“Roscoe?”
“Recruit. Not fresh, he’s been around a while. Smart kid. Seen some action. Done his part. Thought he’d do good. Fucked up.”
Oh boy, I was worried about the unknown Roscoe and his six stitches but I was worried more about Tack and his fury.
“Tack, you need to let me –”
“No,” he cut me off yet again. “I’ll explain, Red, you belong to Chaos. No one touches what belongs to Chaos. No one. They don’t touch it. They don’t hood it. They don’t bind it. They don’t even breathe in its space unless they have Chaos permission.”
Um. I had to admit, I liked that he was protective. I even liked that he was overprotective.
But it must be said I wasn’t feeling the love for being referred to as an “it”.
I thought it wasn’t the brightest move to inform him of that fact in his current mood so I kept on my current target in hopes of getting through. “Please let me –”
“You gotta get that, Red. And I swear to f**kin’ Christ, they’re gonna get it.”
I stared into his shadowy face and whispered, “You’re scaring me again, Tack.”
His fingers flexed into my throat again before his hand slid up, palm cupping my jaw, fingers wrapped around my neck and ear and his face came closer, his lips touching mine before he moved back.
“You shouldn’t be scared. The point I’m makin’ is that you should never be scared. But I promise, ‘cause of this shit, someone’s gonna feel fear. It just ain’t gonna be you. Not again. Not ever again. Not for three hours, Tyra, not for three f**kin’ minutes.”
“Tack –”
“I’m not inviting discussion, babe, I’m sayin’ it like it is.”
“Tack!” I snapped, coming to my end. I slapped his arm to get his attention and demanded, “Listen to me!”
“What?”
He waited and I didn’t know what to say.
Then I enquired, “If I ask nice, can I talk you out of rivers of blood?”
“Fuck no.”
Firm. Resolute.
Damn.
“Okay then, if I ask nice, will you explain the concept of ‘rivers of blood’ so perhaps I can plan how long I’ll need to visit you in the penitentiary?”
This was met with silence. Then Tack buried his face in my neck and burst into laughter. He slid out of me, his arms wrapped around me and he rolled to his back so I was on top and I felt him buck his h*ps as he jerked up his jeans.
I didn’t find anything funny.
And I decided to inform him of this fact by lifting my head to stare down at him and explaining, “See, I figure you’re commencing Operation Rivers of Blood because I was scared but mostly you’re commencing Operation Rivers of Blood because you’re a badass, scary biker dude who feels the need to piss around his property. Therefore, when you’re sent down for twenty-five to life, I feel I should probably express my appreciation by visiting you for a year, maybe two, before I find myself an accountant who only utters the words ‘rivers of blood’ while referring to, say, a movie or book of that title.”
Without buttoning his fly, his arms came back around me and gave me a squeeze, his head lifted, his mouth touched my neck to give me a light kiss and then he dropped his head back on another arm squeeze and muttered an amused, “Babe.”
I was still not amused. “It’s likely said movie or book title will be the true life story of Chaos MC and its President wreaking vengeance on the Russian mob in Denver.” I paused then finished, “Sorry to say, it doesn’t have a happy ending.”
He chuckled.
I glared.
Then I asked, “Is Lanie okay?”