“Say again?” he whispered.
“All of you. Chaos pussies. And it’s not a surprise. Everyone is sayin’ it. Your leader and his lieutenants are so whipped by their bitches, been led around by their dicks so long, it’s a wonder they have any dicks left. You eat enough *, fuck enough *, you become a *. That’s what’s happened to Chaos. Chaos is *.”
“All right,” Joker said slowly, feeling the vibe in the room shift as his brothers felt the anger coming off him in waves. “You’ve got five seconds to assure me that I didn’t just hear what I just heard.”
“You heard me,” Monk hissed. “I already took bets on you, motherfucker. You leave me high and dry, that’s… just… *.”
Joker hung up on him and turned his attention to the men with him.
Rush, Hound, Roscoe, Boz.
“What the fuck was that?” Roscoe asked.
Joker told them, finishing on, “Monk has three bouncers and a guy who looks after the money. They can fuck a man up, individually and collectively. Knowin’ that, who feels like takin’ a ride?”
It didn’t surprise Joker that every man felt like mounting his bike.
And they all did.
*
It would seem Joker was going to give one last show to Monk and his bloodthirsty crew.
It just wasn’t the show Monk wanted.
Hound had two bouncers down before they were five feet into the room, clearing the way for Joker to make a direct line to Monk.
Rush took out the third bouncer.
Boz was holding back the money man with the point of his knife.
And Joker was bent over Monk, who’d long since lost his feet, holding him by the collar and pummeling his fist into the bloody, swelling flesh of his face.
Before Monk passed out, Joker stopped, yanked him to within an inch of his face and demanded, “Tell me again that Chaos is *.”
“J-Jo—”
Joker punched him again.
Monk made a moist noise that sounded like it came from his nose and throat.
He jerked him back and ordered, “Tell me again, motherfucker. Say it. Chaos is *.”
Monk shook his head.
“Good,” Joker spat. “Now, you’re fucked up because I was havin’ a good night, settlin’ in, gonna down a few beers with my boys, and your bullshit put me on my bike so I couldn’t do that. What you said, though, that’s somethin’ else. That’s about Chaos, not me. And that means long-lasting retribution.”
Another moist noise from Monk, this full of fear as he tried to pull away.
Joker shook him viciously then held him still and stated, “Valenzuela does not rule this fight, and he doesn’t ’cause you had me fightin’. He’s not ready for his round with Chaos, so he’s steered clear. Now, he’s gonna get word there is no Chaos at this fight. What’s that gonna mean for you?”
Another noise of fear before, “Do-don’t, Joke, he—”
Joker cut him off, “You ran your mouth. I gave you a chance to take that shit back. You didn’t. Now you pay.”
“I-I’ll give a c-cut to Chaos,” Monk offered quickly. “Buy peace.”
“I’ll share that with Tack. He gets finished eatin’ his woman’s *, brings that to the Club, we’ll get back to you,” Joker bit out, reared back, and landed a powerhouse punch that had worked for him numerous times in the past.
A man like Monk, it destroyed him.
And his now-fractured cheekbone.
He was out.
Joker dropped him and straightened, turning to Rush, who was speaking to Monk’s only man left standing.
“We didn’t make our statement and you consider payback, think again. You don’t come up with the right answer and we see you when we don’t wanna see you, shit’s gonna get ugly.”
The guy looked around at the four men on the floor, only one of whom was groaning and trying to push up, two had stab wounds from Hound’s knife and were groaning, but not trying to push up, and it didn’t take a mind reader to know he considered shit already ugly.
Their message conveyed, Roscoe stated, “Let’s ride.”
They all moved out, and even though the crowd had pressed close, they didn’t waste time getting the fuck out of the way.
They were at their bikes when Joker looked to Boz. “You want me to call this in to Tack?”
“I’m on it,” Boz answered.
Joker nodded.
They mounted.
Then Chaos rode.
Tack
In the dark, Tack sat on the side of his and Red’s bed, talking into his phone.
“No. All good. But I want the brothers gathered in the morning.”
“You got it, man,” Boz replied. “Later.”
“Yeah, later,” Tack said, took his phone from his ear, hit the button, and tossed it on his nightstand.
Then he slid the fingers of one hand through his hair, followed instantly by the other hand, and he left both at the back of his neck while he rested his elbows to his knees.
Chaos is *.
That could not stand.
He felt Tyra slide her hand from the small of his back up his spine before he felt her position, on her knees, those knees spread, the insides of her thighs pressed to his hips. He felt her front hit his back as her lips touched his hands at his neck.
“Talk to me,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied and it was no lie.
It was.
For now.
His brothers sent a message. The right one. And they didn’t fuck around doing it.
But it wasn’t enough.
It was time.
And he fucking hated it.
Tomorrow, they’d go over what happened, what was said, what was done, and what they’d be doing.
Tack’s new message would be to anyone else who thought that shit.
It would also be to Valenzuela.
Chaos was claiming more territory. They were going to clean it up. They were going to keep it safe.
Once the Club voted, no longer would Chaos be five miles around Ride.
It would be ten.
Valenzuela held firm positions to the north, east, and west.
He would retaliate.