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.
Rush was not feeling that optimistic.
She gave him a shake.
“It can’t be anything else, honey,” she whispered.
It could be.
It absolutely could be.
Rush closed his eyes and deep breathed.
He opened his eyes and reminded her, “Got a brand-new baby down the hall who’s not safe to be in his own home.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Millie ducked in her car through a hail of gunfire.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Brick nearly hit an SUV head on.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“How do you know?” he growled.
“Because it has to be.”
He shut up.
Rebel shut up.
She let the silence flow.
Then she stopped doing that.
“Do you want me to teach you to meditate?” she asked.
“Hell no.”
“You want me to go order you some General Tso’s chicken?”
With her shooting schedule, and the cleanup after Valenzuela’s exit, they got the takeout thing down.
She knew his preferences in Mexican, pizza, Italian, Thai and definitely Chinese.
He also knew hers.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
She kissed his bearded jaw, pulled from his arms and crawled off the bed.
He watched her ass in her jeans as she moseyed to the door.
His eyes lifted when she stopped and turned to him.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.
“How do you know?” he whispered back.
“Because it’s time for you all to be free.”
After she gave him that, she gave him a small smile and went through the door, closing it behind her.
He scrubbed his face with his hands.
And he hoped his girl was right.
He was about to get up and follow her when his phone rang.
He dug it out.
Stared at the number.
And with brows furrowed, considering the state of play, even though he didn’t know who it was, he took the call.
If it was a marketing person, he’d hunt them down and strangle them.
“You got Rush,” he greeted.
“Cole, muchacho, it’s Nana.”
He sat up.
“Mamá Nana,” he murmured.
“I hear you’re next up for Chaos.”
Of course she’d heard that.
“Maybe,” he replied.
“Mm . . .”
He held his patience.
She didn’t make him wait long.
“I’m sorry, Cole, my people have been paying attention, but this one is slippery.”
Goddammit.
“I hear, I’ll share with Chaos,” she offered. “Not a freebie, jefecito. A marker.”
There was never a freebie with Mamá Nana, unless your skin was brown.
He respected taking care of your clan.
“Thanks, Mamá Nana.”
“El gusto es mio,” she murmured and hung up.
Christ, Chew wasn’t even on Mamá Nana’s radar.
“Shit,” he whispered. “I hope we’re not fucked.”
Now he had more reason to go out and get a beer, needing to share this not-so-good news with his father.
So he angled off the bed and did that.
Beck
Seven seventeen, Friday evening, a week and a half later . . .
Beck stared out the sliding glass doors in Janna’s living room, seeing nothing and not just because it was dark.
Her hand lighted on his back.
“Honey, come eat something.”
He didn’t move, just stared out the window.
She pressed her hand in at his back just as she pressed her front down his side.
“Beck, honey, please come eat something.”
His phone in his hand rang.
He looked at it, took the call.
“Yeah?”
“Throttle?”
Fuck, he hated that fucking name.
“Who’s this?”
“Tack Allen.”
He closed his eyes.
“Honey,” Janna called pleadingly.
“Amends made, Throttle, blood for blood, you boys’ asses swung way out there. Now step back,” Tack said.
He opened his eyes.
“Not gonna happen.”
“You lost a brother, Throttle. Wear the black. Stitch the patch. Step back. Heal. Stay healthy.”
Griller.
Throat slit.
Got too close.
Gone.
Fucking gone.
“Club’s already voted, Tack.”
“Do not do this to your brothers,” Tack growled.
“We already did it to ourselves and we did that way before the latest vote.”
“Throttle—”
“We got close.”
“Let us handle this.”
“We’re in, Tack. Now we’re in more than we were in and you know it. Even if I tried to talk them down, I’d fail.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then a sigh.
Yeah.
Tack knew Beck would fail at that.
“Be smart,” Tack bid.
Too late for that.
“Yeah.”
Another moment of silence then, “Sorry, my man, know too well how much this cuts. Especially for you, sitting at the head of the table when it happened.”
Beck shut his eyes again.
He opened them.
“Right. Thanks. Later.”
“Later, and Throttle?”
He caught himself from shouting “Beck!” and grunted, “Yeah?”
“Chaos, Resurrection. Brothers sat down. We’re solid.”
A Club like Chaos, what his club had done, Beck wished that could feel good.
He didn’t feel anything.
Strike that, he didn’t allow himself to feel anything because when he did, it fucking killed.
Tack disconnected.
He barely got his phone lowered when Janna had his face in her hands and now she was pressing up to his front.
“Please, Beck, come eat something.”
He looked in her sad, troubled eyes.