“I’ll report in. Just get it done and get on the road to Boulder.”
“Play it smart, Rush,” he warned.
“Both my parents are on the line, High. You don’t have to say that shit.”
“Both your parents bein’ on the line is why I gotta say it,” High fired back. Then, “I’m out.”
He disconnected.
Rush made three more calls, the first one to Mitch, who was less interested in sending out squads than what Chaos was doing and why they were doing it, so he wasted precious time pushing it, which meant Rush hung up on him, knowing he’d still send the squads.
The other two calls were to brothers to brief.
And then he decided word would make the rounds.
So he was going to pay attention to what was happening.
Tack
Thirty-three minutes later . . .
The door to the apartment was ajar when he got to it.
Gun in his hand, standing to the side, slowly, Tack pushed it in.
“Don’t worry, oh Holy Tack, got a show for you before we end this,” Chew called. “Come on in, brother.”
Tack moved around slowly, carefully, hitting the open doorway, eyes adjusting to the light in the room after being in the dark.
She was tied to a chair. Beat all to hell. Nightgown ripped and hanging on her. One breast showing.
The mother of his children.
Exposed.
Beat to hell.
The fury boiled.
He clamped hold on it.
“We had fun before I texted you, Naomi and me,” Chew taunted.
He was standing beside her with a gun to her head.
Tack looked to Naomi.
She could barely focus, he’d beat her so badly, but she did.
She did.
He saw it there.
Fear.
Gratitude.
And she’d made peace.
So whatever happened, he could put their kids at peace.
Or try.
But she knew.
It was her, or him.
And she was down with it being her.
He nodded even though he was going to do what he could to make that not have to happen.
“Got my cum up her snatch,” Chew told him, and Tack’s eyes moved to his former brother.
Too thin.
Hair greasy.
More years than he’d lived etched in his face.
“Yeah, we had fun, Naomi and me,” Chew sneered.
He’d raped her.
Tack stared at Chew, the last of the filth that had been Chaos, and breathed, slow and steady.
But he said nothing.
“Put your gun down,” Chew ordered.
If Tack killed him before he blew a hole in Naomi’s head, he might do time.
He would not do that to Tyra, his kids.
“Put your fucking gun down!” Chew exploded.
He had to shoot at the gun in his hand.
A gun that was close to Naomi.
“Put your motherfucking gun down!” Chew screamed.
Tack looked in Chew’s eyes.
“Right,” he spat, turned to Naomi.
Tack lifted his gun quickly.
Then Tack’s body jerked when Chew’s head exploded.
Beck
At that same moment . . .
Beck took the rifle from his shoulder.
Swung the strap there instead.
He turned from the back window of the apartment Tack went into.
And he booked.
He was in his truck, carefully driving six miles above the speed limit as he took a circuitous route out of the shitty apartment complex and another circuitous route to 36.
It was close range so it would have been lame if he’d missed.
But still.
It was really good he and his brother used to go target shooting.
Really fucking good.
His brother would be proud of that shot.
Really fucking proud.
Tack
Twenty-two minutes later . . .
“Have you lost your goddamned mind?”
“Son.”
“Have you lost your goddamned mind?”
“I need to call Red,” he said quietly.
Rush shut his mouth.
“Get to the hospital, see to your mother,” he ordered.
“You cannot even imagine how pissed I am with you,” Rush rumbled.
Tack looked among his brothers who were all standing close, illuminated by a shit ton of cop cars, their lights flashing, and he could easily imagine how pissed they all were at him.
He pulled out his phone to call his wife.
It rang in his hand.
A number he didn’t know.
Christ.
“What?” he snarled when he took the call.
“Free and clear. Chaos is free and clear. Now Resurrection and Chaos are solid, Tack,” Beck said.
Disconnect.
Jesus.
Tack stared at his phone.
“What?” Rush clipped.
Tack smiled at his phone.
“What?” Rush barked.
He ignored his son.
And called his wife.
Suffice it to say, she was pissed as shit too.
He still knew he was going to get a blowjob that would rock his world when he got home.
Because that was the way Red rolled.
Naomi
When Naomi opened her eyes, she saw a woman, her head tipped down, her red hair hiding her face, and she thought that woman was herself for a second.
But she wasn’t.
Naomi’s red had faded.
Now she had to dye it since it was all gray.
That wasn’t her sitting there.
The woman’s head came up and her blue eyes turned to Naomi.
Naomi’s own eyes were kind of fuzzy.
Hell, one she couldn’t even see out of.
Shit.
She’d survived.
Good Lord.
She’d survived.
Good God.
Tack had come and saved her.
The woman looked across the room then got up and moved to the bed.
“Hey,” she whispered, bending over Naomi. “He’s passed out. Do you mind if we let him sleep?”
Slowly, and not without pain, Naomi turned her head to see her boy sprawled in a chair right beside her.
Right beside her.
“Tab’s in the hall,” the woman went on, and Naomi’s head came back.
Faster.
And that hurt worse.
The woman’s head jerked when she got Naomi’s face.
Then hers got soft.
“She’s talking to Shy,” she shared. “He’s got Playboy. She’s checking in. She didn’t want to disturb you.”
“My baby girl is here?”
Her words were slurred. Her lips felt funny. Maybe because they were swollen all to fuck and cracked to shit.
“Yeah, Naomi, she’s here. Just down the hall. She’ll be back in in a second.”
She felt the wet glide over the swollen flesh of her eyes.
“Who’re you?” she asked.
“I’m Rebel. I’m Rush’s.”
Looking at her, all she could think was, got his daddy in him, that boy.
All Tack.
All good.
Oh God.
“I do-don’t think . . . I don’t think I can—”
“Yes, you can,” Rebel said.
Naomi shook her head. “I c-can’t be—”
“Yes, you can.”
“I—”
“And you’re going to, Naomi.” Her voice was still quiet, but it was also steel. “Tabby’s pregnant again. You’re gonna get better and you’re gonna deal with what happened to you and you’re gonna sort your shit and you’re gonna make it worth his while to be sitting right there, Naomi. You’re gonna make it worth Tab’s while she rushed down here in the wee hours
of the morning to be with her mother. You’re gonna do that, Naomi. And I’m gonna be with you every step of the way to make sure you don’t falter. Are you hearing me?”
Shit.
This bitch was kinda scary.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
Rebel smiled at her.
And the bitch had amazing cheekbones.
“Tabby’s pregnant?” she asked.
“You tell her I told you, I’m stealing your Jell-O cup.”
There was someone there to feed her Jell-O.
She turned her head and there was her boy.
“I won’t say a fuckin’ word,” she mumbled.
She felt Rush’s girl move away.
They let her boy get his sleep.
It was the first kind thing she’d done for him in ten years.
And when her daughter walked in, such beauty, the instant she saw her the wet came back to Naomi’s eyes.
And that was the first kind thing she’d done for her daughter ever.
Rush
Six twenty-seven the next morning . . .
Rush opened his eyes to the smell of bacon cooking.
He got out of Rebel’s bed, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, and headed out of the room, not hitting the bathroom, going straight to her crazy-ass kitchen.
She was in a pair of pajama bottoms in a wild print, a tight pink cami, a sloppy green cardigan falling off her shoulder. Her hair was wild with sleep and sex.
And she was bent over the open oven, pulling out a cookie sheet covered in fluffy biscuits with golden brown tops.
“Hey,” he called softly.
Those pretty blues came to him and she beamed.
“I’m making my bacon and egg cheesy buttermilk biscuit sandwiches!” she declared triumphantly.
“Wanna get married?” he asked.
She stood there, oven mitt on her hand, cookie sheet held aloft, eyes huge.
Then the cookie tray clattered on the counter and she was in his arms kissing him all over his face and neck.
He was taking that as a yes.
She jerked back and looked in his eyes.
“We’ve known each other, like, three months,” she noted.
“So?” he asked.
“Not even,” she said.
“So?” he repeated
“Elvira’s getting married next month. She’ll kill us if we steal her thunder.”
“We don’t have to get married today,” he pointed out.
Though he’d be totally down with marrying her that day.
She melted into his arms.
She knew he’d be down with marrying her that day.
“I wanna get hitched in Essence’s garden,” she whispered. “In the summer. When it’s green and full and pretty.”
“We can make that work,” he told her, though he had no idea how.
His brothers, their women, their kids, her brothers, their woman. It’d be a tight fit in that jungle if they wanted anyone to see them take their vows.
He just knew, if she wanted that, he’d make it work, somehow.
“So you love me?”
At her question, Rush focused on her beautiful face.
“No, I fucking love you.”
That face shone.
And she melted even deeper.
“I fucking love you too, Cole ‘Rush’ Allen,” she replied.
“That’s good, since you’re my old lady.”
Rebel giggled.
He loved that. He loved she could be vulnerable and badass and funny and smart and infinitely loving, and she didn’t laugh.
She giggled.
So she could also be girlie.
Serious, he just loved everything about her.
“We’ll get a ring today,” he murmured, “before we go up and visit Mom.”
“Okay,” she murmured back.
“Baby, you need to turn off the bacon.”
“Oh! Right!” she cried before she pulled out of his arms.
She turned off the bacon. Took the skillet off the burner and started to get busy finishing making his breakfast.
But he caught her hand, pulled her out of the kitchen, into her bedroom and they got busy another way.
When they got back to them, the biscuits were stone cold, and the bacon had sat in its grease for an hour and a half.
So she chucked it out and started fresh.
It took a while for him to sink his teeth in her egg and bacon cheesy buttermilk biscuit sandwiches.
But when he did, they were awesome.
Rebel Yell
Tyra
Two days later . . .
“What?” Rebel shrieked.
I stood at the top of the stairs outside my office that led into the garage and watched Rebel and Rush across the bays.
I heard Rush rumble something, but not what he said.
“But I can’t!” Rebel yelled.
I had a feeling she could.
Another rumble, and as it was happening, I felt him press up against my back, his chest to my shoulder blade, his hand lighting on my waist and gliding around to my belly.
In that position, me and my husband watched as Rebel, bouncing with excitement against Rush’s body, kissed him all over his face and neck.
“Just so you know, that’s how I felt when you gave me my baby,” I told Kane.
Done with the rain of kisses, Rush’s arms closed tight around his girl, he turned her, pressed her against the driver’s side door of the shiny indigo-blue ’Cuda he’d just given her, and the kissing got focused.
The boy done good. That princess-cut rock on her finger was even Elvira-approved.
“And just so you know,” Tack’s own rumble tumbled in my ear, “that’s how I felt when you got excited when I gave you your ’Stang.”
I twisted my neck to look at his face.
From the very first moment I saw him, I loved looking at Kane Allen.
After all these years, I wouldn’t have believed it if you told me, but I loved looking at him now more than ever.
Finally, my man was free.
And he’d given me goodness since the moment I’d let him in my heart. He’d given me a beautiful home and his beautiful children, and he’d helped me make two more. He’d kept me safe. He’d given me his love. And we’d had a ton of good times, heart-warming family holidays, loud raucous biker parties, truckloads of his amazing food, and astronomical amounts of great sex.
But in all our years together, seeing that in his face, in his eyes, I’d never been happier.
Not even when I had my boys.
That last was hard to admit.
But staring into my husband’s eyes as they were now, I had no choice to admit it.
Because it was true.
He put pressure at his hand at my belly and I was shifted, turned, then marched with Tack still at my back through the door into my office.
He shut it behind us. Flipped the blinds so they were closed. Then hit the lock on the door.
He turned me in his arms.
“You ready for me to soup up a new baby for you?” he offered.
Because he could.
He could now.
He could work in the garage, tinkering with a car, blowing time being close to me and doing something he loved to do.
Yes.
He could do just that.
Finally.
“You take my baby away from me, I’m not speaking to you for eternity,” I threatened.
He grinned.
Then he pulled me closer and he kissed me.
This got relatively hot and heavy until we heard an engine roar and a squeal of tires.
Only then did Kane raise his head and smile down at me, the crinkles by his beautiful blue eyes deep, the light in them dancing.
“That girl,” he murmured. “Perfect.”
He was right.
“Glad I passed that goodness of knowin’ how to spot the one, and then not dick around in winning her, to my son,” he finis
hed.
I tipped my head to the side and reminded him, “You do remember you fucked me then kicked me out of your bed the first time we met, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t negate the fact you turned out to be perfect, ’round about the very next day, and I went all in to win,” he returned.
“You also know you’ll get laid without flowery compliments,” I went on.
He was still smiling as he shuffled me back to my desk.
“Think you’re the one gettin’ laid, Red.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
He kept smiling even as he kissed me.
Then I got laid. On my desk. In my office.
That desk had seen some action.
God, I loved coming to work.
More, I loved my husband.
And he loved me.
Tack
The day after that . . .
His phone rang.
When he saw the caller, he really did not want to take the call.
But he had to take the call.
So he stopped walking across the forecourt and took the fucking call.
“Naomi,” he greeted.
“Thanks,” she spat.
Tack drew in a big breath.
“Rush’s girl is a bossy bitch,” she declared.
Now, wait a fucking minute.
“Naomi—”
“And she’s a pain in my ass.”
Christ.
He knew it.
He shouldn’t have taken this call.
“She’s it for him, isn’t she?” Naomi demanded to know.
“She’s it for him,” Tack confirmed shortly.
“Right,” she clipped. “Did you hear me?”
“Which part?” he asked.
“The gratitude part, Tack,” she bit out.
“I think so,” he sighed.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Tack said nothing.
“Sat in that chair, he was ranting, said he was texting you, you were gonna come, didn’t think you’d do that,” she said tersely.
“Nao—”
“Didn’t want you to,” she whispered.
Tack closed his mouth.
“What would they have done without you?” she asked quietly.
Tack looked down at his boots.
“They would have mourned me, but they’d be lost without you,” she went on.
Tack closed his eyes and said nothing.
She cleared her throat and shared, “I met Playboy today.”
“I know,” he replied, opening his eyes and lifting his head.
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