They didn’t have the latest news.
He’d also selected the DJ and decreed the cake would be lemon, “because that taste reminds me of sunshine,” he’d told Hound and me while we were throwing some back at Bev’s the night before. “And sunshine reminds me of Beverly.”
Who could argue that? Especially when it was delivered by a hot guy in a silky, deep voice who had a way with talking about wedding cake that didn’t make him sound like a pansy.
Beverly, staring at him all goo-goo eyed and hanging on his arm while he spoke, clearly couldn’t argue it.
“And you’d have to bring a present,” Elvira hissed at Tabby.
“Well . . . yeah,” Tabby said quietly, giving big eyes to the girls around her.
“Do you think, Elvira, my beautiful friend, that the women standing in front of you do not have enough love for you, just for you, that doesn’t even include how much we adore Malik, to give you all the attention you deserve on your big day?” Tyra asked.
“You better,” Elvira snapped.
“I’m beside myself with happiness for you,” Tyra whispered, and the feel of the room instantly changed.
Because the feel they were getting from Elvira instantly changed.
Tyra wasn’t done.
“After a lot of waiting and confusion and a rocky start with Tack, life has been beautiful and not a small part of that beauty is that during that time, I found you, and since that time, I’ve had you.”
“I’ve waited for this all my life,” Elvira whispered, and the feel of the room changed again.
“I know, honey,” Tyra whispered back.
“I thought he’d never come. I thought I’d never find him,” Elvira kept whispering.
“I know,” Tyra replied.
“And he’s perfect,” she kept going.
Oh man.
Cool!
I couldn’t wait to meet Malik.
“Yeah, he is,” Tabby said.
“He loves me, like . . . crazy loves me,” Elvira carried on.
Oh yeah.
I couldn’t wait to meet Malik.
“We know,” Lanie said.
“Sometimes I wonder, when I wake up next to him, if I’m dreaming,” Elvira shared.
“I understand that,” Millie said.
“Me too,” Carissa added.
“Me as well,” Lanie put in.
“Absolutely,” Rosalie declared.
“For sure,” Tabby stated.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Totally,” Tyra said.
“Wait until you have his baby,” Tabby told Elvira. “I don’t know what’s bigger than dreaming a dream, getting it, and that getting better. But whatever that is, a baby is that.”
Now I couldn’t wait to get knocked up with Hound’s kid.
After Tab was done, Elvira looked to Carissa.
“Come here, girl,” she ordered.
Carissa went there and Elvira gave her a big hug.
“Butterflies will be perfect,” we heard her say in Carissa’s ear.
We also watched Carissa’s head nod as she held on.
As if on cue, the door to the garage opened and Tack strolled through holding a baby tucked in one of his arms.
His gaze swept through all the women and stopped on Elvira and Carissa, who were breaking away from each other.
“Christ,” he muttered and looked to his woman. “Drama?”
“Nope,” Tyra answered.
Tack stopped in front of her desk.
“My grandson needs changing,” he told his wife.
She tipped her head to the side. “The diaper bag’s right there on the couch.”
He completely ignored this and turned his attention to Tabby. “Your son needs changing.”
“The diaper bag hasn’t moved, Dad,” Tabby replied.
“I do cuddles,” he rumbled. “I don’t do diapers.”
“You changed both our boys, Kane,” Tyra said, again gaining Tack’s attention.
“Yeah, and I had a direct hand in makin’ those two. This one,” he lifted the bundle cradled in his arm, “it was indirect. My job is done. Diapers and shit like that are behind me. With this one,” he lifted the bundle again, “I just get the good stuff.”
“Oh for God’s sake, give me that child,” Elvira said impatiently, walked on her high-heeled sandals to Tack and divested him of his grandchild.
“Bring ’im back to me when you’re done,” he ordered.
Elvira stared at him.
Tack just turned on his motorcycle boot and moseyed his fine ass right back out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
“You know, if that man didn’t make such good pancakes, I’d divorce his ass,” Tyra grumbled.
“I bet he makes good pancakes,” Millie said under breath through a smile.
“Please don’t make a euphemism out of Dad’s pancakes,” Tabby begged. “I love Dad’s pancakes and if you make a euphemism out of them, I’ll never be able to eat them again.”
“Okay, honey,” Tyra agreed on a grin. “We’ll stop talking about your dad’s pancakes.”
“Uh, Keely,” Carissa called. “When did you say your first appointment was for a viewing?”
I looked at the time on Tyra’s computer then cried, “Shit! I gotta go get Hound!” I rushed to Carissa, gave her a tight hug and said, “So happy for you, times two. Butterflies are awesome.”
I let her go, dashed around her and grabbed my bag from the couch where Elvira was digging through a diaper bag at the same time juggling Playboy. I snatched up my bag, bent in to steal a quick kiss from the wet lips of Playboy and getting his flirtatious gurgle after I did before I hurried to the door and stopped at it.
“Later, chicks,” I called.
“Later, babe,” Tyra called back. “Hope you see something you love.”
I got more of that kind of farewell, and on a wave, I ran out the door.
As fast as my cowboy boots would take me, I rushed down the steps and across the forecourt toward the Compound, but found myself skidding to a halt while I was dashing between Hound and Jagger’s bikes parked beside each other outside the Compound.
The skidding halt was because I’d glanced at Jagger’s bike.
And after I skidded to that halt, I stood there and stared at the tank on my son’s bike.
Then I stood there and deep breathed as I stared at the tank on Jag’s bike.
I’d seen it often, since he rode it all the time, but I hadn’t really looked at it, not since he took possession of it.
But right then, I reached out a hand and slid a finger along the top of the tank.
High-gloss clear coat.
Somehow my boy had managed to seal my lipstick on his father’s bike.
Jagger’s bike.
He rode free taking his mother and father with him everywhere he went.
God, but God . . . I loved my son.
I smiled, hustled into the Compound and nearly slammed into Hound the second I entered it.
“Babe,” he said, his hands settling on my hips as the door whooshed closed behind me.
“Cowboy,” I replied, my hands coming to a rest on his chest. “Carissa is pregnant.”
His eyebrows shot up.
That was, his eyebrows under his hair that was yanked back at the top and held in a little pony at the back of his head went up.
Seeing his hotness, I was having second thoughts about spending the afternoon looking at houses.
I was thinking the bed in his room at the Compound was all we needed.
“She let that news loose?” he asked, taking me out of my ponderings of dragging him through the Compound and jumping him.
“Just now,” I answered. “You knew?”
He nodded. “Yup. Joker scored himself a box of Cubans and handed them out the day after Carissa told him, which was three months ago.” He tipped his head to the side. “Was Vira in hearing distance when she shared?”
Hearing all that, including hi
s question, I felt a wave of happy wash through me because he’d always had these people—these funny, sweet, loving, loyal people—and he knew them well.
And now I had them too.
Carissa pregnant. Elvira finding the man of her dreams. My lipstick sealed on Jagger’s bike. Having my Chaos family back. Looking at houses with my man.
That day was another day in what was now a long line of days that I’d woken up a winner.
“Took a bit but she got over it,” I told Hound.
“Thank fuck the men didn’t have to witness that,” he muttered.
“You knew Carissa was pregnant and you didn’t tell me?” I asked.
“Babe, learn now, that shit you gotta get from the girls. I’m not your line on gossip about Chaos bitches.”
“Heard and understood, Shep,” I muttered through a grin.
He grunted.
I love you too, I thought.
“Wanna go see houses?” I asked.
He gave me a look that made my heart swell, my toes curl and my nipples tingle.
“On the back of my bike, baby,” he whispered.
More of the same from all three including a throb at my clit.
Since I’d ridden on the back of his bike to go have breakfast with my man before he bought me my engagement ring, unless I was off to work or the grocery store, my ass didn’t get anywhere if it wasn’t sitting behind him on the back of his bike.
“You got it, cowboy,” I replied.
He grabbed my hand and led me there. He got on first. I threw my leg over and straddled the bike and his ass after he did.
I slid my arms around his stomach, held on tight, smelling leather and Hound, wrapped around my man, being right then in the best place in the world.
He backed out just as I saw Jagger coming out of the Compound.
Hound took a hand from the grip and gave him a flick, Jag gave one back and I blew my son a kiss.
Jag shook his head and threw his leg over his bike.
He looked good on it.
Then again, the amount of pussy that I’d overheard Dutch telling Hound his little brother was nailing, I knew that did not go unnoticed by the biker groupies and probably beyond.
I put this out of my thoughts, happily settled into the knowledge Hound would give me a girl and I wouldn’t have to deal with any more of that kind of thing as Hound started us through the forecourt.
We both waved again (well, I waved, Hound did another wrist flick), this time at Big Petey on his Harley trike riding in.
Pete gave us a big smile and a thumbs up as he passed.
I held on tighter to Hound, thinking how good it was to be home.
And we rode out of the forecourt of Ride, off Chaos, the wind in our hair, the Denver sun on our faces, to go look at houses.
Hound could not get over the wallpaper.
I discovered that I was not about to have a house without an awesome master suite.
So it would be the next week when we found what we were looking for.
Hound paid for it in cash and refused to even discuss me putting a penny into it.
I got that need so I kept my mouth shut.
During prime rib for Jag’s birthday, we discussed the house my boys had grown up in and I found I was right.
They were attached to me, to Hound, they had the pieces of their father that meant everything to them, so they were good to let go of the house.
The boys lost their trust funds from their grandfather.
So when we sold my place, I divided the proceeds of the home their father gave them and added that to the money they were already going to get from their father and me when it was time to start to get serious about building their lives.
We did a short sale. We were in by the beginning of May.
Hound, Dutch and Jag bitched about having to move furniture again (though the boys kinda got over it when they found out they were inheriting Hound’s new furniture, all but the bed, which we put in the guest room).
But with all the brothers and their old ladies helping (plus Tad and Bev), we were in in no time.
A week later, I stood with my head on Hound’s chest, our arms around each other’s waists, holding Dutch’s hand with my free one while Jag had his arm thrown around his big brother’s shoulders after we got Jean’s mezuzah back from the scribe who checked it was still kosher.
We stood this way while Jean’s rabbi said a prayer over it as he tacked it up at the entryway to our living room.
When he was done, we shared a glass of wine with the rabbi and his wife (well, I did, Hound and the boys drank beer) and Hound and them shared memories of Jean.
And even though we’d been in the house for a week, since Jean was now there with us, it felt like we were finally home.
Hound
When his phone rang, Keely made a move against him as Hound lifted his head to look across to her nightstand.
It was twenty-four after three in the morning.
“Fuck,” he muttered, twisting to grab his phone from his nightstand.
“Who is it?” Keely asked sleepily.
He did not like seeing Tack’s name on his screen at three twenty-four in the morning.
“Just a second, Keekee,” he murmured, took the call and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“All brothers to the Compound. Now.”
Fuck.
“Be there in ten,” Hound said, and Tack made no reply.
He disconnected.
Hound turned to Keely. “Got Chaos business, babe.”
She held on to him even as she looked over her shoulder at the alarm clock.
She turned back to him.
“It’s very early,” she whispered.
Chew had not contacted them to have a meet, parlay or not. Valenzuela had not reappeared. Turnbull was keeping her shit off Chaos, and according to Knight, dealing with her stable appropriately.
Therefore there was nothing to share with Keely about the shit they were in, because for all intents and purposes, that shit had disappeared.
Even if there was something to share, after they discovered the bones were gone, he wouldn’t have told her.
And Keely being who she was, how she was, she wouldn’t have expected it.
Not a one of the men thought it was done.
And now Hound knew it wasn’t.
“I gotta go,” he replied.
“Right,” she said, pushed into him and up so she could brush her lips to his.
Then she let him go.
He got dressed, went back to the bed for another touch of lips from his woman then moved out of their room, down the hall, out the door off the kitchen to his bike parked next to Keely’s ride. He hit the garage door opener, pulled out, hit the remote he had that he shoved in his back pocket and he rode the five-minute ride to Chaos.
He could have walked it, their new house was that close. That was Keely’s deal. He didn’t care where they lived, just as long as it was theirs (and had a fire pit).
She wanted him close to his family.
Her family.
So they were.
By the time he hit Ride’s forecourt, he saw Tack, Hop, Shy, and Hawk Delgado’s Camaro turned in after Hound, following him into the space.
This surprised Hound. When shit escalated months ago with Valenzuela taking Millie, Tack putting all the resources at their disposal—including his relationship with Hawk Delgado, a local badass, and Brock Lucas and Mitch Lawson, two Denver cops—stopped.
When an old lady had been hauled into their shit, their problem had become the problem of Chaos and Chaos alone.
That problem dwindling down to Hound doing what he did for his Club to solve it.
It had gone unsolved even if it seemed there was resolution.
Now he knew, his headlight and Hawk’s shining on the men standing around a picnic table outside the Compound that had a sheet draped over it, shit just got seriously ugly.
His body strung tight, Hound parked, shut his
bike down and dismounted, moving toward the men around that table feeling Hawk move in with him and hearing more bikes roar onto Chaos.
He didn’t take his eyes off the sheet draped over the table even as he stopped to stand by it.
“We got a delivery,” Tack growled.
He sounded pissed, which made Hound relax.
Whatever was under that sheet pissed off Tack, it didn’t destroy him.
Finally, Hound looked from Tack to Shy to Hop to see they all looked ticked.
He let out a long breath.
“What we got?” he asked.
Tack looked from Hound to whoever came up beside him and greeted shortly, “Pete. Brick.”
More bikes could be heard coming into the forecourt.
“What we got?” Hound repeated, sharper this time.
Hop reached out and flicked up the top of the sheet.
Hound drew in a quick breath.
Camilla Turnbull lay on her back on the table, face white, throat brown with dried blood and red where it was gaping open. There was a thick notecard with writing on it sitting on her forehead.
She’d been done somewhere else, Hound knew that because there was no blood on the sheet, and glancing under the table, there was no blood there either.
She’d been laid out.
On Chaos.
For Chaos.
“Fuck me,” Brick whispered.
“Talk to us,” Hawk clipped as more men hit the circle around the picnic table and even more bikes could be heard coming in.
“My last calls were Slim and Mitch. They’re on their way,” Tack told them. “This,” he indicated Turnbull with a flick of his hand, “is a gift. We apparently got a new ally.”
“And that would be?” Dog, who’d joined them, asked.
“Valenzuela’s back,” Tack answered.
“And how does him dumping a dead woman on Chaos make him an ally?” Hawk asked.
“I got a text from a burner phone an hour ago,” Tack shared. “Said to get down here, Chaos had been left a present. Called Shy and Hop to come with me. We found this, including the sheet. That card didn’t move when we pulled back the sheet because it’s stapled to her forehead.”
“Christ,” Roscoe muttered.
“What’s it say?” Snapper asked tersely.
Wild Like the Wind Page 41
