“We dropped our names, numbers and some cash on people. On our way back, we’ll drop more and his picture at motels and pawn shops he might hit. He pops, we’ll get calls then you’ll get calls. But just to say, from soap on a mirror to you, I wouldn’t waste resources sending brothers to Vegas. Gut tells me he’s heading home.”
Tack turned and saw Shy stepping in, Rush leaning against his doorjamb.
He shook his head.
Shy’s mouth went tight, the skin around Rush’s eyes did the same.
Playboy could be heard shouting, “Da, Da, Da!”
Tack looked at his son-in-law.
His mouth was no longer tight.
Playboy talking wasn’t new. His grandson had been picking words up for months.
But that particularly never failed to put his father in a good mood no matter what shit was going down.
“Family dinner, Raid. I gotta get back to it. We owe you men. You got call to do it, you come to us.”
“Just feed us at a hog roast, we’re in town, Tack. This is for you. This is for Knight. But mostly this is for five dead women and one dead guy.”
“Yeah,” Tack grunted.
“Later, and hope this is over soon for you, man.”
“I do too, Raid. I fuckin’ do too,” Tack replied.
They hung up.
“Let me guess, he was one step ahead of fuckin’ Raid Miller, Nick Sebring and Deacon Gates,” Rush bit out. “Again.”
“He’s a man on the run with cops and heat on his ass. He’s not gonna take time to sit by the pool. It isn’t their fault,” Tack returned.
“I’m not saying it is.” Rush yanked his hand through his hair. It went back, fell again into his eyes, then he scrubbed his fingers along his bearded cheek and muttered, “Just way done with this jackhole.”
“I hear that.”
“Da, Da, Da, DaDaDa!” Playboy shrieked.
“Best get back to my son,” Shy said, and Rush moved out of his way so he could leave the room.
Father and son looked at each other.
“You want me to grab Snap, head to Vegas?” Rush offered.
“I want every brother packin’ and on guard. That asshole’s heading home. It’s showtime, Rush. We just don’t got the playbill.”
Rush was not happy about that.
He still nodded, turned and disappeared from the doorway.
Tack drew in a heavy breath.
Then he followed his son.
Snapper
Six twenty-seven, Monday evening . . .
Leaving the Compound, on his way home to Rosalie, Snapper pulled to the curb, cut power to his bike, slammed the heel of his boot on the stand, swung his leg over the saddle and prowled to the bike that had just parked behind him.
Jesus, the fucker didn’t even try to hide the tail.
“You’re shittin’ me, right?” he clipped.
“Man—”
“You’re fuckin’ shitting me, right?” he repeated.
“Amends, Snapper,” Throttle muttered.
“Fuck you, Throttle.”
“Not Throttle anymore,” he said.
“You’ll always be Throttle, asshole. And you know why.”
The man flinched, and when he did, Snap caught the fading shiner and the cut in his lip.
He recovered, kept his seat on his bike and held Snapper’s eyes.
“Word’s all over the street, Chew’s comin’ back.”
“And this is your business because . . . ?”
“Because, like it or not, Snapper, Resurrection has got your back.”
Snap’s body shot straight.
“This is me tellin’ you,” Throttle said. “Hopefully Chew won’t notice us. But the boys voted, we know the slate can’t be cleaned, we still wanna make amends so we’re gonna have your back.”
“We do not need Bounty’s bullshit protection.”
“Not Bounty and not protection. More eyes, Snapper. That’s it. More eyes. More ears. We aren’t asking, but we’re listening. And you won’t see us. He won’t see us. We won’t be in our cuts or on our bikes. We got jobs, women, kids, we can’t be everywhere all the time. But we’ll be where we can and when we are, no one can tail your ass without you knowing if he’s got a tail on his ass.”
“We do not want this shit, Throttle, and I’ll put it out there, I particularly do not want this.”
“I get that.”
“Then back off.”
“No.”
Snap stood immobile and stared at the fuck.
Then he tried something else.
“This guy is dangerous and desperate and you and your brothers don’t know dick about doin’ what you’re doin’. He makes you, who’s gonna protect you?”
“That’s our lot.”
Snapper blew out a breath.
“We bought that, that’s our lot,” he reiterated. “We’re not askin’ for forgiveness—”
“That’s good,” Snap bit out.
“We’re just doin’ the right thing.”
“It isn’t right if it isn’t wanted.”
“I’ll point out, man, you’re ridin’ home alone to Rosalie.”
“I’m armed and alert and know Chew’s probably back in town.”
Throttle shook his head. “Man, we fucked up Rosalie—”
“Don’t have to remind me.”
Throttle kept going like Snapper didn’t talk.
“We had a fuckin’ pedophile with a patch.”
“Can’t say that surprised Chaos.”
“Snapper, you can turn on the dick and I’ll take it,” he growled. “I earned it. But you aren’t callin’ us off.” He threw out an arm indicating their current chat. “Courtesy. After this, you won’t see me. Core. Grill. Eight. Muzzle. The rest. But we’ll be there. It’s done. You can get pissed. Get in my face. You can lay me out right here, I won’t land a punch. Then I’ll get up, clean up, and we’ll still do that shit.”
“For Chaos?” Snapper asked incredulously.
“No, man,” Throttle said low. “For Rosalie.”
Goddamned shit.
“She heard what you did, she dropped the charges, Throttle. Move on.”
“That can’t happen ever, Snapper, not fuckin’ ever,” he bit out. “You can’t know how that is and that’s good for Rose. But this is what I bought. What we bought. Our lot. And we’re doin’ it, you like it or not.”
“Hear Web stepped down,” Snapper remarked.
“Club needed new blood.”
Word on the street, Snap knew that new blood was Throttle.
Snap jerked his chin toward Throttle. “And you lead your club on a death mission?”
“Amends.”
Christ.
“They know you CIed their asses?”
His threat was not vague.
“Suffice it to say, a brother just kicked out of the club turns out to be a murdering pedophile, Resurrection wasn’t too upset about one of their own workin’ with the cops to try to take down a slimy, drug-dealing, porn-producing pimp and ending up getting a predator off the streets. They got my honesty and they meted atonement.”
They’d beat him down as atonement. That black eye. Cut lip. He’d taken his brothers’ fists to make amends.
And now it was done.
“And they made you their president,” Snap finished for him. “Fuck, you guys are nuts.”
Throttle shrugged.
Snapper tried something else.
“I hear you got a woman.”
Throttle went more alert.
Snapper continued, “Chew makes you, takes you out, what about her?”
“She’s beautiful. She’s sweet. She’s smart. And she’ll be able to move on, knowin’ her man died doin’ the right thing.”
“Fuck, you’re crazy,” Snapper whispered.
“I was, now I’m very sane. I know what I’m doin’. I know what I’m about. I know what my club’s about. I know the kind of club it’s gonna be. And I know the man I wanna be. And I’m go
nna be that man, Snapper. That’s just the way it’s gonna be.”
“You won’t get any gratitude and you won’t get any allegiances.”
Throttle nodded his head in acceptance.
“We aren’t askin’ for that. But while you’re not offering it, just a heads up. Before he left town, Chew got a quote on a coupla jobs. Digger’s feelin’ the lost love. Web threw him a bone with a visit in the clink, he got chatty. So we’re not only covering your asses, we’re lookin’ for this guy. More for you, this lunatic goes by the street name Sparkle. I do not get that shit, but Digger spouted that Chew crowed this motherfucker likes the sparks that fly when he’s sharpening his knife. Find him, that threat is no longer shadowing you ’cause Chew’s a dickless user and he knows he gets anywhere near a Chaos brother, you’ll tear him apart.”
Snap felt a chill race up his spine.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
“Chew hired a hit?” he asked.
“This guy’s expensive, man. Chew’s reign of terror was about making that payment. Further heads up, according to Digger, he already had a stash. So he might have needed to make up the shortfall, but my gut says, since he’s headed back, he’s achieved that goal.”
Shit.
“Do not look for this guy, Throttle,” Snap warned.
“Amends,” Throttle replied.
On that, they were obviously done because Throttle fired up his bike, pulled it off the stand, kicked it up with his heel and looked to Snapper to get out of his way.
Snapper moved out of his way.
But Throttle didn’t ride off.
Fuck.
Rather than shout at him over the pipes when he knew it would get him nowhere, Snap stalked to his bike, got on, and rode home.
Throttle followed him, idling at the foot of the drive after Snap turned in.
“Jesus, fuck me,” he muttered as he waited outside the garage for the door to open.
He rolled in, got off his bike fast, and stood staring out at the dark beyond the bay as the door went down.
Only when it was closed did he hear Throttle’s pipes as he rode away.
Then he pulled out his phone.
He called Rush and shared they had a new ally and they had a new lead.
When he was done, he left that shit with his bike.
Rosie would not know any of it.
“Jesus, fuck me,” he repeated.
Then he opened the door to get to his woman.
Millie
One thirty-seven, Wednesday afternoon . . .
I was sitting at the light at 32nd and Federal, almost home, when I heard someone lay on their horn behind me.
I looked in my rearview and saw Roscoe and Brick on their bikes, their heads turned to look behind them.
The car behind them jumped as if it had been bumped.
“What on—?”
It wasn’t only the fact that Brick whipped out a gun that silenced me.
Or that Roscoe threw down his stand and jumped off his bike.
“Oh my God,” I breathed in panic, and I stared when the car behind the brothers jacked the wheel, went up on the curb and rode half on, half off the road.
My body jolted and I ducked down when I heard the gunshots.
Close to hyperventilating, tipping my head way back, I looked out my side window when the shots stopped, and I heard cars honking and skidding as clearly that car ran the light.
I saw a truck following.
Then thankfully I saw Brick alive and well with no bullet holes on his bike following the truck.
But I sat frozen stiff in my car.
Chew had been in that first car.
Chew.
Following me.
And firing at Chaos.
Roscoe.
I sat up just as Roscoe rapped on my window.
Thank God. Thank God. Thank you, God.
I turned to stare up at him.
“Turn off. Pull over. I’m drivin’,” he ordered through the window.
I nodded and somehow got it together to turn off on 32nd when the traffic started rolling again and then I found a place to pull over.
Roscoe pulled in behind me, abandoned his bike and as he was jogging toward my car, I hit the locks, undid my seat belt and jumped seats.
He yanked open my door, folded in, took nary a second to adjust the seat and check the mirrors.
Then he roared onto the road.
I did not remind him to put on his seatbelt.
I just put mine on.
He had his phone to his ear.
“Tack? Yeah. Chew, fuckin’ Chew was following us following Millie. Had a Bounty or whatever the fuck, think it was Eightball, on his ass. Eightball made him. Think he pulled in behind us on Twenty-Ninth. Know we didn’t have him before that. Doesn’t matter. He fired on us as he took off. Brick’s on him. Eightball’s on him. Federal, just past Thirty-Second. I got Millie. Going to Chaos.” Pause. “Right. Yeah. Later.”
He dropped his phone in his lap.
“He’s following me,” I whispered.
“You’re safe.”
“He’s following me.”
“Get ready to move into the Compound, darlin’,” Roscoe muttered.
I closed my eyes and turned to the side window.
I opened my eyes and looked forward. “That was brash, you two with me.”
“Desperate man. Desperate deeds.”
I turned to Roscoe. “Why’s he following me?”
Roscoe didn’t say anything.
I knew what his silence meant.
Chew used to have a thing for me.
“That was years ago, Roscoe.”
“Babe, love never dies. Fucked-up, loser, unrequited love apparently burns down deep.”
I shut up.
My phone rang.
I grabbed my purse, took it out and then sucked in a huge breath before I took the call.
I tried to make my voice calm. “Hey.”
“Compound,” High ground out. “Do not leave.”
Like I was ever leaving Chaos again.
Bullets were flying.
“Okay, honey,” I whispered. “Please be safe.”
My Logan did not promise to be safe.
He hung up.
Chew was even more screwed than he’d been before.
But I didn’t care.
My man was pissed.
And bullets were flying.
I pulled it together. “You okay, Roscoe?”
“YouTubin’ how to scalp a guy soon’s I can.”
I shut up again.
But I did it hoping YouTube didn’t offer that kind of instructional video.
“We’ll get him, Millie,” Roscoe muttered, turning onto Speer.
I knew they would.
But still . . .
That was what I was afraid of.
Rush
Six forty-three that evening . . .
The beer shattered against the wall, foam flying, right before High stalked out.
Eightball had sustained a shattered windshield due to the bullets going through it, glass flying in his face, slugs flying by his head. He got cut up from the glass, but fortunately not hit by a bullet, but he swerved, this taking him out of the chase.
Chew cutting Brick off and sending him into oncoming traffic, which nearly got his neck broken, took him out the pursuit.
No other brother was close enough to join the hunt.
Chew had gotten away.
No one was happy.
Though High took top of that heap.
At least for that night.
“I’ll get Jag or Chill on that,” Speck muttered, referring to the beer dripping down the wall.
Like anyone gave a shit about the beer dripping down the wall.
“Hop, men on High,” Tack growled.
Hop got up to do it himself.
Dog followed him.
His dad looked at him.
“Everyone locked down?”
“Women and kids are all here,” Rush told his father.
Tack nodded. “Call Throttle. Find out if they got anything.”
“I’ll do that,” Snapper put in.
“Not for you,” Tack grunted.
“Yeah it is.”
Rush didn’t get that.
Snapper did, and he wasn’t in the mood to discuss. He got up from the table and walked from the room.
“Someone get Dutch or Jag or Chill to order pizza or Chinese, or some shit. Delivery. We’ll regroup tomorrow. Everyone’s here for the duration,” Tack ordered.
Shit.
Fuck.
Tack pushed his seat back and prowled out of the room.
Rush caught some eyes, noted grim looks on faces that he felt down to his gut, and he followed.
He found Rebel in his room, sitting cross legged on her ass in the middle of his bed, hands upturned, thumbs to her middle fingers.
Her closed eyes shot open when he came through the door.
“Meditation doesn’t work in an MC Compound,” she declared.
God, his brothers got fired on, one nearly got dead in a car chase, and she made him want to laugh.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Hell no,” he answered.
“Come here,” she whispered.
He closed the door and went there.
Climbed in the bed.
She took him in her arms.
He dragged her up his chest, fell to his back, and claimed her in his.
“We’re getting Chinese or pizza or something,” he muttered.
“’Kay.”
“Essence with her son?”
“She checked in. She successfully distributed her cats and she’s with Beau. He named himself Beau, incidentally. She named him Dharma.”
God, he loved Essence. The woman was just her and he liked that.
Still, he said, “Jesus.”
“He’s ex-military. Former marine. He fell far from the tree. But he’ll know how to look after his mom,” she assured him. “She’d have gone to him weeks ago, if she wanted him freaked out a dead body was dumped in front of her house. Needless to say, now that he’s in the know about what’s been going down, he’s hip on evicting me.”
“Rebel—”
She gave him a squeeze. “Do you think Essence would ever evict me?”
He did not.
“Cool, baby,” he muttered.
She pressed closer. “It’s gonna be fine.”
His brothers dodged bullets and broken necks and one of their women was followed.
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