knew, it confirms Pope sayin’ Chew used everything he had for one last shot at whatever the fuck he’s trying to accomplish with all this shit.” He lifted his eyes to Rush. “But Resurrection is not out. We’re still at your backs when we can be, we’re still on the hunt for Sparkle and we’re still on the hunt for Chew.”
“I’ll say it again, you should bow out, regroup, heal,” Tack advised.
Slowly, Beck turned his attention to Tack.
“You’re right. We should. But that’s not what we’re doin’.”
“Web, Rainman and Spartan got kids, man,” Tack reminded him.
Beck said nothing, just stared in Tack’s eyes, the memorial patch for his brother sitting on the table in front of him.
Pope didn’t have a lot of interest in this club, not when they were Bounty.
Pope was paying a lot of attention to Beck now that he was president of Resurrection.
“I don’t wanna have to have another patch made up, Throttle,” Tack went on.
“Respect. But it’s Beck,” he ground out. “And I don’t want that either. So this has to end. And to do that, we got bounties on Sparkle and Chew. Everything we got left. Everything we could round up. Everything every brother could pour into that pot. We don’t get him, every hunter in eight states lookin’, someone will.”
“Makin’ a desperate man more desperate, you doing that and word gets to Chew,” Tack replied.
“You want us to rescind the bounty on Chew, it’s done,” Beck returned. “But the one on Sparkle stands.”
Tack stared at him, looked over his shoulder at his son, Rush tipped his chin, Tack looked back to Beck.
“The one on Sparkle can stand,” Tack decreed.
Beck’s jaw ticked but he said nothing. He didn’t like that, Chew behind Sparkle killing his brother. But he’d do what he promised.
Tack sat back and rested his linked hands on his stomach.
“Last few weeks, brothers have had tight security systems installed, or tighter ones if they already had them. We’re movin’ our families back home. Appreciate anything you see or hear fed to us.” He looked to Beck. “You boys do what you gotta do.” He looked to Pope. “Time to resume our lives and fuckin’ hope.”
“Hate this for you, brother, and believe it that Range has got that hope with you this ends soon,” Pope said.
“Yeah,” Beck put in.
“Beer before we go?” Pope asked.
“Rosalie out there?” Beck asked Rush, straight up.
Shit.
“Yes,” Rush answered.
“No beer,” Beck grunted. “She needs to get safe home.”
Tack studied Beck closely.
It was uncanny, but Rush was studying him the exact same way.
So Chaos wasn’t going to get a new president.
Just a younger version of the same one.
“Guess we’re adjourned,” Beck decreed.
He then pushed back his chair, yanked out a knife from the table, walked to the brand-new Resurrection flag draped on the wall behind him, held that patch against it and drove the knife through.
He turned, crossed his arms on his chest.
Hardcore went to stand by his brother, assuming the same position.
“Ride safe, men,” Beck bid.
Handshakes were exchanged and the minute Pope opened the door, Range and Chaos were brushing shoulders with Resurrection as what was left of that club filed in.
They closed the door behind them.
Pope did not take that as disrespect.
He just gave his respect to Chaos and the old ladies he knew, and he and his VP got the fuck out of there.
Rush
Three and a half hours later . . .
“God, it’s good to be home,” Rebel mumbled against his chest.
Everyone was home. Kids getting back to schedules. Old ladies getting back to work.
Except Millie.
For weeks, Millie as well as High’s girls by his ex, Zadie and Cleo, and his ex, Deb, were down in Phoenix, hanging with Millie’s parents.
D, Mad and Sixx had all promised to keep an eye on them.
High still called down there seven hundred times a day.
Rush tightened his hold on Rebel, staring at the moonlight dancing on the Christmas balls hanging from her ceiling.
Her body relaxed into his as she fell asleep.
He did not sleep.
Could not sleep.
Because Pope made sense. Chew was out of resources. He was out of options. And he had to be running out of luck.
But Rush knew . . .
This was not over.
Because Chew knew all of that.
And because if it, Chew knew he was running out of time.
Free and Clear
Snapper
Six fifty, Saturday evening, two weeks later . . .
It was raining hard.
He was soaked.
His throat was choked.
His hair was straggling in his eyes, eyes that were blinking away the hair and the wet.
And the blood.
His hands were