“Cross me,” Tack quoted, not looking at it, which meant he’d memorized it. “Get crossed. You’ve got a new friend. Can you slice open an arachnid? We’ll see.”
An arachnid.
Chew was called Chew because he collected tarantulas. Last Hound knew he had at least seven of those fuckers.
Millie had loved playing with them.
And Chew had loved that she did.
“Chew used Turnbull to squeeze Valenzuela out,” Hawk surmised. “Either he planted her there to orchestrate the takeover or they’ve been workin’ together all along and Valenzuela crossed a line when he put hands on Chaos property that’s untouchable.”
“Yeah and they either didn’t do a thorough job of it or he’s spent his enforced vacation gathering resources,” Tack replied.
All the men shifted when they heard a car pull up.
They watched Lucas and Lawson park and get out.
Hound didn’t have a good feeling about the looks on their faces as they approached the men around the picnic table, even before both cops took in that table.
“What?” Tack barked.
He had the same feeling.
It was Lawson that gave it to them.
“Got the call on the way here after we called in what you got,” Mitch said. “Natalie Harbinger was found dead in the alley behind Scruff’s Roadhouse at around one tonight. She was in a body bag, shot through the head, execution style. Done elsewhere. No blood. And in that body bag with her were two human skulls. Both male. Identities unknown but whoever they are, they’ve been dead awhile. There was also a note that said, You can fuck yourselves with your parlay. Last, crawlin’ over that mess was two tarantulas.”
Hound pulled in breath through his nose.
Natalie had been Tabby’s best friend before she went off the rails. Natalie being a cokehead took her off the rails. Her habit was what escalated bad shit between Chaos and Benito Valenzuela. And since Natalie’s shit got Chaos’s shit twisted, she’d fallen off the grid.
As far as Hound knew they’d lost touch, but Tabby would still be devastated.
What Hound did not get was why Chew would take her out, dump her behind the bar they all used to party in back in the day, and lately they’d started going back, and give the cops Crank’s and Black’s killer’s skulls, which probably would not offer any investigation dick.
Except if it wasn’t Chew who did it.
If it was Valenzuela who did it, attempting to frame Chew not only for Natalie, but for Crank and Black’s killer.
Which meant Valenzuela had the bones.
“You got anything for us on that?” Lucas asked.
“Valenzuela is back,” Tack said as answer.
“You get that note?” Lucas went on.
“Got word an ex-brother might have issues with us. He also might have issues with Valenzuela. We offered him a chat. With parlay. This was weeks ago. We’ve heard dick,” Tack told them.
“The skulls?” Lawson asked.
Tack said nothing.
“We can’t be doin’ off-radar favors when bodies are piling up, Tack,” Lawson bit off.
“There’s a new war goin’ down,” Tack told them.
“And Chaos is caught in the crossfire,” Lucas guessed.
The night was opened up by the flashing lights of police cruisers pulling into Ride.
Tack let that be his answer.
When Hound returned home, he did not find it a surprise walking into their bedroom when he saw Keely wearing one of his tees sitting cross legged in the middle of their bed with the lights on both nightstands blazing.
“You okay?” she asked the second she saw him.
He shrugged off his cut and tossed it to her ridiculous, fur-covered chair.
She hadn’t been in their place long enough to get stuck in and make it wild.
She’d get to it and he wouldn’t stop her.
If he did, he wouldn’t get the fun of giving her shit about it.
“I’m okay,” he answered, moving to stand at the end of their bed, crossing his arms on his chest and taking her in, all legs and hair and gorgeous face.
He’d experienced a lot of shit in his life then gone back to his room in the Compound and crashed, or to his crap apartment, and then crashed, never having anything as magnificent as Keely waiting for him to help him drive the shit away.
Now he’d just seen the dead body of a woman he knew, who he didn’t like but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her dead and laid out on Chaos. And he knew his brother Shy was going home with his father-in-law to land bad news on their girl that would cut Tab deep.
He’d never experienced it so he could never know what it meant to come home to that sitting right there in the bed they shared.
He just lived his life.
Now he shared it.
And staring at the woman he’d always wanted who he was sharing it with, for the first time since his memories started, even after earning her love, he felt blessed.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asked.
Blessed.
“We had an enemy,” he told her. “That enemy got a new enemy who doesn’t like us much.”
She studied him, and then said quietly, “Chew.”
“Yup.”
“And the enemy of your enemy is your friend,” she went on.
“This is not a friend we want.”
She nodded.
“Shit got ugly tonight, Keekee,” he told her gently, concerned about how she’d react since the last time shit got ugly, she was the biggest loser.
So it shocked the piss out of him when she replied, “We’re winners.”
“Say what?” he asked.
“We’re winners,” she said it stronger then.
“Baby,” he whispered.
“Do you want a big wedding?” she asked abruptly.
Christ.
Blessed.
“Go to Vegas today, you didn’t have to work,” he told her.
Keely nodded. “I want the boys and Bev there, you’ll want the brothers there. So no Vegas. Not with things getting ugly. We’ll ask Big Petey to get ordained or something. Do it in the Compound. I’ll wear a short skirt. Then we’ll all go out for a big ride, come back, hit the Compound for a party, do it the day before we head off to Baja and make Baja our honeymoon.”
“That’s two weeks away,” he pointed out.
“I need a dress, a bouquet, a cake and a trip to the liquor store. Two weeks is plenty of time.”
That was his Keely.
All she needed was him and their boys and maybe a bottle of wine or some beer.
And she was good.
He grinned at her.
“No more birth control, starting today,” she declared.
Hound stopped grinning at her.
Blessed.
“We’re both committed to riding this fast and wild, cowboy,” she said. “I’ve got my ring. You got your house. We’re all in for the win. No stopping us now.”
“Yeah,” he said, that word gruff.
She rolled up to her knees and her expression grew determined. “No one is going to beat us, Hound. I don’t care how ugly they get. It’s gotten as ugly as it can be and look at us,” she flipped her hands out to her sides. “We came out of it winners.”
“I gotta wear somethin’ stupid to this wedding?” he asked.
“No,” she answered immediately. “Just that black bib shirt and your cut.”
“That works,” he muttered.
“You’re changing diapers,” she declared and he scowled.
“Of course I am. Why would you say that shit?”
“Just making sure,” she mumbled.
“Keekee?” he called.
“Right here, cowboy.”
“Lose the shirt.”
She smiled.
Then she took off his tee, her hair flying, and tossed it aside, leaving her sitting naked on her knees in their bed in their house a five-minute ride from Chaos.
Yeah.
They were winners.
Hound had that thought.
Then he joined his old lady in their bed.
Hound wore the black bib shirt under his cut.
Keely wore a nude lace halter dress with thin straps at the sides of her neck and a crossover skirt that hiked high at the cross, showed a lot of leg and would give her plenty of room to open wide in order to straddle his ass on his bike. She wore this with a pair of high-heeled sandals that made her long legs seem like they went on forever. They also made him make the decision the minute he saw them that she’d eventually lose the dress, but she wouldn’t take those shoes off all night.
She looked her usual gorgeous, and then some.
In other words, Hound approved.
On a variety of levels.
Dutch and Jagger walked their mother from their dad’s room at the Compound to give her away.
Bev was her maid of honor.
Dutch and Jagger played double duty, since they both stood as Hound’s best men.
Big Petey got ordained and sat on his ass on the bar between the bride and groom with a half a glass of beer sitting by his hip while he said enough words that they could commit to each other verbally in front of their family, then say “I do” and finally make out hot and heavy, so into each other, not hearing the cheers and the catcalls, until they heard Jagger shout, “For fuck’s sake!”
After that, Chaos rolled out as one, hit Evergreen for a drink, then came back into town and finished the party at the Compound, which was good, because by then the hog was done roasting.
They were both too drunk to ride so they spent their wedding night in Hound’s room at the Compound where they fucked tough all night.
That was when Keely gave Hound her wedding present.
And sure as fuck, Hound approved of that too.
Keely Ironside’s wedding present to her old man was a tattoo.
When most brides would be getting their hair done, Keely was lying face down in an artist’s chair having scripted words inked in around her waist starting at the side and scrolling along the small of her back right where her man draped his arm to hold her close while they were sleeping.
It read,
Shepherd ~ Dutch ~ Jagger
Simple.
Perfect.
Forever.
Harietta
Harietta Turnbull set the binoculars down and moved from the window in the apartment over the shop across from Ride. An apartment that had a clear view down the open area of parking spots and driving space into the forecourt of the garage. You could even see some of the building in the back at the side from there.
You could definitely see the front of it.
And what she’d seen right then before turning away was a bunch of bikers and their bitches outside that building throwing back brews, or shots, or swigging direct from bottles, laughing, talking, making out, groping, music blaring so loud, she could hear it all the way where she was.
She left the apartment they’d rented years ago for her to do just what she’d been doing, got in her car that she always parked in the alley out back so they’d never see her (not that they’d known who she was, but they probably knew now), drove a block down so she could pull out where they’d never clock her and then drove home.
He was there.
Him and his fucking tarantulas.
“That one they call Hound married some Indian bitch,” she announced coming to a stop across from him where he sat, practically decaying in that armchair. “They’re partying at their clubhouse.”
“Compound,” he corrected her.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“Keely?” he asked.
“What?” she asked back.
“Indian or Native American?”
“Does it matter?” she mumbled.
“Yeah it matters,” he returned impatiently. “She Native American?”
“Yeah,” Harietta snapped.
“Fuck, he moved in on Black, motherfucker.” She watched him grouse. “Made such a big deal his brother got dead, they took out Crank and he was all in, and there he is claimin’ his dead brother’s property. Knew he was gaggin’ after Black’s woman. In the end, didn’t have the balls to do the right thing and leave her be.”
Seeing as he ranted a lot about shit like this, Harietta decided she had a date with a vodka bottle, the only good companion she had in that house.
“What else?” he demanded when she started to the kitchen.
She stopped. “What else what?”
“What else did you see?”
What she saw right then was some stupid-ass fuck who was living in the past who would not let shit go.
God, how she wished to have that day back when those bikers showed at Cammy’s school to teach kids about safety.
Safety.
What a fucking joke.
Angrily, she told him what she saw.
“I saw a bunch of people havin’ a great fuckin’ time and livin’ their lives and gettin’ married and goin’ on a ride, when two fuckin’ weeks ago my baby girl was laid out on their goddamned picnic table.”
He tried to look remorseful but he failed.
Even so, he continued to try that shit verbally.
“Baby, told you how bad I felt about that. I couldn’t know Benito would—”
She cut him off. “The man’s certifiable and has been since you made a deal with that dick.” She leaned back and tossed out an arm expansively, lowering her voice in a parody of his, “Oh, I know where the bones are buried, Benito. And I got an in with Bounty, they’re my boys and they’re lookin’ to expand. You want more manpower, I can bring it to you. You want one over on Chaos, I got the ticket.” She leaned back toward him. “Now he’s got those goddamned bones and he’s back in control of his goddamned operation, and Bounty’s a mess and seriously fuckin’ pissed at you and I’m puttin’ off those two fuckin’ cop buddies of Kane Allen’s who keep sniffin’ around here, looking for you.”
He slowly stood from his chair, doing it with his hand down so his fucking spider could crawl off then crawl all over everything.
It was creepy.
She hated it. Hated all ten of those damned things.
She’d always hated them.
For eighteen fucking years.
“I’m hurtin’ Cammy’s gone same as you,” he said quietly. “Raised that girl like my own.”
She’d had enough.
Cammy was dead.
Dead.
Throat slit and body drained of blood and laid out for a goddamned motorcycle gang.
“And then you sent her off to whore for your vengeance,” she spat.
She should have known.
She should have known.
When he put the spider down, she should have known.
The last time he put his spider down like that was after she lit into him when she was done listening to him rant about some bitch named Millie that Valenzuela’s thugs had taken. He’d gone at her, and after, he’d lost his mind for some bitch he knew twenty years ago, and made his play way before Cammy was ready for him to do it.
It was bad then, but Harietta didn’t learn.
She never learned.
She always pushed it.
He knocked her to the ground with the first strike and it didn’t take him long to start getting off on it so he fucked her dry to finish.
When he was done, he looked at her like she was a piece of dirt.
“Never learn, dumb bitch,” he muttered something she oh-so-knew, pulled out and got up, yanking up his jeans, leaving her on the carpet at his feet.
He retrieved his fucking spider.
Then he sat in his chair, grabbed his phone and made a fucking call.
Harietta dragged herself away, pulled herself up, hit the bathroom to clean him from her, and only then did she keep her date with the vodka, but with that bottle, she added a dishtowel filled with ice to put on her eye.
From the minute
she’d met him, she’d never trusted Benito Valenzuela.
Now the asshole had murdered her girl and some other girl they didn’t even know, framing her man for that bitch’s death.
And he was so damned stupid and so hung up on the past, he’d go down.
And drag her down with him.
So maybe, Harietta thought, it was time for a different deal to be struck.
She’d spent years on and off watching Chaos.
Now she was thinking it was high time she paid it a visit.
Harietta wouldn’t make an approach to the old guard.
She’d go for the young one.
Kane Allen could take one look at you and read all the words the devil himself wrote on your soul.
But Cole Allen . . .
He was young.
He hadn’t learned yet how deep the devil’s words could burn. He wouldn’t see the black marks obliterating her soul.
He’d be just the ticket.
Keely
The shades were drawn as I lay on my side, staring into the darkened room.
Hound entered the bed behind me. He lifted my arm and tucked the hot water bottle low on my abdomen before he put my arm back and covered it with his, holding the heat right where I needed it and holding me against his heat curled at my back.
“Maybe I’m too old,” I whispered.
“Baby,” he whispered into the back of my hair. “We’ve only been tryin’ a coupla months.”
That day, I got my period, and the shitty-ass cramps that had always come with it.
“You want me to make the calls? Tell everyone the cookout is off?” he asked.
It was our first big do since we got the house. Hound had bought enough brats to feed half of Denver. Everyone was coming. Chaos. Bev and Tad. Dutch with his new girl. Jag with one of his harem of girls. And although everyone else was bringing their kids, Keith from work and his wife Megan were getting a sitter for the first time so they could let loose.
“Just downed the four ibuprofen you gave me, the hot water bottle, I’ll be good by this afternoon,” I muttered.
He pulled me closer and muttered back, again into my hair, “We’re winners, Keekee. Yeah?”
I closed my eyes.
He gave me a shake with his arm.
“Yeah?” he pushed.
I opened my eyes. “Yeah, cowboy.”
“Makin’ you come helps, baby,” he reminded me of the times before he’d experienced this with me and we’d found Hound going at my clit until he made me climax definitely helped.
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