Her face paled, she looked quickly toward the office then back at Tack. “Can we talk alone?”
Oh. My. God.
She’d come here for this.
“Four seconds,” Tack said.
Her body jerked.
“Seventy-five,” she haggled.
Ohmigod!
She’d come here to haggle for her kids!
“Three seconds.”
“Sixty!” she snapped.
“Two seconds, Naomi.”
“Fuck you, Tack!”
“Right, one second.”
“Fine!” she clipped.
Tack crossed his arms on his chest. “Good. That’s outta the way, these are the terms. I have the papers drawn up. They’re delivered to you. You got twenty-four hours to sign them. That’s delayed even a minute, deal’s dead. You think of getting any bright ideas or that moron of a man you got does and you think to reopen negotiations, deal’s dead. Tab, Rush, Tyra, me or anyone connected with Chaos sees you or hears from you, deal’s dead. Once signed, the kids see you when and if they want to. They don’t, they don’t see you. You don’t call them or me or Tyra or anyone that has anything to do with Chaos or Ride. You do not show your face here, at my house, at Tyra’s, at the kids’ school, ever. Unless the kids instigate contact, you’re gone. Agreed?”
“When do I get the money?” she asked instantly and Tack stared at her, his face twisted in a way I’d never seen.
Revulsion.
“Jesus,” he muttered, “I had your gold on my finger for years.”
“When do I get my money?” Naomi repeated, her tone sharper.
“Not even Rush?” Tack asked what I thought was strangely before I got it.
She wasn’t even going to fight for her son and she supposedly loved him.
That got to her and I could tell because her face was now twisted too. But it was not revulsion. It was hurt and bitterness.
Apparently she needed the money more than her son. Her next words laid testimony to it.
“When do I get my money, ass**le?” Naomi shot back.
“When I get the signed papers,” Tack finally answered.
“Works for me,” she muttered, swung her glare to me then around the group at large before she stomped to her car.
Tack prowled to me.
Oh boy.
Hop let me go, Tack tagged my hand and then I was clicking across the tarmac to the Compound. Once there, Tack pulled me inside and around the bar where he stopped me, tore off his sunglasses, threw them on the bar and put his hands to my waist. Up I went and my ass was on the bar.
“Don’t move,” he growled and stalked off.