I leaped from the bed and turned to the door where her eyes were glued and saw Tack leaning against the jamb.

“Hey, babe,” Tack greeted me casually over Lanie’s screaming which, fortunately, made Lanie stop screaming.

“Tack,” I said softly.

“You… you’re Tack?” Lanie whispered and I looked down at her to see she was staring at Tack.

“That’s me,” Tack said.

“Holy shit, Ty-Ty, you were not wrong. He… is… hawt.”

I closed my eyes and dropped my head but closing my eyes didn’t mean my ears closed and therefore I heard Tack’s very deeply amused chuckle.

Fabulous.

Apparently, heartbreak and finding out your fiancé was a bad dude didn’t interfere with appreciating a fine male specimen. Good to know.

Before I recovered from my latest mortification that involved Tack, I felt his arm slide around my shoulders. My head came up when he curled me into his side and I saw that he was looking down at Lanie.

“How you doin’?” he asked gently.

“Uh…” Lanie answered, her eyes zipping back and forth between Tack and me.

“You need anything?” Tack asked.

“Uh…” Lanie answered, still doing the zipping thing.

“Ice cream?” Tack went on. “Whiskey?” he continued when Lanie shook her head. “Weed?” Luckily he stopped there.

“Uh…” Lanie repeated, her eyes settling on Tack.

“I think she’s good,” I finally answered for her.

“Yeah, uh… I think I’m good,” Lanie confirmed.

Tack pulled me closer, asking, “You done with Tyra for tonight?”

“Uh… sure,” Lanie said.

“Is that a sure, sure or is that a not so sure, sure?” Tack asked.

I looked up at him thinking he was being both very cool and very sweet. I didn’t know what to make of this coming from him.

“I think I’m cried out… for now,” Lanie told Tack.

“Right,” he said quietly. “Then I’m gonna steal her.”

“Okay,” Lanie agreed.

“You rest good,” Tack told her.

“Uh… okay,” Lanie said.

Tack didn’t speak for a beat then he said softly, “You’ll be all right.”

She blinked up at him. I did too.

Then he turned us to the door.

“Uh… ‘night,” she called to our backs.

I looked over my shoulder at her and replied, “’Night, honey. I’m right next door if you need me.”

“’Night,” Tack said, not looking back. He guided me out of the room, closed the door then he guided me to my room then he closed that door and curled me to him full frontal. I looked up at him and he asked, “How’d that go?”

“On the Drama Breakup with Your Fiancé Six Weeks Before the Wedding Because You Just Found Out He’s A Bad Dude Scale of one to ten that was a twenty-seven.”

Tack’s lips twitched.

I went on, “There’s a fourteen thousand dollar diamond engagement ring somewhere in my backyard.”

Tack’s lips stopped twitching because they curved upwards.

“Do you know where I can rent a metal detector?” I queried.

The curve turned into his sexy grin before he stated, “I’ll get one of my boys to find it.”

“That would be good considering she can hock that ring and add a room onto her house, make it a shrine to all the reasons she hates Elliott Belova.”

The sexy grin turned into a bigger, sexier smile that included the lines radiating from his eyes deepening and his face looking like he was fighting laughter.

It was a seriously good look and I got so lost in it, I didn’t notice it start to fade until his gentle voice came at me.

“You seem better.”

I pulled in breath through my nose. Then I told him, “I’m better because she’s going to survive and my hard part is done. Now I just have to offer support and that’s easy.”

He studied me again, his eyes moving over my face before they caught mine.

“You need sleep or you wanna know about this guy?” he asked.

I needed sleep. It had to be well beyond midnight and although my boss probably would understand if I called off and hung with my best friend the next day seeing as he was intimately involved in this drama, now that I was getting the hang of it, my job was pretty busy. Not to mention, the mechanics and body shop guys would not be good on their own. They needed direction. They also needed a listening ear. They further needed coffee and donuts. I missed donuts one day and I thought there was going to be a revolt. I had to get into Ride.

But I still wanted to know about Elliott.

“I wanna know about Elliott,” I told him.

He nodded and gave me a squeeze. “Get ready for bed, baby, I gotta make a call. I’ll meet you there and we’ll talk before we sleep.”

I blinked at him as he let me go, turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

What did he mean, get ready for bed, and I’ll meet you there and we’ll talk before we sleep?

The getting ready for bed part I could do. My getting ready for bed left me in nearly the same outfit I was in when Tack left the room. Except it was drawstring pajama shorts rather than jean shorts and there was no bra under my camisole. Therefore I did that part.

I was sitting cross-legged on my covers, rubbing hand cream in my hands when Tack returned, again closing the door behind him.

“Tack, maybe we should –”

I stopped speaking when his hands immediately went to the hem of his tee. Then it was up and gone and I had a full on view of his wide chest, tight abs and array of tattoos.

Holy heck. I forgot what a great chest he had. How broad his shoulders were. How much I really liked the definition of his collarbone. How much more I liked the ridges of his six pack. And how stupefyingly fascinating his tats were.

He’d undone his belt and two buttons of his jeans by the time I pulled it together but I lost it again when he turned and sat on the bed to pull off his boots and I caught sight of his back. Tack’s back was tattooed too, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, spanning his ribs and down his spine. It was an insignia I saw a lot around Ride and included wings, flames, the profile of an eagle and the American flag with a waving banner that spanned his waist in which, in old style, old West writing it said, simply, “Chaos”.

It was an unbelievably cool tattoo.

I hadn’t recovered from it by the time he had his boots off and stood. It was then I snapped to, opened my mouth to suggest we talk in the living room prior to his leaving for the night and then his jeans were gone.

My breath caught and my eyes glazed over and before I knew it, Tack swept the covers down, climbed into bed, grabbed my hand, pulled me forward so I went up on my knees then toppled down on him. Finally, he swept the covers over us both.

I lifted my head and chest and stared down at him.

“Uh…” I mumbled.

“Elliott Belova is in some serious bad shit and I say that knowin’ he was in serious bad shit before. The shit he’s actually in is serious,” Tack started the conversation and I snapped my mouth shut.

Then I opened it to ask, “So, he chatted?”

“Man wouldn’t shut up,” Tack answered.

Suddenly all ears, I dropped my chest to his to get closer and whispered, “Tell me.”

To that, for some reason he asked, “Your girl in there, this wedding, it big?”

“Um… yeah. She’s spending ten thousand dollars on flowers alone.”

“Jesus,” Tack muttered.

“Her dress cost more than my car,” I informed him.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tack was still muttering.

“And you already know about the fourteen thousand dollar engagement ring. I won’t get into the catering,” I finished.

“Christ, that explains that,” Tack said.

“What?” I asked.

“Babe, her man loves her. Blinded by that shit. Wants to hand her the world.”

“And?” I prompted when he didn’t go on.

“And, Red, he can’t afford fourteen thousand dollar engagement rings and ten grand on flowers and whatever the fuck on catering. That guy is in so deep he drowned about six months ago. He’s dead man walking.”

I felt my eyes get wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Tack affirmed.

“I thought he made good money, she made good money. I thought –”

“They might make good money, darlin’, but I’m guessin’, the way they live added to that fuckin’ wedding…” He shook his head. “He couldn’t swing it. He also couldn’t say no. He had some money, made what he called a ‘bad investment’ but what he means is, he got ripped off. Promised two hundred percent return in two months turned into a loss of one hundred and fifty K in the blink of an eye. The guy he gave the money to disappeared. Belova scrambled. Tried to find a way out usin’ family ties but found himself hooked to some serious men who wanted to use his super brain to do some super serious illegal shit. They paid him and these guys pay you, they own you. Now, they own him. He can’t get out from under it. I just called a cop I know and it’s worse. He’s not only on the grid, he’s on radar. These men won’t cut him loose and Lawson at DPD didn’t say it flat out but I get the sense the cops know what he’s doin’. Belova’s done, he wants out and he wants out bad. Your friend talked to him about me, this guy’s got an idea about bikers, he came over here to talk to you to get to me but he got me. He made another stupid play, thinkin’ I do that shit. Now he’s owned by the Russian Mob, he’s on cop radar and he’s not my favorite person, making assumptions like that about me. One way or the other, this guy is fucked. Far as I can see, he’s got two options, jail or dead. But even if the cops get to him before the mob, he goes inside, he’s dead. He even thinks of talkin’ to the cops, he’s dead. So, my guess is, he’s dead.”