Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(105)
I held my breath at this news trying not to look like I was holding my breath but Tack was back in his zone, a seriously bad zone, and thus didn’t notice it.
“So I went back to California to sort her shit out. What I found, babe, was pissed at my Mom for not tellin’ me sooner. She wasn’t a mess, she f**kin’ defined it. So we talked, or I talked and she shouted. Saw no way to clear her of that shit unless I intervened and took matters into my own hands. Should not have done that. Should never have done that. Should have put her in a hospital. Too late now, I did it. I locked her in a room with me while she detoxed. It was not pretty. Screamin’, fightin’, scratchin’, pukin’, gettin’ the shakes, Christ, those f**kin’ shakes. Like seizures. Whacked. And it did not work. Up for seventy-two hours, dealin’ with her shit, I passed out. She had a stash, junkies are f**kin’ geniuses when it comes to hidin’ their stash, took it, I woke up, she wasn’t movin’ and that was that. She did it with me right in the room. Me right there. My little sister killed herself and I was five feet away, f**kin’ sleeping.”
I closed my eyes but slid my hand up his chest so I could again curl my fingers around his neck and this time I did it tight.
I opened them when Tack stated, “Put Kimmy into the ground on a Friday. Hightailed my ass back to Colorado because Tabby came into the world that Sunday.”
That would mark a man.
That would definitely mark a man.
And that marked my man.
His eyes focused on mine and his hand slid back into my hair, his fingers twisting in it and his words were soft when he said, “The Russians got you, didn’t even think, I got to you, put my hand to your throat. I needed that pulse, babe, so I went for it. Shy shared what went down last night with that ass**le and his bat, also didn’t think, put my hand to your throat. It was not meant to hurt you or alarm you. It was done so I could assure myself you were alive.”
This made sense. So much of it, it was sad at the same time it was beautiful.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“My sister’s addiction, I steer clear of any ‘a that shit so I do not smoke pot, my choice, personal. Others do, I don’t judge. You wanna try that shit, that’s your choice too and I won’t judge that either. But you wanna try it, you do it only with me around so I can look after you.”
“I don’t want to try it,” I assured him and he nodded.
Then he declared, “Outside pot, drugs do not touch Chaos.”
I licked my lips before I asked hesitantly, “So I take it they veered off that dark path?”
“No, they did not. I came back with a fire in my belly to get my Club clear of that shit, stop makin’ it easy for people to take the escape my sister took and make certain I did not become the man my father was. But I was smart enough to bank it. I bided my time. I built up the garage and the stores. I recruited brothers who saw things my way and we planned. The monetary success of the stores and garage had to cover the Club so their lifestyles didn’t change too much when we pulled our shit off that dark path. I got enough support, I took over. It was hostile. We lost some brothers, they renounced the Club, took off, started to do their own thing. And it was unpopular in factions outside the Club. We were good at what we did and the people we worked with weren’t real happy we were no longer going to provide that service. Shit got ugly, lost a brother to it, but we got clear. And one of the suppliers we worked for was the Russian mob.”
I gasped. “You lost a brother?”
“Yeah.”
“As in, he died?” I whispered.
“Bowin’ out of safe transport of narcotics is not the same as handin’ in your resignation.”
Too true.
“The Russians?”
“Yeah. I still am not popular with them. And there’s another reason why Arlo and High are about showin’ you respect. They like the money but they also like the rush. Danger is a drug and they’re hooked. They are the last of the brothers who are still tryin’ to get us back in. They got ties to the Russians to keep that avenue open for us should they get me out. What they didn’t expect was that the Russians would pick up someone connected to Chaos. You and me were new, the Russians didn’t want you and had no clue who you were. Even so, that shit doesn’t fly with Chaos. Collateral damage, no matter how that comes about, is unacceptable. Kids, women, not just old ladies but you just bein’ the garage’s office manager, was steppin’ over a line and that line is not drawn in the sand, babe. Not for Chaos. That line is fixed in cement.”
This was good to know.
“Right,” I said softly.
“So Arlo and High are on board and after this is done, where it takes us, I have no clue. Maybe the Russians takin’ you and Lanie, not backin’ down after that shit, not givin’ us our due by admittin’ their mistake, sending lieutenants to offer apologies, might have been a wakeup call to just how cold those motherf*ckers are. You’re ours and you weren’t safe. Lanie has nothin’ to do with Belova’s shit and she wasn’t either. This means no one is. That’s a serious wakeup call ‘cause both Arlo and High got old ladies and High’s got kids. After we sweep up that mess, I don’t know how they’ll go. What I know is, drugs took my sister, I worked my ass off to get my brothers where they are, livin’ free and stayin’ free by not doin’ stupid, dangerous, f**ked up shit that could get our asses in the joint or worse, dead, and my Club will not be involved in that shit in any way or I won’t be involved in the Club.”