“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 finished.
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.
“He’s a cute little fuck,” she muttered.
Tack decided to go back to silence hoping she’d get him, she’d know he’d heard her and got her, and this would be over.
Naomi joined him.
He was about to put an end to it when she spoke.
“Only gonna spout this shit once, and I figure I’m doin’ it because I’m tripped out on drugs, so listen up, motherfucker,” she said to start. “I fucked up. You were right. We had everything. Then I blew it. Was so pissed you were right, I kept blowing it. But I learned. Boy, did I learn. Now I know. Happy?”
“Not even a little bit,” he growled. “You are what you are and you’ve done what you’ve done, but we made two fuckin’ great kids and you’ll always be the woman who gave me that. So I don’t want you suffering. I absolutely do not want you beat to shit and violated. So right now, I’m not happy. But if you give our boy and girl something good, Naomi, I’ll be grateful. They miss you, even Tabitha. I hope you find it in you to put what happened behind you and earn your place back in their lives. I hope that like fuck, Naomi. For them and for you.”
This time she said nothing.
So he finished it.
“But I reckon you’re tough as nails. Always have been, so no way a strong woman like you is gonna let a useless piece of shit like Chew best you. Make that not happen, Naomi. Heal and then find a good life.”
With that, he hung up.
She didn’t call back.
Tack didn’t expect her to.
So he put that out of his mind and kept walking across the forecourt to get to the Compound to see who was around to share a beer with while he waited for his wife to decide she was done with work.
Beck
One week after that . . .
Beck tapped the fuck on his forehead with the end of the barrel of his gun.
His eyes opened, and the man went still in his bed.
If that was him, even with a gun in his face, the men standing at his back, the drug still coursing through his system, Beck would hope he’d at least go for his gun.
Not that his gun was there.
Man, Shaughnessy was something else.
Honeytrap. Slip a little mickey.
He didn’t even get to kiss her.
But when the man started to get sloppy, Dryden moved in and got him into his hotel room.
Muzzle was on the hotel security cameras. All through this they’d experienced a technical glitch.
He had no clue Muzzle had that skill. But apparently, whereas most of the men worked as mechanics or HVAC techs or shit like that, and messed around with cars, bikes, or their trucks as a pastime, Muzzle had a garage full of wires and computer boards and tech and he fucked around with that.
It sure as hell came in handy.
Beck stared down at the man in bed.
Shit, men got stupid for pussy.
Only way to get smart was find a good woman to offer you her compass.
“You underestimated us,” Beck told him.
“Listen, I got money—”
“Griller.”
That was all he said before he pulled the trigger.
The suppressor muffled the noise.
The blood shot back into the pillow, not on Beck.
Eightball snapped on gloves, moved in and took the fuck’s wrist.
Only when he dropped it and nodded at Beck did Beck put away the gun.
The only brothers not with them were Spiderweb, Spartan and Rainman because they had families.
The job done, they didn’t hang around.
They moved out.
Time to grab a beer.
They were in Florida. They’d take the night, soak in a little of the local flavor, then get home.
Miami was a shit-hot place. Beck wished he could have brought Janna with him. But she was in cosmetology school. She couldn’t skip classes.
And anyway, they were down there to assassinate someone.
He’d bring her when she could let loose.
Up next when they went home was gathering all they had left of club money and getting it to Mamá Nana.
It had been worth every penny.
Right.
Now Sparkle was off the list.
One more down.
One to go.
Then they could stitch on their patches.
Rush
One week later . . .
“So there, I did it. Yes, I did it. And I don’t even care I shouldn’t do this because of why I did it,” Amy, sitting at Rebel’s kitchen table, announced before she shot her tequila.
“I don’t know if I should say I’m proud of you that you filed for divorce and forced Paul to put your house on the market or not.” Rush, standing with his hips to her counter, his boots crossed at the ankle, arms on his chest, watched Rebel say as she sat opposite her friend and didn’t shoot her tequila, but instead studied Amy closely.
Needless to say, Paul had not gotten his head out of his ass.
Rush was unsurprised.
Rebel was upset, but she was dealing.
And apparently, Amy was dealing too.
“Well, I’m proud of myself,” Amy declared. “Because I know my daughter. I know right now, if she hadn’t had what happened to her happen at that volleyball game, she’d be getting her PT degree. She’d be kicking PT degree butt. She’d be running 5K races and snowboarding and finding some guy who, okay, maybe he’d be older, but he’d treat her right and she wouldn’t stand for anything less.”
“That’s the truth,” Rebel murmured.
“And she wouldn’t expect anything less from her mother,” Amy went on. “So it’s a crutch. I’m leaning on that crutch. I’m going to think of how Diane would be, not what she became. It makes it easier. And that house of cards may fall, but I’ll deal with that if it happens. Now, it’s working. Now, I can move on. So I am.”