Tack felt his lips curl up.
Elvira was Tyra’s girl and Hawk was Elvira’s boss. Hawk was a different kind of brother to Tack for a variety of reasons. And Hawk was a man who got things done and didn’t mind how he had to go about doing that.
Tack looked to the room.
“Boz, Hound, deal with the man who thinks coercin’ head for payment of legal fees is something he can do and convince him he’s wrong.”
Boz nodded.
Hound looked ecstatic.
Tack shook his head.
Tyra gave them the attorney’s name.
They took off.
He looked to Speck. “Go with them. Make sure Hound doesn’t kill anyone.”
Speck shot him a grin and took off.
Tack turned to Hop. “We need whatever we can get on her ex and his father.”
“They got judge friends, we got added problems to the ones we already got, Tack,” Hop warned.
“You watch that girl listen to her replacement tell her she couldn’t see her sick son?”
Hop’s jaw went hard.
“Worth it to you that doesn’t happen again?” Tack asked.
“Don’t ask that shit. You know it is. But it’s my job to point out where this Club is at,” Hop returned. “And, bottom line, brother, this shit is bigger than we think it is, it’s gotta go under the gavel.”
He was not wrong.
“I’ll find out,” Hop carried on. “Then we’ll know if we need a meet.”
Tack lifted his chin. Hop took off.
Tack looked to his wife. “Feel like talkin’ Big Petey into opening a daycare center?”
He heard her soft laughter. “He’s already got two hooligans at his informal one.”
“Pete likes babies.”
It was then, her eyes got soft and they stayed on him. “I’ll give him a call.”
She hopped off the table and he enjoyed the show. Then she bent into him to touch her mouth to his.
He liked that too, but would wait to get more later.
She strutted her ass out, and this time Tack took the time to appreciate it.
Shy moved to him and took the seat beside him to his left, where he sat at meetings, a position he’d earned fast because he was smart, loyal to his brothers, and loyal to the Chaos family.
“Tab’s friendly,” he said.
Tab was Tack’s daughter, the girl Shy had earned the hard way.
And Shy was right. Tabby was friendly and usually open to recruiting new sisters into her crew.
Tack looked at his brother and son-in-law.
“See if she’s recruiting.”
Shy nodded.
Tack looked at the door.
“Gone for her.”
That was Shy. He was talking about Joker.
He would know. He had the love of a good woman, gave that back.
Tack knew too. He had the same.
He looked back to Shy. “Before shit went down, he was set on icing her out.”
Shy held his eyes.
“Different cold wind blew, she got that call.”
Shy didn’t say a word.
“He doesn’t keep his shit, Shy, he’ll fuck things for her. And he doesn’t open his eyes and see butterflies, he’ll fuck things for him.”
“I’ll get on it with Rush.”
“Yeah.”
Shy nodded, pushed out of his chair and rounded the table behind Tack.
Tack watched the door close on him.
Then he let the thoughts in.
They didn’t need this shit.
They were at war. They were currently in détente, but that could change in a blink. Benito Valenzuela had a plan, he wanted Chaos turf, and he wasn’t going to sit on his hands for long.
They didn’t need his shit.
What’s it mean, get on your knees?
They were gonna take on this shit.
“Fuck,” he muttered, put his hands to the arms of his chair and folded out.
He had a woman and boys to feed, TV to watch, a wife to fuck, and sleep to sleep.
That was where his head was at.
Tomorrow, he’d see.
Chapter Four
Tasted as Good on His Tongue
Joker
THERE WAS NO ring. Just cement and a throng of bystanders who got out of way whenever the fighters got too close.
Bare feet. Bare chest. Bare knuckles.
Joker hit him with a right hook but knew even before he threw the punch the guy would take it and go down.
With a jarring thud, he did.
The crowd roared.
Joker just stood there, staring down at him, taking deep breaths and flexing his fingers.
There was no referee. There was just a promoter, a sleaze named Monk who had a legal business running a local nightclub. But for this business he took bets and had a few of his bruisers act as crowd control and bouncers, ousting anyone who showed who didn’t lay down a bet.
So he waited until Monk wandered toward him, grabbed his hand, and lifted it.
The crowd again roared.
Joker tore his hand from Monk’s, not liking the little weasel touching him, and he turned away.
He didn’t look to the cinderblock wall, where he knew Rush and Shy were leaning, watching the action through the crowd. His brothers knew he fought underground. Rush and Shy weren’t the first to come and watch him. Hound was at nearly every fight.
No. He looked to the girl he’d clocked earlier, jerked his head, and she grinned huge, immediately moving toward the door.
Then he walked to his shit, tugged on his tee, socks, and boots and grabbed his cut. He went to Monk’s boy and got his pay. He shoved the envelope in his back pocket, shrugged on his jacket, and after that, enduring claps on the back, bumps to his arms and ignoring anyone who tried to stop him, he pushed to the door and out of it.
Up the steps and into the alley.
She was at his bike.
They wouldn’t have company. He was one of the last fights of the night, but everyone stayed until the end. There was blood to be drawn. Sweat to be leaked. Money to be won. Or lost. No one would leave.
Even if there was, he didn’t give a shit. And she was a fighter groupie, she wouldn’t either.
“Hey,” she whispered when he got near and she shifted closer to his bike.
He let his lip curl and grunted. “Wall.”
She looked disappointed but he didn’t give a fuck.
She might have been disappointed but she moved right to the brick wall of the alley.
She stopped, facing him. Joker jerked his head once in a no.