Or that Roscoe threw down his stand and jumped off his bike.

“Oh my God,” I breathed in panic, and I stared when the car behind the brothers jacked the wheel, went up on the curb and rode half on, half off the road.

My body jolted and I ducked down when I heard the gunshots.

Close to hyperventilating, tipping my head way back, I looked out my side window when the shots stopped, and I heard cars honking and skidding as clearly that car ran the light.

I saw a truck following.

Then thankfully I saw Brick alive and well with no bullet holes on his bike following the truck.

But I sat frozen stiff in my car.

Chew had been in that first car.

Chew.

Following me.

And firing at Chaos.

Roscoe.

I sat up just as Roscoe rapped on my window.

Thank God. Thank God. Thank you, God.

I turned to stare up at him.

“Turn off. Pull over. I’m drivin’,” he ordered through the window.

I nodded and somehow got it together to turn off on 32nd when the traffic started rolling again and then I found a place to pull over.

Roscoe pulled in behind me, abandoned his bike and as he was jogging toward my car, I hit the locks, undid my seat belt and jumped seats.

He yanked open my door, folded in, took nary a second to adjust the seat and check the mirrors.

Then he roared onto the road.

I did not remind him to put on his seatbelt.

I just put mine on.

He had his phone to his ear.

“Tack? Yeah. Chew, fuckin’ Chew was following us following Millie. Had a Bounty or whatever the fuck, think it was Eightball, on his ass. Eightball made him. Think he pulled in behind us on Twenty-Ninth. Know we didn’t have him before that. Doesn’t matter. He fired on us as he took off. Brick’s on him. Eightball’s on him. Federal, just past Thirty-Second. I got Millie. Going to Chaos.” Pause. “Right. Yeah. Later.”

He dropped his phone in his lap.

“He’s following me,” I whispered.

“You’re safe.”

“He’s following me.”

“Get ready to move into the Compound, darlin’,” Roscoe muttered.

I closed my eyes and turned to the side window.

I opened my eyes and looked forward. “That was brash, you two with me.”

“Desperate man. Desperate deeds.”

I turned to Roscoe. “Why’s he following me?”

Roscoe didn’t say anything.

I knew what his silence meant.

Chew used to have a thing for me.

“That was years ago, Roscoe.”

“Babe, love never dies. Fucked-up, loser, unrequited love apparently burns down deep.”

I shut up.

My phone rang.

I grabbed my purse, took it out and then sucked in a huge breath before I took the call.

I tried to make my voice calm. “Hey.”

“Compound,” High ground out. “Do not leave.”

Like I was ever leaving Chaos again.

Bullets were flying.

“Okay, honey,” I whispered. “Please be safe.”

My Logan did not promise to be safe.

He hung up.

Chew was even more screwed than he’d been before.

But I didn’t care.

My man was pissed.

And bullets were flying.

I pulled it together. “You okay, Roscoe?”

“YouTubin’ how to scalp a guy soon’s I can.”

I shut up again.

But I did it hoping YouTube didn’t offer that kind of instructional video.

“We’ll get him, Millie,” Roscoe muttered, turning onto Speer.

I knew they would.

But still . . .

That was what I was afraid of.

Rush

Six forty-three that evening . . .

The beer shattered against the wall, foam flying, right before High stalked out.

Eightball had sustained a shattered windshield due to the bullets going through it, glass flying in his face, slugs flying by his head. He got cut up from the glass, but fortunately not hit by a bullet, but he swerved, this taking him out of the chase.

Chew cutting Brick off and sending him into oncoming traffic, which nearly got his neck broken, took him out the pursuit.

No other brother was close enough to join the hunt.

Chew had gotten away.

No one was happy.

Though High took top of that heap.

At least for that night.

“I’ll get Jag or Chill on that,” Speck muttered, referring to the beer dripping down the wall.

Like anyone gave a shit about the beer dripping down the wall.

“Hop, men on High,” Tack growled.

Hop got up to do it himself.

Dog followed him.

His dad looked at him.

“Everyone locked down?”

“Women and kids are all here,” Rush told his father.

Tack nodded. “Call Throttle. Find out if they got anything.”

“I’ll do that,” Snapper put in.

“Not for you,” Tack grunted.

“Yeah it is.”

Rush didn’t get that.

Snapper did, and he wasn’t in the mood to discuss. He got up from the table and walked from the room.

“Someone get Dutch or Jag or Chill to order pizza or Chinese, or some shit. Delivery. We’ll regroup tomorrow. Everyone’s here for the duration,” Tack ordered.

Shit.

Fuck.

Tack pushed his seat back and prowled out of the room.

Rush caught some eyes, noted grim looks on faces that he felt down to his gut, and he followed.

He found Rebel in his room, sitting cross legged on her ass in the middle of his bed, hands upturned, thumbs to her middle fingers.

Her closed eyes shot open when he came through the door.

“Meditation doesn’t work in an MC Compound,” she declared.

God, his brothers got fired on, one nearly got dead in a car chase, and she made him want to laugh.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Hell no,” he answered.

“Come here,” she whispered.

He closed the door and went there.

Climbed in the bed.

She took him in her arms.

He dragged her up his chest, fell to his back, and claimed her in his.

“We’re getting Chinese or pizza or something,” he muttered.

“’Kay.”

“Essence with her son?”

“She checked in. She successfully distributed her cats and she’s with Beau. He named himself Beau, incidentally. She named him Dharma.”

God, he loved Essence. The woman was just her and he liked that.

Still, he said, “Jesus.”

“He’s ex-military. Former marine. He fell far from the tree. But he’ll know how to look after his mom,” she assured him. “She’d have gone to him weeks ago, if she wanted him freaked out a dead body was dumped in front of her house. Needless to say, now that he’s in the know about what’s been going down, he’s hip on evicting me.”

“Rebel—”

She gave him a squeeze. “Do you think Essence would ever evict me?”

He did not.

“Cool, baby,” he muttered.

She pressed closer. “It’s gonna be fine.”

His brothers dodged bullets and broken necks and one of their women was followed.

Rush was not feeling that optimistic.

She gave him a shake.

“It can’t be anything else, honey,” she whispered.

It could be.

It absolutely could be.

Rush closed his eyes and deep breathed.

He opened his eyes and reminded her, “Got a brand-new baby down the hall who’s not safe to be in his own home.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Millie ducked in her car through a hail of gunfire.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Brick nearly hit an SUV head on.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“How do you know?” he growled.

“Because it has to be.”

He shut up.

Rebel shut up.

She let the silence flow.

Then she stopped doing that.

“Do you want me to teach you to meditate?” she asked.

“Hell no.”

“You want me to go order you some General Tso’s chicken?”