She nodded.

“Shoes, baby. And a sweater at least.”

She rushed to do as told, yanking on a pair of jeans under her nightie, switching out the robe for a cardigan and tugging on some beat-up red Chucks while he dug his 9mm out of his bag.

It probably took her two minutes to do this.

It felt like it took her two years.

Core and him got her to Essence’s.

He heard the locks go.

Then Core got in his truck, Rush in his, and they rolled out.

Fifteen minutes later . . .

He knew.

He fucking knew.

They were heading to Boulder.

His body felt like it was made of lead.

He called High.

“What the fuck!” High roared as answer.

“We’re on the road, on the way to Boulder. I don’t know why he went alone. But I figure we gotta roll cool with this, High. We gotta go in soft.”

“Your mother,” High grunted.

He had to push it through the lump in his throat when he confirmed, “Mom.”

“I’m on it,” High said. “Brothers have already moved out, headed to the Compound since we didn’t know where the fuck we needed to be going.”

“I’m calling the cops.”

“No fucking way,” High bit.

“We need cover for our women while the boys move out, High. They’ll send squads. I’m calling Mitch.”

Apparently High saw the wisdom of this because he said, “I’m on Hawk and Sebring.”

“I’ll report in. Just get it done and get on the road to Boulder.”

“Play it smart, Rush,” he warned.

“Both my parents are on the line, High. You don’t have to say that shit.”

“Both your parents bein’ on the line is why I gotta say it,” High fired back. Then, “I’m out.”

He disconnected.

Rush made three more calls, the first one to Mitch, who was less interested in sending out squads than what Chaos was doing and why they were doing it, so he wasted precious time pushing it, which meant Rush hung up on him, knowing he’d still send the squads.

The other two calls were to brothers to brief.

And then he decided word would make the rounds.

So he was going to pay attention to what was happening.

Tack

Thirty-three minutes later . . .

The door to the apartment was ajar when he got to it.

Gun in his hand, standing to the side, slowly, Tack pushed it in.

“Don’t worry, oh Holy Tack, got a show for you before we end this,” Chew called. “Come on in, brother.”

Tack moved around slowly, carefully, hitting the open doorway, eyes adjusting to the light in the room after being in the dark.

She was tied to a chair. Beat all to hell. Nightgown ripped and hanging on her. One breast showing.

The mother of his children.

Exposed.

Beat to hell.

The fury boiled.

He clamped hold on it.

“We had fun before I texted you, Naomi and me,” Chew taunted.

He was standing beside her with a gun to her head.

Tack looked to Naomi.

She could barely focus, he’d beat her so badly, but she did.

She did.

He saw it there.

Fear.

Gratitude.

And she’d made peace.

So whatever happened, he could put their kids at peace.

Or try.

But she knew.

It was her, or him.

And she was down with it being her.

He nodded even though he was going to do what he could to make that not have to happen.

“Got my cum up her snatch,” Chew told him, and Tack’s eyes moved to his former brother.

Too thin.

Hair greasy.

More years than he’d lived etched in his face.

“Yeah, we had fun, Naomi and me,” Chew sneered.

He’d raped her.

Tack stared at Chew, the last of the filth that had been Chaos, and breathed, slow and steady.

But he said nothing.

“Put your gun down,” Chew ordered.

If Tack killed him before he blew a hole in Naomi’s head, he might do time.

He would not do that to Tyra, his kids.

“Put your fucking gun down!” Chew exploded.

He had to shoot at the gun in his hand.

A gun that was close to Naomi.

“Put your motherfucking gun down!” Chew screamed.

Tack looked in Chew’s eyes.

“Right,” he spat, turned to Naomi.

Tack lifted his gun quickly.

Then Tack’s body jerked when Chew’s head exploded.

Beck

At that same moment . . .

Beck took the rifle from his shoulder.

Swung the strap there instead.

He turned from the back window of the apartment Tack went into.

And he booked.

He was in his truck, carefully driving six miles above the speed limit as he took a circuitous route out of the shitty apartment complex and another circuitous route to 36.

It was close range so it would have been lame if he’d missed.

But still.

It was really good he and his brother used to go target shooting.

Really fucking good.

His brother would be proud of that shot.

Really fucking proud.

Tack

Twenty-two minutes later . . .

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

“Son.”

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

“I need to call Red,” he said quietly.

Rush shut his mouth.

“Get to the hospital, see to your mother,” he ordered.

“You cannot even imagine how pissed I am with you,” Rush rumbled.

Tack looked among his brothers who were all standing close, illuminated by a shit ton of cop cars, their lights flashing, and he could easily imagine how pissed they all were at him.

He pulled out his phone to call his wife.

It rang in his hand.

A number he didn’t know.

Christ.

“What?” he snarled when he took the call.

“Free and clear. Chaos is free and clear. Now Resurrection and Chaos are solid, Tack,” Beck said.

Disconnect.

Jesus.

Tack stared at his phone.

“What?” Rush clipped.

Tack smiled at his phone.

“What?” Rush barked.

He ignored his son.

And called his wife.

Suffice it to say, she was pissed as shit too.

He still knew he was going to get a blowjob that would rock his world when he got home.

Because that was the way Red rolled.

Naomi

When Naomi opened her eyes, she saw a woman, her head tipped down, her red hair hiding her face, and she thought that woman was herself for a second.

But she wasn’t.

Naomi’s red had faded.

Now she had to dye it since it was all gray.

That wasn’t her sitting there.

The woman’s head came up and her blue eyes turned to Naomi.

Naomi’s own eyes were kind of fuzzy.

Hell, one she couldn’t even see out of.

Shit.

She’d survived.

Good Lord.

She’d survived.

Good God.

Tack had come and saved her.

The woman looked across the room then got up and moved to the bed.

“Hey,” she whispered, bending over Naomi. “He’s passed out. Do you mind if we let him sleep?”

Slowly, and not without pain, Naomi turned her head to see her boy sprawled in a chair right beside her.

Right beside her.

“Tab’s in the hall,” the woman went on, and Naomi’s head came back.

Faster.

And that hurt worse.

The woman’s head jerked when she got Naomi’s face.

Then hers got soft.

“She’s talking to Shy,” she shared. “He’s got Playboy. She’s checking in. She didn’t want to disturb you.”

“My baby girl is here?”

Her words were slurred. Her lips felt funny. Maybe because they were swollen all to fuck and cracked to shit.

“Yeah, Naomi, she’s here. Just down the hall. She’ll be back in in a second.”

She felt the wet glide over the swollen flesh of her eyes.

“Who’re you?” she asked.

“I’m Rebel. I’m Rush’s.”