“They would have mourned me, but they’d be lost without you,” she went on.
Tack closed his eyes and said nothing.
She cleared her throat and shared, “I met Playboy today.”
“I know,” he replied, opening his eyes and lifting his head.
“He’s a cute little fuck,” she muttered.
Tack decided to go back to silence hoping she’d get him, she’d know he’d heard her and got her, and this would be over.
Naomi joined him.
He was about to put an end to it when she spoke.
“Only gonna spout this shit once, and I figure I’m doin’ it because I’m tripped out on drugs, so listen up, motherfucker,” she said to start. “I fucked up. You were right. We had everything. Then I blew it. Was so pissed you were right, I kept blowing it. But I learned. Boy, did I learn. Now I know. Happy?”
“Not even a little bit,” he growled. “You are what you are and you’ve done what you’ve done, but we made two fuckin’ great kids and you’ll always be the woman who gave me that. So I don’t want you suffering. I absolutely do not want you beat to shit and violated. So right now, I’m not happy. But if you give our boy and girl something good, Naomi, I’ll be grateful. They miss you, even Tabitha. I hope you find it in you to put what happened behind you and earn your place back in their lives. I hope that like fuck, Naomi. For them and for you.”
This time she said nothing.
So he finished it.
“But I reckon you’re tough as nails. Always have been, so no way a strong woman like you is gonna let a useless piece of shit like Chew best you. Make that not happen, Naomi. Heal and then find a good life.”
With that, he hung up.
She didn’t call back.
Tack didn’t expect her to.
So he put that out of his mind and kept walking across the forecourt to get to the Compound to see who was around to share a beer with while he waited for his wife to decide she was done with work.
Beck
One week after that . . .
Beck tapped the fuck on his forehead with the end of the barrel of his gun.
His eyes opened, and the man went still in his bed.
If that was him, even with a gun in his face, the men standing at his back, the drug still coursing through his system, Beck would hope he’d at least go for his gun.
Not that his gun was there.
Man, Shaughnessy was something else.
Honeytrap. Slip a little mickey.
He didn’t even get to kiss her.
But when the man started to get sloppy, Dryden moved in and got him into his hotel room.
Muzzle was on the hotel security cameras. All through this they’d experienced a technical glitch.
He had no clue Muzzle had that skill. But apparently, whereas most of the men worked as mechanics or HVAC techs or shit like that, and messed around with cars, bikes, or their trucks as a pastime, Muzzle had a garage full of wires and computer boards and tech and he fucked around with that.
It sure as hell came in handy.
Beck stared down at the man in bed.
Shit, men got stupid for pussy.
Only way to get smart was find a good woman to offer you her compass.
“You underestimated us,” Beck told him.
“Listen, I got money—”
“Griller.”
That was all he said before he pulled the trigger.
The suppressor muffled the noise.
The blood shot back into the pillow, not on Beck.
Eightball snapped on gloves, moved in and took the fuck’s wrist.
Only when he dropped it and nodded at Beck did Beck put away the gun.
The only brothers not with them were Spiderweb, Spartan and Rainman because they had families.
The job done, they didn’t hang around.
They moved out.
Time to grab a beer.
They were in Florida. They’d take the night, soak in a little of the local flavor, then get home.
Miami was a shit-hot place. Beck wished he could have brought Janna with him. But she was in cosmetology school. She couldn’t skip classes.
And anyway, they were down there to assassinate someone.
He’d bring her when she could let loose.
Up next when they went home was gathering all they had left of club money and getting it to Mamá Nana.
It had been worth every penny.
Right.
Now Sparkle was off the list.
One more down.
One to go.
Then they could stitch on their patches.
Rush
One week later . . .
“So there, I did it. Yes, I did it. And I don’t even care I