep all the magazines facing in the same direction, bullet side facing towards her body, the rimless jacket side facing to her left, away from her body, she leaned her breasts firmly into his arm.

  Teodoro fumbled the magazine he held back into her satchel, stared ahead, and blinked. He got the message.

  Fiona put her lips near his left ear and breathed into it the humid words, "I want you inside me. I want you in me now."

  He straightened up his posture. There was a seriousness about his expression that she had not seen displayed before. Teodoro pressed her close, and she could feel him get hard against her abdomen.

  His left hand caressed the nape of her neck. He'd eyed it the entire evening. His other hand reached under her jeans and glided calloused fingertips into her already soaking pussy.

  "Well, inside me it is then." Fiona's grin perched before her mouth grabbed for his lips in turn. "And that's a very good start."

  The room on the back wing of the motel was already paid for; at Fiona's plea to use it, he grabbed her hand, and they sprinted across the parking lot.

  They ignored everything going on between the range and their destination—the purple speckled pools of oily water dripping from the biofuel pumps fueling the motel, the pugnacious smell of boiled hotdogs coming from the second-story diner, two couples ignoring the locked gate, skinny dipping in the pool, and the swoon of something gliding pass the moon.

  The last was an act of willful ignorance on Fiona's part. She wasn't going to adjust her projected trajectory of activity for the mere aloof dangers the world provided until after she came herself into a blue oblivion.

  Once inside the room, Teodoro dropped his long coat on the floor, reached for her top, and helped her out of it. She pushed him on the bed, straddled atop of him, and grazed her breast in his face, very much pleased as he nibbled away at them and roughly scraped his nails while grabbing them.

  The two settled upon a groove as they rubbed against one another for several minutes until Teodoro clasped her by her upper arms and chuckled, "You gonna help me out of my pants? They're bending my dick to the point of snapping."

  She did so, and he did not disappoint. In her experience, there was something about long, wiry, thin gauchos: their members tended to be huge.

  Fiona threw his clothes across the room, pushed him further up the mattress, and, with both hands holding onto his penis firmly, buried her lips down to its base.

  With throat game established, she got lost in the rhythm; it was her absolute favorite thing to do in the world.

  Yet, for the last several weeks she denied the pleasure to Rubin. Her excuses were a protest, perhaps passive-agression even, for the humiliation that he put her through--having her couple with a woman she hated.

  But, Teodoro looked so beautiful laying there watching her in turn.

  Entirely caught up in the moment, she had no idea how much time had passed when the door creaked open. Teodoro cursed as his hands pushed her head away.

  Fiona was completely confused until she heard a familiar voice say to someone else.

  "You can't kill that one. He's the middle Gomez brother. Set to stun."

  It was Senior Inquisitor Izquira Pavano.

  Holy shit! They sent him!

  Fiona dislodged her throat as Teodoro aggressively whipped away from her. She pulled her head up and turned around as a sizzling electric blue dart barely missed her head and lodged into Teodoro’s chest.

  He jerked back, then folded into a seizure. The current pulled at her skin as Fiona pushed away from him.

  She instantly thought of a means of self-defense, but in their horny haste, the Laredo Armory .38 Sporting Redux was left back at the range.

  Teodoro’s long coat held a heavy-caliber revolver; it was bundled up in the corner on the opposite side of the room with the two Inquisitors standing between.

  Fiona balled up her fists and faced them.

  "Pavano. What the hell are you doing here?"

  After noting she was topless with her jeans loose on her hips with a smirk, the Inquisitor eyed her squarely before he spoke:

  "You are in a world of shit, Senora."

  He nodded at his enforcer companion, who promptly shouldered his air rifle and shot Fiona in the left nipple with an electrified dart.

  Before she lost consciousness, that truly did sting.