Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(4)

She turned to him.

“You don’t get it,” she whispered. “He wasn’t the other half of me. He didn’t complete me. He wasn’t my old man. He wasn’t my husband. He wasn’t a dick I fell on. He wasn’t the father of my sons. He was,” her voice suddenly got scratchy, “my life. He was my reason to get up every day and breathe. He’s gone and losing that, losing him, I’ll always, always be alone.”

Hound made no reply because he didn’t have one but also because he again felt like he’d been punched in the throat.

“We’re gonna look after you,” Tack told her, and her gaze went to him. “Please, darlin’, he’d want it this way, so will you let us look after you?”

She tossed her head and the sheet of her hair glistened in the light by her couch that was the only lamp lit.

“He’d want it that way, you’re right. So … yes,” she agreed.

“Let me get Bev over here,” Boz again suggested.

She looked to him.

Then she nodded.

“Boz, go. Call,” Tack ordered then turned to Hop, Dog, Brick and Hound. “Just go. I’ll stay until Bev gets here.”

Hop, Dog and Brick nodded and moved to Keely.

Hound just moved to the door.

He turned to her and caught her eyes before he walked out.

He had no idea if she read his promise.

But it wouldn’t matter.

He was still going to keep it.



He had her by her hair on her knees.

Her girl was standing, pressing herself against the wall, fear stamped in her features, tears running down her cheeks.

“Am I clear?” Hound asked, leaning over her, twisting his hand in her hair.

“Y-you’re clear, Hound,” she stammered.

“Honest to Christ, if I find I’m not …” He didn’t finish that.

The flash of terror in her eyes said he didn’t need to.

He let her go by yanking her hair and sending her sprawling to her back, her legs bending in an unnatural way not the only reason she let out a cry of pain and surprise.

Without another word, he turned and walked away from the two prostitutes Chaos used to pimp before Tack scraped them clean of that bullshit that none of them, but Chew, who’d renounced the Club before they carried out an execution he did not agree with, wanted to do in the first place.

Hound had no idea how that shit started. He hadn’t been Chaos then.

He just knew Tack had plans to end it.

So he’d become Chaos.

They were the two prostitutes that informed Crank that Tack was making maneuvers to take over the Club and clean it up.

The two prostitutes that initiated Crank calling a hit on a brother in order to focus their attention on where he wanted them to be.

“Hop, it wasn’t what you think,” the one against the wall called out. “We had no choice. We—”

Hop cut her off. “Crank’s rotting. Think on that, bitch.”

Hound was barely through the door before he heard it slammed.

He looked behind him to see Hop following him.

“If they don’t skip town …” Hound growled, again not finishing it.

“They’ll go,” Hop ground out.

Hound didn’t say another word.

He turned to face forward and kept moving.

He had things to do.



Tack had a hand to his chest and was pushing him back.

“This is not who we are anymore, brother,” he bit out. “We still got work to do to get ourselves clean, but that part died when Crank hit the ground.”

Hound locked his legs and stood solid, staring straight into Tack’s eyes.

“It’ll get done,” Tack told him quietly.

Yeah, Hound thought. It would.

Then, quick as a flash, determined, he moved clear of Tack’s hand, advanced swiftly to the man tied to the chair, took hold of his hair, wrenched his head back, yanked his knife from his belt and hesitated not an instant before he drew the blade across his throat, going deep.

Blood spewed. The man’s eyes got huge. His mouth gurgled.

Hound watched it happen with dispassion.

The man in that chair had carried out the hit on Black.

And now he was going to die like he’d killed Hound’s brother. Chaos’s man.

Keely’s life.

“Fuck yes,” High, standing to the side, rumbled.

“The way it should be,” Arlo, standing with him, stated.

“Done,” Pete, standing behind the man’s chair, clipped out.

Hound turned and stopped because Tack was standing right there.

“Now that’s not who we are anymore, brother,” Hound stated.

Then he skirted him and walked out of Chaos’s cabin in the foothills.



It was likely she heard his bike.

Whatever the reason, Hound did not stand too long in the middle of the walk up to her back door before that door opened and she stood in it, her hair perfect, her face exhausted, the shapeless nightshirt she wore drooping on her.

He was covered in blood.

He didn’t have to say a word.

She stared at him, not in horror, not in fear.

With sorrow.

And not just for her loss.

For where it took Hound.