Free

by Kristen Ashley

  Tack studied him for a few beats.

  Then he nodded.

  Right.

  Rush knew his father.

  His father knew him.

  It had been Tack who’d nicknamed him Rush in the first place.

  That was done.

  Time to move on.

  “She’s givin’ money to Harrietta Turnbull, seein’ as Harrietta told her she could get Chew to confess to her friend’s murder.”

  Tack’s mouth tightened.

  Yeah.

  That had been his reaction.

  “She knows she’s bein’ played now and that’s gonna stop. But she says Harrietta is also in with Valenzuela,” Rush continued.

  That made his father’s eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”

  Rush nodded. “Rebel thinks it’s also because Valenzuela wants Chew, and Harrietta is dangling him at them both.”

  “Just when you think this shit can’t get more fucked up, it does,” Tack muttered.

  “And there’s another suspect in Diane Ragowski’s murder. It’s Digger Benson of Bounty.”

  “Shit, fuck,” Tack growled.

  “Yeah. That’s not a coincidence, Digger and Chew both goin’ at that woman.”

  Tack shook his head. “Bad blood between those two, Rush. Back in the day, Chew was taken on by Chaos, Digger was a huge pass. They were tight. Chew scraped him off for his new Club. Digger wasn’t a fan of that.”

  “Stands to reason they’d make amends after Chew renounced the Club, wanted to see us hurt and set about doin’ that.”

  Tack lifted his chin but said, “Doesn’t jive, Rush. Wouldn’t put it past Chew not to mind sharing. But the reason Digger was a pass for Chaos was that even back then, with Crank in charge, he was not Chaos material. Man’s a deviant. I had to call it, straight-up pedophile. Saw pictures of her. Diane Ragowski would not be his thing. She was beaten down by drugs, but she was very much a woman.”

  “She was dressed in a school uniform when she died, Dad,” Rush reminded him.

  His father’s mouth twisted as he said, “School uniform and schoolgirl are two different things, Rush.”

  “Can’t say I know how a degenerate’s mind works, but maybe he took what he could get. But bottom line, there’s the link between Bounty and Valenzuela and Chew. It’s Digger, and they got more in common than twisting Digger’s club up in this shit.”

  Tack drew in breath and replied, “I’ll tell Mitch and Slim.”

  “When Rebel’s out, we need to hand all of this shit over to them.”

  “Rush,” Tack sighed.

  “Valenzuela is off Chaos. We can retreat from the ten-mile radius back to the five-mile radius we claim as ours and hand criminal shit off to people who get paid to deal with criminals. Then when it’s all done, we can quit with that vigilante gig altogether and just run Ride.”

  “How ’bout we table this until we see the end of it by finding Chew?”

  “How ’bout we let Slim and Mitch or Hank and Eddie find Chew, we get Rebel out, and see the end of it?” Rush returned.

  “Son—”

  “Dead bodies on our picnic table, Dad?” Rush pushed.

  Tack leaned back and aimed a staredown at his son.

  Rush was no longer eleven.

  His father’s staredowns didn’t work anymore.

  So he kept at him.

  “Natalie dead?”

  “Not our doing,” Tack growled.

  “Valenzuela’s got the bones of two men Chaos took out. Every brother who was a brother back then is on the line for that. Especially Hound.”

  “It’s been nearly twenty years and those bones have been moved, Rush. They won’t have the crime scenes. They don’t have the weapons. They have no witnesses. Fuck, son, they haven’t even identified those skulls.”

  “One of those skulls being Crank, they find that out, they’ll look to Chaos. And Chew knows who they are, where they were done, and they’ll eventually have him.”

  “He wasn’t there. He doesn’t know dick. And even if he leads them to the scenes, they’ve been scrubbed. There’ll be nothing to find.”

  “We’re vulnerable.”

  Tack uncrossed his arms, straightened from the car and put his hands to his hips. “As much as this sucks, Rush, it’s a fact and you gotta learn it. You can be tough. You can be badass. You can be armed to your teeth. You can be trained. You can be vigilant. But in one way or another, you’ll always be vulnerable. It’d take a goddamned abacus to count all the ways I’m vulnerable. But I’ll share five right now. Tyra. Tab. Ride. Cut. And you. Only choice you got is to protect your vulnerabilities and still get the fuckin’ job done. You could pull back, do nothin’, let someone else take care of it, but that way you couldn’t know the job got done and done right. We are not pullin’ back, doin’ nothin’, and lettin’ someone else deal with our problem. We’re gonna make sure the job gets done.”

  “At what price?” Rush clipped.

  Tack leaned back. “I can’t see the future. I can only do what I can do. Protect my vulnerabilities and get the fuckin’ job done.”

  They stared at each other.

  This was not the first time they’d had this chat.

  It probably would not be the last.

  His dad’s voice lowered when he said, “You were a kid. You had no stake in this. No say when it all went down. I can see you needin’ to pull out and lettin’ the men—”

  Oh . . .

  Fuck no.

  “I’m Chaos,” Rush bit. “It’s all in or not at all. This is the way the Club goes, I go with it. But I don’t have to like it and I don’t have to keep my mouth shut about not likin’ it.”

  Another lip quirk before, “Nope. You don’t have to do that.”

  Rush was finished with this conversation.

  “Right, I gotta get on what I wanted to get done on this car today and then get to the market to get food for Rebel. We done?”

  “We’re done.”

  Rush turned back to the car.

  He felt his father didn’t leave so he looked to him.

  “Best thing I’ve ever done,” Tack muttered when he did.

  “What?” Rush asked.

  “Or one of the best, but it’s in the top five.”

  “What?” Rush repeated.

  “Give that to me. Tyra. Tabby. Your brothers. All of ’em, blood or patch.”

  Rush turned fully to him and bit off, “What?”

  Tack stared at him a beat before he said, “I made you selfless and unrelenting.”

  And on that, his father turned on his boot walked away.

  Rebel

  Lunch break from the porn set with Amy and Paul at their house.

  Why had I agreed to this?

  Probably because Amy had sounded desperate.

  And when I showed, what I feared was proved to be true.

  She was desperate.

  It was noon and Paul was drunk.

  So she was that kind of desperate.

  I sat at their kitchen table with the delicious-looking turkey, jack and roasted chile panini in front of me and stared at Paul.

  “I got this panini maker and we’ve been having such fun with it,” Amy babbled. “Haven’t we, Paul?”

  Paul stood at the kitchen sink, staring out the window over it, his face totally blank.

  God, he killed me.

  He just freaking killed me.

  “Haven’t we, Paul?” Amy asked louder.

  “Yep,” he said, and I knew he had no idea what he was agreeing to.

  The panini maker was the excuse behind why I just had to come over for lunch.

  Why I really had to come over for lunch was because Paul was wasted, it was noon, and Amy only had a part-time job, but Paul had a full-time one and he was not at his job. He was at home. Wasted. At noon.

  “Paul?” I called.

  It was my voice he turned to.

  And his face got soft when his eyes semi-focused on me.

  “What,
honey?”

  I wondered if he saw me.

  Or if he saw his daughter.

  “You good?” I asked.

  You good?

  Lame!

  “Yeah, Rebel.” His eyes listed to his wife. “The bird feeder needs filling. I’m gonna go do that.”

  And then he moved unsteadily to the back door.

  “But your lunch is right here,” Amy said to his back. “And Rebel is right here.”

  “Later,” he muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared out the door.

  He so totally would not be right back.

  And Amy’s gambit of asking me to lunch did not sober up her husband.

  I gave it a moment before I said, “He looks like he’s losing weight.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot of calories in booze but apparently, if that’s your sole caloric intake, you lose weight,” Amy snapped, staring down at her panini.

  I watched her, a little stunned she put it out there when she’d been not talking about it for months, but totally at a loss as to what to do about it now that she had.

  Before I could come up with anything, her attention came to me.

  “They have to find who did that to Diane,” she bit out.

  “Amy,” I said softly.

  “What are those two detectives doing?” she spat. “Probably out at donut shops or diners, flirting with the waitresses.”

  “They’re both married, Amy. Happily,” I told her.

  “So? Men who look like those two do? They probably step out on them.”

  Boy, she did not know Hank and Eddie.

  “You know, I’ve kept in touch with them,” I thought it safe to share. “And they have not lost interest in Diane’s case. They just need to, you know, track down one of the suspects so they can interview him. The thing is, frustratingly but not surprisingly, he’s not feeling like being found.”

  “Well, get this,” she demanded. “Lieutenant Nightingale has a brother who’s a private investigator and from his listing on Yelp, he’s really good at it. I bet Hank Nightingale will light a fire under himself if I hire his brother to do his job for him.”

  Hmm . . .

  I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  “How about you let him do what he’s got to do without interference?” I suggested.

  “I want the man who hurt my daughter to pay, Rebel,” she clipped.

  I shut my mouth.

  “I want my husband to have closure, so he can . . . whatever it is he needs to do,” she went on.

  I said nothing.

  “I lost her, now I’m losing him and I’m barely surviving losing her. How will I survive if I lose him?”

  I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. “You’re not gonna lose him, Amy.”

  Lying again.

  Maybe.

  Totally going straight to hell.

  Amy pulled her hand from mine, looked away, took in a breath, and I prepared for it.

  Then I got it.

  “I miss her,” she told the wall. “I miss those stupid volleyball games. I miss standing at the finish line in the freezing cold after she’s run some race to raise money for fibromyalgia or breast cancer or whatever then taking her to brunch. I miss her trying to convince me we’d be the perfect team for Amazing Race and scheming how to make the best video so they’d take us.”

  She looked back at me and I had to press my lips together at the stark longing in her eyes.

  “I miss my baby girl. I miss her, Rebel. I miss her,” she whispered.

  I reached out again, took hold of her and whispered back, “I miss her too, Amy.”

  Her voice was broken when she announced, “I can’t do this without him.”

  It was time to jot a chat with Paul down on my list of things to do.

  I’d have to catch him sober.

  Or close to it.

  Shit.

  “How about I find a time to talk to him?”

  She brightened.

  Oh yeah.

  Lunch at Amy and Paul’s had not been a good idea.

  Shit.

  “He doesn’t listen to me. He barely looks at me. But I think he’d listen to you,” she said.

  I wasn’t so sure.

  But for her, for Paul, and for Diane, I’d try.

  “Maybe breakfast, Sunday?” I suggested. “You guys can come over, you step out, we’ll talk.”

  She nodded. “I think . . . yes. No time wasted. Too much time has already been wasted.”

  She was right.

  I still feared this would be a waste of time.

  But for her, for Paul, and for Diane, I’d try.

  “Okay. We have a plan. Now let’s just eat these amazing-looking paninis and then I have to get back to work.”

  She drew in a ragged breath and forced some curiosity into her, “Work?”

  “A little video. It’s kinda confidential,” I lied. “But it’s fun.” Another lie (mostly).

  Her face fell.

  She wanted her mind turned.

  “But I met a guy.”

  She brightened again.

  God.

  Why did I tell her I’d met a guy?

  “Really?” she asked, genuinely interested.

  Damn.

  “Yeah. He’s . . .” I smiled at her (that was genuine too). “He’s really cool, Amy.”

  “Yes?”

  I smiled bigger at her and leaned her way. “And he’s a really good kisser.”

  And for once, that was the truth.

  Though it wasn’t the truth, it was the truth.

  Rush Allen could kiss.

  And he could take a tease.

  And he could listen, be gentle, be firm without being a dick, and he didn’t run a mile when Essence told him her Woodstock orgy story.

  The kiss was the best.

  But the Essence thing said a lot.

  Amy giggled a little, it wasn’t much, but I’d take it.

  We chatted minimally about Rush.

  We avoided chatting about why Paul was not at work or the fact he had not returned to his panini.

  And we ate our paninis chatting more about Essence and Diesel, Molly and Maddox’s commitment ceremony, what dress I’d wear to their festivities and then what kind of dress I’d wear when I was nominated for an Academy Award.

  Then I left, giving Amy a hug goodbye and telling her to extend that to Paul since he was nowhere to be found.

  And I drove back to the set thinking Amy was right about one thing.

  They needed closure.

  I also needed closure.

  I had not lied about the fact that Hank and Eddie had not given up on Diane.

  But something had to give.

  And soon.

  And maybe Harrietta was playing me.

  The woman might be weaselly but she was weak, and if I put the lean on her, she might deliver.

  And Valenzuela liked me. He was hanging around more and more these days.

  It made me sick to my stomach just at the thought, but I could finagle more time with him, maybe get him to trust me, overhear phone conversations, I didn’t know . . .

  Something.

  Anything.

  What I couldn’t do was get any of that if I pulled out.

  So maybe I shouldn’t pull out.

  The very idea of this was going to tick Rush off.

  Big time.

  But maybe he’d get it.

  Maybe I could talk him into getting it.

  He was into me.

  Maybe he’d get it.

  But everything was falling apart even worse than it’d already fallen apart, and someone had to do something about it.

  And since there was no one else to do it (but Hank and Eddie) . . .

  There was no way around it.

  That someone was me.

  It was kind of exhausting, the fact that someone seemed to always be me.

  But that didn’t make it less true.

  Th
at someone was me.

  So I couldn’t pull out now.

  Snapper

  It was an itch.

  And not a good itch.

  And it wasn’t the first time he’d felt it.

  It’d been happening off and on the last couple of days everywhere he went.

  But when Snap parked, cut the power to his bike and swung off his ride, he looked around.

  And as usual, saw nothing.

  Cars parked on the street.

  No people walking.

  No one in a car hanging and watching him.

  He pulled out his phone as he swept his surroundings while moving into the pizza parlor.

  He engaged it, found Rosie the minute he entered, shot her a smile, got hers in return and headed to the bar.

  “Yo,” High answered.

  “I’m being followed.”

  “Say what?” High asked.

  “I’m being followed. Haven’t made him yet. But I know it’s happening. I’m being followed.”

  “Fuck,” High muttered.

  “I’m at Rosie’s work, havin’ a slice before she gets off and I’m takin’ her home. Send someone to do a scan?”

  “On it.”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  High said nothing. He just disconnected.

  “Pepperoni and mushroom, honey?” Rosalie said at his side.

  Rosie was in work mode.

  He didn’t mind.

  He still was gonna give his woman shit.

  “Hello to you too, babe,” he replied, sliding a hand along her waist and pulling her to him where he sat a stool.

  She leaned into him, gliding both her hands into his cut to round him and tipped her head back.

  He gave her a kiss.

  And felt that itch.

  So he lifted his head and looked around.

  There were a couple of folks looking at them, probably because Rosie was gorgeous and worth watching, maybe because he was in a Club cut and a curiosity, but none of them were the ones behind the itch.

  His attention went to the windows.

  “Snap?” Rosie called.

  He looked to her.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, baby. And yeah again. Pepperoni and mushroom.”