Tack’s head came up and his lips surrounded by is badass biker goatee were smiling.

“Yeah, babe. That’s my way of communicatin’ I’m glad I got you knocked up.”

“Good,” I said softly.

His smile faded as his hand came up to my neck, palm under my ear, fingers in my hair behind it, thumb moving out to sweep the apple of my cheek.

God, I loved it when he did that.

His eyes watched his thumb move then they came to mine and I held my breath at what I saw.

“I got there,” he whispered.

“Where, baby?” I whispered back.

“God wouldn’t ‘a given me you and all you could give me growin’ inside you if I was not redeemed.”

My heart tripped and my belly flipped as I breathed, “Handsome,” lifting a hand to curl around the side of his neck and moving my head so my forehead was resting against his.

His soft words brushed against my lips and it was the sweetest touch he’d ever given me when he said, “I love you, Red.”

“I love you too, Tack.”

We held each other close, connected and savored the moment before he lifted his head and announced, “We got a party to get to, darlin’.”

He was not wrong.

He touched his lips to mine, pulled out gently and, still gentle, slid me off the counter and onto my feet. He held me close until my legs felt firm under me. Then he dropped his head and kissed my throat.

I closed my eyes.

Second sweetest touch he’d given me. Definitely.

I opened my eyes when Tack stepped away and adjusted his jeans. I turned to the basin and twisted on the taps to clean up.

All was right in the world and I knew this when Tack wandered out of the bathroom bossing, “Hurry up, babe. Takin’ the time to fuck you means we’re runnin’ late.”

My eyes to the reflection in the mirror of the door he disappeared through, I rolled them.

Then I cleaned up.

Back in my panties, I reached to my moisturizer but stopped.

We had pale yellow tile in our bathroom rimmed with thin tiles of white. I’d dumped Tack’s old, mismatched towels and added new, thick emerald green ones. They were hanging on the towel rack.

My eyes moved.

My moisturizer and toner bottles were the deep hued color of moss. My toothbrush was bright pink, Tack’s was electric blue. There was a little bowl by the tap where I tossed my jewelry when I was washing my hands or preparing for bed. It was ceramic painted in glossy sunshine yellow and grass green. My eyes went to the mirror. My undies were cherry red lace.

I grinned at myself in the mirror.

I lived in color, every day, and my life was vibrant.

I rubbed in moisturizer hoping our baby got his or her Dad’s sapphire blue eyes.

But I’d settle if they were my green.

* * *

Sitting on top of a picnic table outside the Compound in the warm, late June Colorado sun having a moment of alone time, I heard the clickety-clack of high-heeled shoes and my eyes turned to see Elvira bearing down on me.

And when they did, my lips curved into a smile.

Only Elvira would wear to a barbeque at a biker stronghold a tight, butter yellow, cleavage-baring, halter top dress with a pair of bronze sandals that were so fuck-me, even as a girl I would describe them as that.

She looked like she was about to step out to a trendy eatery not about to bite into a grilled brat.

With a grace borne of practice, she climbed up and sat her ass down beside me at the picnic table whereupon she announced, “Trouble’s a-brewin’.”

I felt my eyebrows draw together at this very strange yet totally Elvira opening. “Pardon?”

Her head tipped in the direction of something and my eyes moved there.

I saw Shy, now a full member of the Club, being Shy. That was to say he had on a pair of faded jeans that fit him all too well, a tight black t-shirt that also fit him all too well, his dark hair was a sexy mess, his mirrored shades were shoved on the top of his head and he was openly flirting with a young, attractive biker babe.

He was smiling at her and his smile was wicked.

She was also smiling at him and her smile was come hither.

Shy was clearly going to get him some. And from copious experience witnessing Shy in action my guess was, he was going to get that some and soon. Hell, just that week I’d seen him charm a woman who was buying wiper fluid in Ride into his bed in the Compound and he’d done it in ten point seven five minutes. I knew this because Hop and I had timed it.

Not a surprise and also not a rarity, not by a long shot. Thus I didn’t know what trouble was “a-brewin’” until I started to look away and my eyes caught on Tabby.

Oh boy.

She was standing about ten feet away. She was also looking at Shy and the way she was looking was like her entire world just came to an end.

This was not good.

Tabby had pulled her shit together. This didn’t mean she didn’t come home drunk once, as in drunk and puking all over the entryway. And this didn’t mean Tack didn’t lose his mind when she did and she didn’t get a lecture. But she was a teenager. That shit happened. Tack knew it and busted her chops but he didn’t go overboard.

Mostly, she was Tabby, sweet, cute, smart, charming. She and her Dad were tight. She and her brother were tight. And she and I were tight. She got good grades. She came home (mostly) by curfew. She dated boys of an appropriate age who only slightly scared the crap out of me seeing as they were all good-looking and players-in-training but were also totally into her. And it helped Tab’s Dad was a badass and he more than slightly scared the crap out of Tabby’s boyfriends.

But this wasn’t good. Not only because Tabby was seventeen and Shy, at twenty-two, was out of her league for at least another year but also because Shy was Shy. He was a dawg. He racked ‘em up and nailed them down so fast, if it could be recorded as a world record, it would.

And he was a brother. It was not as if Tack wasn’t aware of all this.

On this thought my eyes slid to my old man to see he was, indeed, aware of all this. All of it. I knew this because his face didn’t look happy and it didn’t look that way even though his eyes were covered by his own mirrored shades and those shades were pointed in the direction of Tabby and Shy. Tack had Mitch, Dog and Gwen’s father Bax standing close to him talking but I knew he wasn’t involved in the conversation.

His mind was on his girl. And his brother, the dawg.

Crap.

“’Cause ‘a Gwen then ‘cause ‘a you, I been to my fair share of these boys’ jamborees and it hasn’t escaped my notice that boy is fine,” Elvira stated at my side. “He’s rough, he’s young, he makes me feel like a cougar but that don’t mean that boy ain’t fine. So fine, a girl could convince herself she don’t mind he’s a player. ‘Love ‘em, leave ‘em’ could be tattooed across his chest and a girl could convince herself she don’t care just so she could see the weapon he’s packin’ in those faded jeans. May have been some time since you bitch-slapped your way to kicking that motherfucker’s ass, girlfriend, but I think your girl there has tastes that run toward heartbreak. And it looks like this is not lost your man and he’s not takin’ to it too good.”

Tack must have felt my eyes because his shades came to me. They locked with my eyes and then he slowly shook his head. We weren’t close but I still knew he blew out a sigh.

No, this was not lost on Tack.

“Makes matters worse,” Elvira kept talking and I tore my eyes from Tack’s shades and looked at her, “that boy won’t go down to no bitch slappin’, sister. He gets a whiff he’s got a go and she comes of age, you better arm yourself with more than pepper spray. I’m thinkin’… machete.”

“No way Shy would go there,” I informed her and her eyebrows went up.

“Girl, you crazy? She’s gorgeous and he’s on a mission to have a bedpost that’s made up ‘a nothin’ but notches.”

“She’s also his brother’s daughter. He won’t go there,” I told her authoritatively because I knew, Shy might be a dawg but he was also smart, a good guy and loyal and he’d rather cut off his own arm than disrespect Tack like that.

“Then your problem is her, ‘cause a girl don’t look that forlorn unless she’s in deep,” Elvira returned. “That ain’t no crush. She likes him, straight up.”

She was not wrong about that.

My eyes drifted to Tabby who had, fortunately, been engaged in conversation with Meredith, Gwen’s Mom, Roberta, a friend of Mara’s, Tracy and Camille.

“Oowee!” Elvira suddenly screeched, I jumped, twisted and saw Gwen approaching, her tiny, new baby Asher bundled in her arms. Elvira had both her arms extended, fingers wriggling. “Give me that little, cuddly, baby commando.” Gwen arrived, transferred Asher to Elvira who immediately cuddled him close to her chest, dipped her face to his and cooed, “Who’s gonna grow up, kick ass and take names? Who’s gonna be my little badass?”

“Elvira, stop putting ideas in his head,” Gwen ordered and Elvira kept Asher snuggled close to her substantial cleavage but her head snapped up.

“Girl, he can’t even cogitate. Calm down.”

“He’s Hawk’s. He has superhero powers. They’re latent, you can’t sense them, but they’re there. Trust me. Stop giving him ideas. He’s not going to grow up to be a commando. He’s going to grow up to be anything but a commando.” She looked to me. “I don’t know what that is. I also don’t care. Hawk being Hawk, I’m pretty certain every bullet in his arsenal is stamped with a male chromosome that will not be denied. I’m screwed. I already envision decades of living through fights, blood, drunkenness, puke and pregnancy scares. I don’t need to be finding assault rifles under beds and sitting on ninja stars that have fallen into my couch.”