Tack closed his eyes and looked to his boots, that burn in his chest searing deep. He knew then why they wanted to know how many brothers were there. If they felt they had to lock him down, they wanted to know what kind of fight they had on their hands.

“That’s Cherry’s ride,” Hound confirmed.

“Cherry?” Tack heard Lucas ask and he opened his eyes and looked up.

“Tyra,” Hound grunted, his hand landing on Tack’s shoulder.

“That all you got?” Tack asked and two sets of surprised eyes hit him. They thought he’d lose his shit.

And he would, she didn’t come out of this breathing.

Now, him losing his shit would in no way help his woman.

“That’s all we got,” Lucas stated.

“No blood?” Tack asked.

“No blood,” Lawson affirmed.

This was not good news, it was not bad. Lescheva wasn’t messy when he did his wet work and it depended on his mood when he’d stop playing and get down to business.

“Are you confirming Tyra Masters is missing?” Lucas asked and Tack felt Hound’s hand leave his shoulder.

“If she’s good when we find her, DPD could fuck this,” Hound growled from behind Tack, knowing Lucas’s question meant he wanted authorization to get the Denver Police Department involved in an official capacity.

“DPD won’t fuck this,” Lawson returned.

“DPD don’t know what they’re dealin’ with,” Hound shot back.

“DPD knows what they’re dealing with and they know there’s a possible hostage involved and they have experience extricating hostages while they’re still breathing so DPD won’t fuck this,” Lawson retorted then his eyes went to Tack. “And I know you know, man, and I sure as fuck haven’t forgot. I owe you. DPD won’t fuck this because I won’t let them fuck this.”

“We’ll discuss who owes who after she’s home safe,” Tack replied then he looked to Lucas, “Make your call.”

Lucas stepped off to the side, pulling out his phone.

“Tack, brother,” Hound clipped and Tack turned to him. “We do not need cops involved in this.”

“The Russians got my woman. She needs every man on the hunt she can get.”

“Tack, this could get messy,” Hound reminded him of something he already knew.

“Objective, she ends this day home and breathing.”

“Tack –”

“Done talkin’,” Tack ground out as the front door opened.

All eyes went there to see Cabe “Hawk” Delgado and Lee Nightingale, another local badass, a private investigator, walking in. Hawk was carrying a manila folder.

Both men’s eyes scanned the space then came back to Tack.

But it was Hawk who spoke.

“Boys out?”

“What do you think?” Tack asked back, not about to have this conversation again, then he dipped his head to the folder. “What’s that?”

“You need to look at some pictures,” Hawk told him, stopping and tossing the file on the bar.

“Got other things to do, Hawk,” Tack said low, Hawk’s head turned to Tack and they locked eyes.

“In about thirty seconds, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ that is gonna seriously piss you off. But you got other things on your mind so I know you’ll get over it. We’ll deal with your beef later.”

Fuck.

“Give it to me,” Tack growled.

Hawk didn’t delay.

“Ride has been under my surveillance for three years,” he announced and Tack felt Hound’s fury explode behind him but he lifted a hand and kept his eyes locked with Hawk’s.

“The Russians, Arlo and High,” Tack guessed accurately, dropping his hand.

Hawk nodded. “We’ve been workin’ with the Feds.”

“What else?”

Hawk tore his gaze from Tack’s, looked down at the folder and threw it open. He shifted an eight by ten black and white to facing them and pointed to it. It was a still shot taken in the interior of Ride’s auto supply store of a man alone in an aisle.

Hawk twisted his neck and his eyes went back to Tack. “You know that man?”

Tack stared at the photo and the burn in his chest singed even deeper.

“Fuck me, that’s Naomi’s man, Pipe,” Hound muttered then louder, “What the fuck’s that fucker got to do with this?”

“Your ex’s man,” Hawk said, ignoring Hound and straightening away from the photo.

“Yeah,” Tack forced out on a grunt. “You wanna tell me why you’re takin’ photos of that asshole shoppin’?”

“This guy is a fuck up,” Hawk stated.

“Got a woman with the Russians,” Tack warned. “Don’t waste my time tellin’ me shit I know.”

“No, Tack,” Lee Nightingale entered the conversation, “This guy is a fuck up. He’s in deep with about every player in town.”

“In deep how?” Tack bit out.

“Drugs.”

Jesus. Fuck. Shit. God fucking damn it.

That motherfucker was using with his kids around. And his ex bitch knew, let him, hid it and played Tack.

Jesus. Fuck. Shit. God fucking damn it!

That was why he threatened to sell Tab’s car, punishing her for no reason and why Naomi was so quick to sell their kids.

His eyes burned into Hawk. “You think to tell me some strung out asshole with a slew of debt was in a house with my kids?”

“I did, it would compromise the investigation,” Hawk returned then said quietly, “Tack, we’ll deal with your beef later.”

It took effort but Tack locked down the burn and prompted, “And you’re sharin’ this with me now because…?”

“Because one of the players he’s in deep with most is the Russians,” Nightingale replied. “Desperate, he wiggled in, started to do favors. Got tight. Or as tight as the Russians would get with an outsider. He spends a lot of time in your shop, Tack. He spends a lot of time in his car outside your shop, eyes on Ride. He takes a lot of notes on the comings and goings of Chaos. He lives with your ex who knows you well. And he spends a lot of time behind closed doors with the Russians.”

Tack immediately turned to Hound. “Call a brother to take your back. On your bike. Pick him up. You know where to take him.” Hound moved and Tack called to his back, “Get that bitch too.”

Hound turned. “Naomi?”

Tack didn’t trust himself to speak. He just jerked up his chin.

Hound took off.

Tack looked to Lawson and Lucas, the last had made his phone call and rejoined the huddle. “In about two seconds, you are not here and you keep DPD away from all known Chaos locations.”

“Tack –” Lawson started.

Tack cut him off. “He’s gonna talk. He’s gonna do it fast. And if he’s gonna do it fast, he ain’t gonna be doin’ it in an interrogation room.”

A muscle jerked in Lawson’s cheek. He was struggling, he felt he owed a marker but he was shackled by the man he was.

“Chestnut,” Tack whispered, referring to Lawson’s woman. “Your kids. Keep clean.”

“You go gonzo, Slim and me might not be able to cover your shit,” Lawson returned.

“Let me worry about that. You keep clean.”

Lawson held his gaze. Then he jerked up his chin. And, with looks through Tack, Delgado and Nightingale, Lucas and Lawson walked out.

“It’d help, my boys could coordinate search efforts with yours,” Nightingale stated and Tack looked at him.

“You got a line to Dog?”

“Yep.”

“Have your boy call him.”

Nightingale nodded, pulled out his phone and stepped away.

“Kane,” Hawk said low and a knife pierced Tack’s gut at his tone and the name Hawk used before he looked at him. “Lescheva fucked up with Winchell, Pierson and the mattresses. They lost two million in product in that mattress warehouse. Shit happens, like you lose safe transport and warehousing, you deal and you don’t lose two million when you do. The higher ups do not blame you. They blame Lescheva. Then he fucked up again when he kidnapped the wards of a police officer, took a meeting with every badass in Denver and pissed every one of us off, buying himself unwanted attention. Then he fucked up again with Belova goin’ rogue and disappearing. All that guy knows? You did the best you could but he was dead even before your boys took him and his woman over the Denver city limits. His higher ups have been all over his shit. Nightingale and his boys have been all over his shit. The Feds are all over his shit. And Chaos has been all over his shit.”

“You are again not tellin’ me somethin’ I don’t know,” Tack pointed out.

“Prepare, man,” Hawk replied quietly.

He knew that too.

He knew. Tack knew.

Lescheva was stone cold. But even the coldest motherfucker burned bright before he flamed out.

Lescheva’s days were numbered, Tack had been working for a whole fucking year with his higher ups to see that come about at the same time extricate Chaos from that bullshit forever.

And Lescheva knew it.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t intend to take down everyone around him when he flamed out.

And Tyra was around him.

“Got shit to do,” Tack muttered.

“My boys and I are all over this.”

Tack caught his eyes.

“Owe you.”

“No marker.”

“Don’t play it that way, Hawk.”

“You had my woman’s back and in doin’ it, mine. I got yours. We’re even.”

He could live with that.

Tack jerked up his chin.

Then he stalked out of the Compound to his bike.

* * *

Two hours later, Chaos cabin outside Golden, Colorado…

Wearing brass knuckles, Hop clocked Gerald “Pipe” Dahl in the jaw with a closed fist and the fat man as well as the chair he was tied to went down.

Naomi, tied across the room in her own chair, shrieked, “Stop!”

Pipe spit out a mess of blood and a tooth, grunting, “I’m tellin’ you! I don’t know shit!”