“Fuck no, Jesus, brother –”
“Tyra left half an hour ago. She’s not pickin’ up her phone.”
“I’m on my bike.”
“Everyone is. Make the rounds, brother.”
“Done. Later.”
Disconnect.
Fuck. How in the fuck did shit this big happen under radar?
Tack prowled down the hall seeing both his kids standing at the end of it, faces pale, eyes on him, feeling the vibe. He stopped outside the kitchen again, held their eyes, put the extra gun on the bar and made his call to Hawk.
“Talk to me,” Hawk answered.
“No Tyra.”
Tack watched his daughter’s lips tremble.
That was when the burn hit his chest and the ice started cracking.
“She’s not with Elvira,” Hawk informed him.
“Fuck!” Tack snarled so viciously both his kids jumped.
“She’s mobilizing Nightingale.”
“I’m down the mountain.”
“Meet you at the Compound.”
“Right.”
He disconnected and looked to his kids.
“Rush, gun. You know how to use it but don’t touch it unless you think you need it. You and Tab lock up after me, lock up tight. Everything. Doors, windows. You keep your phones on you. You do not make any calls. You do not leave. I’ll have a brother up here as soon as I can.”
“What’s happening?” Rush asked quietly.
“I don’t know. I gotta go down the mountain to find out,” Tack answered.
“Is Tyra okay?” Tabby asked, her voice shaking.
“She will be,” Tack answered.
That said nothing but said it all. He knew it when Tabby blanched and Rush flinched.
And he hated it.
Tack walked to his kids, grabbing Tabby behind her head first. He pulled her in and kissed the top. He repeated this with his son.
Then he walked through them to the door.
He turned at it and announced, “I’ll bring her home.”
Rush had his arm around Tab and he’d pulled her close.
He nodded.
His son was a good kid.
Tabby whimpered.
His daughter felt deep.
“Love you both,” he told them, his voice rougher than normal.
“Love you too, Dad,” Tabby whispered.
“Love you, Dad.” Rush’s voice was gruff.
Tack took off.
* * * * *
Forty-five minutes later, Chaos Compound, Denver…
Tack stood by the bar in the Compound, watched Hound hit a button on the phone and his brother’s eyes come to him.
“Pope in Boulder and his boys are on their bikes.”
Tack nodded.
That was the last one. He’d called in all his markers. Every single one.
The door opened and Tack’s eyes cut to it to see Brock “Slim” Lucas and Mitch Lawson coming through the door.
He felt Hound get close to his back but he didn’t move and he didn’t much like the looks both men were wearing.
“My guess, you know shit’s gone down,” Tack stated as they stopped in front of him.
He got chin lifts then Lucas’s gaze shot to Hound and back to Tack. “Your boys out?”
Tack nodded.
“Just you two?” Lucas pushed.
“Reason why you wanna know who’s here?” Tack pushed back.
Lawson said quietly, “We’ve got news.”
“Spill,” Tack ordered and Lawson looked to Hound. “Now, Lawson,” he growled.
Tack watched both Lawson and Lucas’s bodies go alert as if waiting for or preparing to attack.
“A red 1967 Mustang with tags registered to Ride Custom Cars and Bikes was found abandoned on the side of 6th Avenue. Tyra drive that ride?” Lawson asked.
Tack closed his eyes and looked to his boots, that burn in his chest searing deep. He knew then why they wanted to know how many brothers were there. If they felt they had to lock him down, they wanted to know what kind of fight they had on their hands.
“That’s Cherry’s ride,” Hound confirmed.
“Cherry?” Tack heard Lucas ask and he opened his eyes and looked up.
“Tyra,” Hound grunted, his hand landing on Tack’s shoulder.
“That all you got?” Tack asked and two sets of surprised eyes hit him. They thought he’d lose his shit.
And he would, she didn’t come out of this breathing.
Now, him losing his shit would in no way help his woman.
“That’s all we got,” Lucas stated.
“No blood?” Tack asked.
“No blood,” Lawson affirmed.
This was not good news, it was not bad. Lescheva wasn’t messy when he did his wet work and it depended on his mood when he’d stop playing and get down to business.
“Are you confirming Tyra Masters is missing?” Lucas asked and Tack felt Hound’s hand leave his shoulder.
“If she’s good when we find her, DPD could fuck this,” Hound growled from behind Tack, knowing Lucas’s question meant he wanted authorization to get the Denver Police Department involved in an official capacity.
“DPD won’t fuck this,” Lawson returned.
“DPD don’t know what they’re dealin’ with,” Hound shot back.
“DPD knows what they’re dealing with and they know there’s a possible hostage involved and they have experience extricating hostages while they’re still breathing so DPD won’t fuck this,” Lawson retorted then his eyes went to Tack. “And I know you know, man, and I sure as fuck haven’t forgot. I owe you. DPD won’t fuck this because I won’t let them fuck this.”
“We’ll discuss who owes who after she’s home safe,” Tack replied then he looked to Lucas, “Make your call.”
Lucas stepped off to the side, pulling out his phone.
“Tack, brother,” Hound clipped and Tack turned to him. “We do not need cops involved in this.”
“The Russians got my woman. She needs every man on the hunt she can get.”
“Tack, this could get messy,” Hound reminded him of something he already knew.
“Objective, she ends this day home and breathing.”
“Tack –”
“Done talkin’,” Tack ground out as the front door opened.
All eyes went there to see Cabe “Hawk” Delgado and Lee Nightingale, another local badass, a private investigator, walking in. Hawk was carrying a manila folder.
Both men’s eyes scanned the space then came back to Tack.
But it was Hawk who spoke.
“Boys out?”
“What do you think?” Tack asked back, not about to have this conversation again, then he dipped his head to the folder. “What’s that?”
“You need to look at some pictures,” Hawk told him, stopping and tossing the file on the bar.
“Got other things to do, Hawk,” Tack said low, Hawk’s head turned to Tack and they locked eyes.
“In about thirty seconds, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ that is gonna seriously piss you off. But you got other things on your mind so I know you’ll get over it. We’ll deal with your beef later.”
Fuck.
“Give it to me,” Tack growled.
Hawk didn’t delay.
“Ride has been under my surveillance for three years,” he announced and Tack felt Hound’s fury explode behind him but he lifted a hand and kept his eyes locked with Hawk’s.
“The Russians, Arlo and High,” Tack guessed accurately, dropping his hand.
Hawk nodded. “We’ve been workin’ with the Feds.”
“What else?”
Hawk tore his gaze from Tack’s, looked down at the folder and threw it open. He shifted an eight by ten black and white to facing them and pointed to it. It was a still shot taken in the interior of Ride’s auto supply store of a man alone in an aisle.
Hawk twisted his neck and his eyes went back to Tack. “You know that man?”
>
Tack stared at the photo and the burn in his chest singed even deeper.
“Fuck me, that’s Naomi’s man, Pipe,” Hound muttered then louder, “What the fuck’s that fucker got to do with this?”
“Your ex’s man,” Hawk said, ignoring Hound and straightening away from the photo.
“Yeah,” Tack forced out on a grunt. “You wanna tell me why you’re takin’ photos of that asshole shoppin’?”
“This guy is a fuck up,” Hawk stated.
“Got a woman with the Russians,” Tack warned. “Don’t waste my time tellin’ me shit I know.”
“No, Tack,” Lee Nightingale entered the conversation, “This guy is a fuck up. He’s in deep with about every player in town.”
“In deep how?” Tack bit out.
“Drugs.”
Jesus. Fuck. Shit. God fucking damn it.
That motherfucker was using with his kids around. And his ex bitch knew, let him, hid it and played Tack.
Jesus. Fuck. Shit. God fucking damn it!
That was why he threatened to sell Tab’s car, punishing her for no reason and why Naomi was so quick to sell their kids.
His eyes burned into Hawk. “You think to tell me some strung out asshole with a slew of debt was in a house with my kids?”
“I did, it would compromise the investigation,” Hawk returned then said quietly, “Tack, we’ll deal with your beef later.”
It took effort but Tack locked down the burn and prompted, “And you’re sharin’ this with me now because…?”
“Because one of the players he’s in deep with most is the Russians,” Nightingale replied. “Desperate, he wiggled in, started to do favors. Got tight. Or as tight as the Russians would get with an outsider. He spends a lot of time in your shop, Tack. He spends a lot of time in his car outside your shop, eyes on Ride. He takes a lot of notes on the comings and goings of Chaos. He lives with your ex who knows you well. And he spends a lot of time behind closed doors with the Russians.”
Tack immediately turned to Hound. “Call a brother to take your back. On your bike. Pick him up. You know where to take him.” Hound moved and Tack called to his back, “Get that bitch too.”
Hound turned. “Naomi?”
Tack didn’t trust himself to speak. He just jerked up his chin.
Hound took off.
Tack looked to Lawson and Lucas, the last had made his phone call and rejoined the huddle. “In about two seconds, you are not here and you keep DPD away from all known Chaos locations.”
“Tack –” Lawson started.
Tack cut him off. “He’s gonna talk. He’s gonna do it fast. And if he’s gonna do it fast, he ain’t gonna be doin’ it in an interrogation room.”
A muscle jerked in Lawson’s cheek. He was struggling, he felt he owed a marker but he was shackled by the man he was.
“Chestnut,” Tack whispered, referring to Lawson’s woman. “Your kids. Keep clean.”
“You go gonzo, Slim and me might not be able to cover your shit,” Lawson returned.
“Let me worry about that. You keep clean.”
Lawson held his gaze. Then he jerked up his chin. And, with looks through Tack, Delgado and Nightingale, Lucas and Lawson walked out.
“It’d help, my boys could coordinate search efforts with yours,” Nightingale stated and Tack looked at him.
“You got a line to Dog?”
“Yep.”
“Have your boy call him.”
Nightingale nodded, pulled out his phone and stepped away.
“Kane,” Hawk said low and a knife pierced Tack’s gut at his tone and the name Hawk used before he looked at him. “Lescheva fucked up with Winchell, Pierson and the mattresses. They lost two million in product in that mattress warehouse. Shit happens, like you lose safe transport and warehousing, you deal and you don’t lose two million when you do. The higher ups do not blame you. They blame Lescheva. Then he fucked up again when he kidnapped the wards of a police officer, took a meeting with every badass in Denver and pissed every one of us off, buying himself unwanted attention. Then he fucked up again with Belova goin’ rogue and disappearing. All that guy knows? You did the best you could but he was dead even before your boys took him and his woman over the Denver city limits. His higher ups have been all over his shit. Nightingale and his boys have been all over his shit. The Feds are all over his shit. And Chaos has been all over his shit.”
“You are again not tellin’ me somethin’ I don’t know,” Tack pointed out.
“Prepare, man,” Hawk replied quietly.
He knew that too.
He knew. Tack knew.
Lescheva was stone cold. But even the coldest motherfucker burned bright before he flamed out.
Lescheva’s days were numbered, Tack had been working for a whole fucking year with his higher ups to see that come about at the same time extricate Chaos from that bullshit forever.
And Lescheva knew it.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t intend to take down everyone around him when he flamed out.
And Tyra was around him.
“Got shit to do,” Tack muttered.
“My boys and I are all over this.”
Tack caught his eyes.
“Owe you.”
“No marker.”
“Don’t play it that way, Hawk.”
“You had my woman’s back and in doin’ it, mine. I got yours. We’re even.”
He could live with that.
Tack jerked up his chin.
Then he stalked out of the Compound to his bike.
* * * * *
Two hours later, Chaos cabin outside Golden, Colorado…
Wearing brass knuckles, Hop clocked Gerald “Pipe” Dahl in the jaw with a closed fist and the fat man as well as the chair he was tied to went down.
Naomi, tied across the room in her own chair, shrieked, “Stop!”
Pipe spit out a mess of blood and a tooth, grunting, “I’m tellin’ you! I don’t know shit!”
Tack, standing three feet away, arms crossed on his chest, ordered in a voice cold as ice, “Get him up.”
Boz and High moved forward, grabbed the chair and hauled it up, Boz bitching, “Jesus, man, how’d you get so fat bein’ a cokehead? You’re breathin’ after we’re done with you, lay off the Doritos.”
They got him up, Boz and High stepped back, Hop looked to Tack but Tack shook his head once.
Then he looked at Pipe and demanded, “Talk to me.”
Battered, bloody, his head hanging down because he didn’t have the strength to pull it up, he pushed out a labored breath on his, “I don’t know shit.”
“He doesn’t know anything! Leave him be!” Naomi screeched.
Only Tack’s head turned and his eyes skewered his ex bitch.
“You are in a precarious position,” he told her, his voice low, chill, his words coming slow but his eyes were flaring. “Advice, Naomi, keep your mouth shut.”
Naomi looked into her ex-husband’s eyes and shut her mouth.
Tack’s gaze went back to Pipe. “Talk,” he growled.
With effort, Pipe lifted his head and, expending more effort, he focused as best he could on Tack. “Seriously, dude. I’m tellin’ you. I don’t know shit. I’m into them two hundred K for blow. They’re not gonna trust a cokehead.”
“You do that blow in front of my kids?” Tack’s words lashed out and hit true, stinging both targets.
Naomi peeped but went silent. Pipe winced as if he’d been struck.
Then he grunted, “No.”
“How you get two hundred K in with the Russians for blow and not do that shit in front of my kids?” Tack asked. “You do that much, you’d have to have that rolled bill permanently fixed to your nose.”
“I hid it, they never saw.”
“How you get two hundred K in with the Russians for blow and not do that shit in front of my kids?” Tack repeated when he got a bullshit response.
Pipe blew out another jagged breath and his
head dropped. “To relieve a debt, told ‘em I’d hold onto some of it for them. Keep it safe before they moved it. Had a party. Someone found it. Stole it.”
Jesus, this was one stupid-ass motherfucker.
“Where would they take Tyra?” Tack asked and Pipe forced his head up again.
“I’m tellin’ you, I don’t know.”
Tack looked to Hop and gave him a nod.
Hop moved in but this time he pulled the knife from his belt.
“Fuck me! I don’t know! I don’t know!” Pipe screamed. “But I know who’ll know!”
Hop looked over his shoulder. Tack jerked up his chin. Hop moved aside.
“Oleg,” Pipe stated immediately. “Dude’s name is Oleg.”
Tack felt eyes on him and this was because every brother knew everything about the Russians and none of them had heard of Oleg.
“Do not bullshit me, Pipe,” Tack warned.
“I’m not. I wouldn’t. He’s not tight with the Russians. He’s only tight with Lescheva.”
“Then how do you know this guy?”
“I ain’t stupid, man. My neck’s on the line with these fuckers. I been watchin’ and not just Ride.”
“What’s his connection with Lescheva?”
“No clue but my guess is, he’s his out.”
“His out?”
“Lescheva’s time is up, man. He ain’t stupid. He knows that. Only one reason a man gets tight with a man outside his operation but in the family and that’s because he’s makin’ plans. I didn’t get close. I just watched but, lately, they been meetin’ a lot.”
“You know where we can find him?”
“A bar on Evans. Called The Drainpipe.”
Tack jerked his chin up to Boz and Shy and they moved out.
Then he looked to Naomi. “You’ll get the papers Monday.”
She pulled in a visible breath then nodded.
“You’ll sign ‘em.”
She nodded again.
“You’ll get the hundred K never.” Her face lost all its color and she opened her mouth to speak but Tack shook his head and whispered, “You are not smart. You’ve never been smart. Be smart now. You know I am not payin’ for blow.”
Proving his immense stupidity, Pipe jumped in.
“We’re fucked, we don’t get that money.”
“That is not my problem,” Tack replied then he turned and headed to the door.
“What do you want done with them?” Hop asked his back and Tack turned at the door.
Motorcycle Man Page 38
