remarked before forking some of it covered in potatoes and gravy into her mouth.
“Babe,” Rush, sitting at Tyra’s left, caught his girl’s eyes down and across the table.
After she swallowed she said, “The stuffing? Really?”
“Serious,” he replied.
“Whoa,” she mumbled.
“Hey, have you managed to cook for Rush yet, Rebel?” Tyra asked.
“I made him toast this morning,” Rebel answered.
“Toast,” Cutter snickered.
“It had melted butter and cinnamon and sugar. It was da bomb,” Rush looked after his girl.
“It was toast,” Rebel replied, staring at her man, looking peeved.
“Yeah. And it was great toast,” Rush retorted.
“Can I have cinnamon and sugar on my toast, Dad?” Rider asked.
“Note how my son asks his father about nourishment,” Tyra stated. “I can safely say my work is done.”
Tack growled.
His wife shot him a bright smile.
He growled again even if his dick twitched at the smile.
“Now that we’re done filming, maybe I can get some time,” Rebel noted. “It’s been hectic. I had no idea how much the, uh . . . past management saw to now that I have to do it.”
None of her team left her.
All of Valenzuela’s team vaporized.
Their Rebel had been a busy girl.
And Tyra had shown him some dailies. Tack had never been into porn. The real deal was a far better use of a man’s time.
But he could see her talent and the pride she took in her work. It wasn’t hidden at all.
And it was impressive.
Even being porn.
“I can’t believe I can’t watch Rebel’s movie,” Rider grumbled.
“You are absolutely not ever fuckin’ watching Rebel’s movie,” Tack declared.
“F-bomb one of the night,” Tyra whispered to Shy on her right. “All I can say is thank God it’s not a drinking game.”
“Why not?” Rider hollered at his father, ignoring his mother.
“Ask me when you got a nine-year-old son,” Tack returned.
“That’ll be next century,” Rider complained.
“We can only hope,” Tyra said under her breath.
He shot his wife a grin.
Her eyes closed a little as she watched his mouth do it.
Yep.
Felt that in his cock too.
His phone on the kitchen bar rang.
His eyes on her meant he did not miss his wife looking to it or her face falling even if she covered that shit up almost immediately.
Knife through the heart.
Every damned time.
Tack dumped his napkin and pushed out of his chair.
“Can I take calls at dinner?” Cutter asked.
“Sure, when you’re payin’ for your own phone plan,” Tack told him.
“And you got a phone, bud,” Rush added.
“Which will happen when you’re sixteen and I can activate the GPS and stalk you,” Tyra declared.
“Dad says eleven!” Rider shouted.
“If you can talk your father into waltzing his badass self into a phone store, I’ll let that happen,” Tyra replied.
Since he told his sons they could have phones at eleven, but he had no fucking intention of entering a goddamned phone store so they could suck three hours of his life away doing shit to a five by three-inch piece of glass and plastic, he felt mildly bad they’d have to wait until sixteen and their mother would get them a phone.
That was his last thought before he saw who was calling him on his.
He took it up, connected the call and was taking long strides down the hall back to his and Red’s room when he answered, “Yo, Raid.”
“Hey, Tack. Sucks to say, but from what we could find out, he left his latest flophouse this morning,” Raid said.
Tack turned into his room, got two steps in and stopped.
The day after Carissa had her baby, Lee Nightingale called with the news that his computer genius, Brody, had tracked the sale of a gun registered to Arthur Lannigan to a pawn shop in Cheyenne.
Four days later, another gun sale in Reno.
Four days ago, a Rolex that was reported stolen twenty years ago turned up at a pawn shop in Vegas.
On the Cheyenne run, Rush, Snap, High and Hound went up.
They got the Reno news, Knight stepped in, sending Deacon, Raid and Nick with Rush and Snap joining them (half the reason Rebel hadn’t been able to cook for her man yet).
Knight’s men followed him to Vegas, but Knight and Tack had a chat and decided the writing was on the wall with Chew’s activities, so Chaos needed to see to business at home.
This meant Rush and Snap headed home.
They’d clipped through three motels and missed him by hours each time.
“He’s gotta have an MO with his choices,” Tack noted. “You got a guess as to where he’ll turn up next?”
“No, considering management didn’t get it when the cleaning