staff saw it, but we did, seeing as he wrote in soap on the bathroom mirror, ‘Fuck Chaos.’”
Tack closed his eyes and dropped his head.
“Doing the rounds,” Raid kept up in his ear. “He’s dropped some silver, some jewelry, and a local fence took some designer shoes and purses off him.” His voice dropped. “Sorry, Tack, but Nick’s out. Olivia’s in Tennessee by herself and he’s not a fan of that. And Deacon is getting antsy. He wants back home to Cassidy. And probably goes without saying, I wanna get home to Hanna. We don’t like the news he knows someone’s on his ass. His message, not sure he made us. But our women home alone, none of us wanna take that chance.”
Tack opened his eyes.
“Understandable. You think he shot his wad and is heading back?” he asked.
“My guess, yeah.”
“His take?”
“Maybe thirty, thirty-five K.”
“Enough for a hit,” Tack muttered.
“An amateur one.”
“Got seventeen large from his last robberies in Denver.”
“And I can’t say we tracked everything he unloaded across two states,” Raid added. “Which sucks, and makes us feel like dicks, we’re pullin’ out. But we got women and kids—”
“Not your fight,” Tack muttered.
“We dropped our names, numbers and some cash on people. On our way back, we’ll drop more and his picture at motels and pawn shops he might hit. He pops, we’ll get calls then you’ll get calls. But just to say, from soap on a mirror to you, I wouldn’t waste resources sending brothers to Vegas. Gut tells me he’s heading home.”
Tack turned and saw Shy stepping in, Rush leaning against his doorjamb.
He shook his head.
Shy’s mouth went tight, the skin around Rush’s eyes did the same.
Playboy could be heard shouting, “Da, Da, Da!”
Tack looked at his son-in-law.
His mouth was no longer tight.
Playboy talking wasn’t new. His grandson had been picking words up for months.
But that particularly never failed to put his father in a good mood no matter what shit was going down.
“Family dinner, Raid. I gotta get back to it. We owe you men. You got call to do it, you come to us.”
“Just feed us at a hog roast, we’re in town, Tack. This is for you. This is for Knight. But mostly this is for five dead women and one dead guy.”
“Yeah,” Tack grunted.
“Later, and hope this is over soon for you, man.”
“I do too, Raid. I fuckin’ do too,” Tack replied.
They hung up.
“Let me guess, he was one step ahead of fuckin’ Raid Miller, Nick Sebring and Deacon Gates,” Rush bit out. “Again.”
“He’s a man on the run with cops and heat on his ass. He’s not gonna take time to sit by the pool. It isn’t their fault,” Tack returned.
“I’m not saying it is.” Rush yanked his hand through his hair. It went back, fell again into his eyes, then he scrubbed his fingers along his bearded cheek and muttered, “Just way done with this jackhole.”
“I hear that.”
“Da, Da, Da, DaDaDa!” Playboy shrieked.
“Best get back to my son,” Shy said, and Rush moved out of his way so he could leave the room.
Father and son looked at each other.
“You want me to grab Snap, head to Vegas?” Rush offered.
“I want every brother packin’ and on guard. That asshole’s heading home. It’s showtime, Rush. We just don’t got the playbill.”
Rush was not happy about that.
He still nodded, turned and disappeared from the doorway.
Tack drew in a heavy breath.
Then he followed his son.
Snapper
Six twenty-seven, Monday evening . . .
Leaving the Compound, on his way home to Rosalie, Snapper pulled to the curb, cut power to his bike, slammed the heel of his boot on the stand, swung his leg over the saddle and prowled to the bike that had just parked behind him.
Jesus, the fucker didn’t even try to hide the tail.
“You’re shittin’ me, right?” he clipped.
“Man—”
“You’re fuckin’ shitting me, right?” he repeated.
“Amends, Snapper,” Throttle muttered.
“Fuck you, Throttle.”
“Not Throttle anymore,” he said.
“You’ll always be Throttle, asshole. And you know why.”
The man flinched, and when he did, Snap caught the fading shiner and the cut in his lip.
He recovered, kept his seat on his bike and held Snapper’s eyes.
“Word’s all over the street, Chew’s comin’ back.”
“And this is your business because . . . ?”
“Because, like it or not, Snapper, Resurrection has got your back.”
Snap’s body shot straight.
“This is me tellin’ you,” Throttle said. “Hopefully Chew won’t notice us. But the boys voted, we know the slate can’t be cleaned, we still wanna make amends so we’re gonna have your back.”