Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(140)

This surprised Hound. When shit escalated months ago with Valenzuela taking Millie, Tack putting all the resources at their disposal—including his relationship with Hawk Delgado, a local badass, and Brock Lucas and Mitch Lawson, two Denver cops—stopped.

When an old lady had been hauled into their shit, their problem had become the problem of Chaos and Chaos alone.

That problem dwindling down to Hound doing what he did for his Club to solve it.

It had gone unsolved even if it seemed there was resolution.

Now he knew, his headlight and Hawk’s shining on the men standing around a picnic table outside the Compound that had a sheet draped over it, shit just got seriously ugly.

His body strung tight, Hound parked, shut his bike down and dismounted, moving toward the men around that table feeling Hawk move in with him and hearing more bikes roar onto Chaos.

He didn’t take his eyes off the sheet draped over the table even as he stopped to stand by it.

“We got a delivery,” Tack growled.

He sounded pissed, which made Hound relax.

Whatever was under that sheet pissed off Tack, it didn’t destroy him.

Finally, Hound looked from Tack to Shy to Hop to see they all looked ticked.

He let out a long breath.

“What we got?” he asked.

Tack looked from Hound to whoever came up beside him and greeted shortly, “Pete. Brick.”

More bikes could be heard coming into the forecourt.

“What we got?” Hound repeated, sharper this time.

Hop reached out and flicked up the top of the sheet.

Hound drew in a quick breath.

Camilla Turnbull lay on her back on the table, face white, throat brown with dried blood and red where it was gaping open. There was a thick notecard with writing on it sitting on her forehead.

She’d been done somewhere else, Hound knew that because there was no blood on the sheet, and glancing under the table, there was no blood there either.

She’d been laid out.

On Chaos.

For Chaos.

“Fuck me,” Brick whispered.

“Talk to us,” Hawk clipped as more men hit the circle around the picnic table and even more bikes could be heard coming in.

“My last calls were Slim and Mitch. They’re on their way,” Tack told them. “This,” he indicated Turnbull with a flick of his hand, “is a gift. We apparently got a new ally.”

“And that would be?” Dog, who’d joined them, asked.

“Valenzuela’s back,” Tack answered.

“And how does him dumping a dead woman on Chaos make him an ally?” Hawk asked.

“I got a text from a burner phone an hour ago,” Tack shared. “Said to get down here, Chaos had been left a present. Called Shy and Hop to come with me. We found this, including the sheet. That card didn’t move when we pulled back the sheet because it’s stapled to her forehead.”

“Christ,” Roscoe muttered.

“What’s it say?” Snapper asked tersely.

“Cross me,” Tack quoted, not looking at it, which meant he’d memorized it. “Get crossed. You’ve got a new friend. Can you slice open an arachnid? We’ll see.”

An arachnid.

Chew was called Chew because he collected tarantulas. Last Hound knew he had at least seven of those fuckers.

Millie had loved playing with them.

And Chew had loved that she did.

“Chew used Turnbull to squeeze Valenzuela out,” Hawk surmised. “Either he planted her there to orchestrate the takeover or they’ve been workin’ together all along and Valenzuela crossed a line when he put hands on Chaos property that’s untouchable.”

“Yeah and they either didn’t do a thorough job of it or he’s spent his enforced vacation gathering resources,” Tack replied.

All the men shifted when they heard a car pull up.

They watched Lucas and Lawson park and get out.

Hound didn’t have a good feeling about the looks on their faces as they approached the men around the picnic table, even before both cops took in that table.

“What?” Tack barked.

He had the same feeling.

It was Lawson that gave it to them.

“Got the call on the way here after we called in what you got,” Mitch said. “Natalie Harbinger was found dead in the alley behind Scruff’s Roadhouse at around one tonight. She was in a body bag, shot through the head, execution style. Done elsewhere. No blood. And in that body bag with her were two human skulls. Both male. Identities unknown but whoever they are, they’ve been dead awhile. There was also a note that said, You can fuck yourselves with your parlay. Last, crawlin’ over that mess was two tarantulas.”

Hound pulled in breath through his nose.

Natalie had been Tabby’s best friend before she went off the rails. Natalie being a cokehead took her off the rails. Her habit was what escalated bad shit between Chaos and Benito Valenzuela. And since Natalie’s shit got Chaos’s shit twisted, she’d fallen off the grid.

As far as Hound knew they’d lost touch, but Tabby would still be devastated.

What Hound did not get was why Chew would take her out, dump her behind the bar they all used to party in back in the day, and lately they’d started going back, and give the cops Crank’s and Black’s killer’s skulls, which probably would not offer any investigation dick.