Do whatever it was that lunatic wanted them to do.

Eat whatever shit he wanted them to eat.

And mostly, make them mourn.

But this time, seriously fucking fortunately, they’d failed.

“I am the master of my fate,” he whispered, head unbowed, blood and water and sweat mingling as it trickled down his neck, into his cut, drenching his tee, the adrenaline that had suffused him as the life he wanted to share with Rosie nearly went black on the stroke of a blade, staring, damned staring, unable to tear his eyes away. “I am the captain of my soul.”

Fuck, he’d killed a man.

It took a lot but he broke eye contact and walked away, sliding up the safety and shoving his gun in the back waistband of his jeans before pulling out his phone, ignoring the pizza he was picking up for him and Rosalie, moving to his truck.

He’d killed a man.

He had to make decisions, and fast.

He made them.

Fast.

So his first call was Rush.

His second call was Throttle.

His third call was Tack.

His last call was Rosalie.

He got in out of the rain and sat in his truck, stared at the steering wheel.

He’d killed a man.

He lifted his phone again and made one more call.

To Mitch Lawson.

Rush

Seven hours later . . .

It was Eddie Chavez who escorted Snapper out. Mitch and Slim wouldn’t get this one, not with their known relationship with Chaos.

Rush stood from the seat he’d been sitting in for six hours.

His dad got up from where he was sitting beside him.

Hound closed in from where he was standing, scowling at some notices on a bulletin board across the room.

Rush’s eyes fell on Snap, and the minute they did his dad’s voice came to him, rolling like slow thunder. “Stay cool, Rush. Stay fuckin’ cool.”

Thin line of a knife blade across his throat, breaking skin, not too deep, thank fuck, but there had been blood. His entire throat jacked to shit, purple bruises already forming. Angry red running along his left cheekbone. Speckles of watery bloodstains were also on his neck, his tee. Probably from the bullet hitting at close range.

“Hound,” his father rumbled in warning.

Hound’s fury clogged the room and it didn’t much die down when Snapper muttered, “I’m good.”

“Right,” Eddie chimed in. “There’s gonna be a review. Snap cannot leave town. But we aren’t holding him. The scene, his injuries, the identity of the dead guy, writing’s on the wall this was self-defense. Snap’s gun is registered, he’s got a permit to carry concealed. And no one in law enforcement in the state of Colorado is not in the know about the shit dogging Chaos.”

“And the dead guy?” Tack demanded.

“Karl Sanderson. Club name, when he had a club, Pacino. He’s ex-Bounty and I think in the current climate it’s important to note he was not ex-Resurrection. Known to be tight with Wayne ‘Digger’ Benson. Search of his home tonight found five K in a lot of bills, all the way down to ones, a gold crucifix friends of hers reported was taken off one of the prostitutes murdered that night, a Swatch watch, for fuck’s sake, another working girl was reported to be wearing. And next to all of that, and this is my favorite part, an unopened fifth of Jack with Arthur Lannigan’s fingerprints on it.”

They had Chew.

They could link this right to fucking Chew.

“So Chew hired some cast-adrift biker to kill a member of Chaos?” Rush asked disbelievingly.

“I can see the silver lining won’t be apparent to you boys for a while,” Eddie said as answer. “But considering the fact he was an idiot just taking the job, Snap has fifty pounds on the guy, the guy was armed with a knife, Snap with a gun, and this night ended with Snap blowing a hole through his jugular and not another way, it has a silver lining. And when Chew gets found, he has another charge landing on top of the two hundred and fifty we’re already prepared to lodge against him.”

Another thing they knew from this, Chew was not getting close to Chaos personally.

And he was tapped out.

“It’s gonna take some time to have the higher-ups sign off on this, but not a man or woman, even the DA, has a knife to his throat and a gun on his belt and is not gonna take that shot. From Snapper’s injuries and the disturbances at the scene, Snap tried to end this a different way. Out of options and with a man intent on ending him, he used deadly force,” Eddie said then turned to Snap. “You’ll be good. Just don’t leave town.” Eddie’s eyes swung through them all. “Or do anything stupid.”

He got no promises for that.

Eddie didn’t wait for them.

He flicked a hand and walked away.

“Keely’s already with Rosalie,” Hound said. “I got Snap. We’ll get his truck. We’ll stay with them tonight.”

“Rebel’s with her too,” Rush pointed out.

“And so is Roscoe, Dutch and Jag,” Tack assured Snapper. “She’s covered, brother.”

“Me tonight,” Hound declared.

“I got my woman,” Snap spoke.

“And see to her. I’ll see to the doors,” Hound replied.

“Let him, brother,” Rush said low to Snapper.

Snap’s jaw bulged before he nodded. And Rush got that, him wanting just Rosalie after tonight, not a house full of people. But safe was far better than sorry.

Rush gave his dad a look.

Tack read the look, corralled Hound and they shifted away.

Rush moved to Snap.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Snap clipped.

“Right, okay. You do . . .” Rush said no more.

Snapper’s eyes drifted to Hound. “Keely’s gonna be fucked up by this.”

“You think Hound’s hanging tight at your house with Keely there, and you know Dutch and Jag won’t leave, just to show you the love?” Rush asked.

Snapper looked to him.

“He’s showing you the love,” Rush said quietly. “He’s also making it crystal this was not history repeating. You’re alive, upstairs in bed with your woman. Keely’s downstairs, on your pullout with her man. This sitch has had an entirely different ending. You keep them close, brother, you’re doin’ Hound a favor.”

Snap’s chest heaved with the breath he took.

And Rush thought that him being able to stand there and do that was the best thing he’d seen in a decade.

“Go home,” he urged. “Rosalie’s probably worried sick. Get your truck. See to your girl. I’ll ride behind Hound. You’re covered.”

Snap took a second before he nodded.

Then he made a move.

Carefully, Rush reached out and grabbed his forearm, taking his hand away the minute Snap turned back just in case he was still jumpy.

“When you’re ready to talk, brother,” he repeated his offer.

He again left it at that.

Snap looked in his eyes.

“I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”

Hell yeah.

“You fuckin’ are, brother,” Rush growled.

Snap jerked up his chin.

And only then did they move out.

Naomi

Around seventeen minutes later . . .

She heard the crash, opened her eyes and lay still in her bed.

That moment of stillness was her undoing.

She did not get her hand to the gun that was resting on her nightstand.

Instead, she was dragged out of bed and beaten about the face, mostly pistol whipped, until he switched just to fists.

She felt two teeth go, her nose go, and she was glad she was barely conscious when he ripped her panties from her.

“Tack’s had this. Tack’s been all up in here. Now this snatch is mine,” he grunted.

There was still love, Mom.

Her eyelids fluttered.

If you got it in you to do one thing for me and Tabby, save us from you bein’ delivered to Chaos under a sheet.

She should have listened to her son.

She should have listened to her beautiful boy.

Now she was going to go.

And her two babies would mourn her.

She’d given them nothing to mourn.

But they just would. That was them.