“Yeah. I heard. And in case you twisted that shit in your brain to think it’s something else, let me tell you, it’s not. That’s on your father. All this shit is on your father. That psycho Valenzuela’s dead snatch. Reb biting it. Natalie in a body bag. Chew run amuck. He did that. The almighty Tack created that. It’s all on him. Like Black getting dead was on him. Like Crank biting it in the most hostile kinda takeover you can get is on him.”

“None of that shit’s on Dad,” he growled.

“Swallowed the blue pill, did you, Rush?” she taunted.

He had to keep it together.

“This is not getting you safe and I’m here to make sure you’re safe, Mom.”

“You don’t give a fuck about me, man. Don’t try to feed me that shit. You’re here because you’re your father’s dog and he said go, and you panted all the way down here, hopin’ to get your treat.”

Rush stopped staring blankly at the street in order to drop his head and stare blankly at his boots, focusing on breathing in.

Deep.

But his mother wasn’t done injecting her venom.

“So, let me tell you where I’m at with this, Rush. I don’t give a fuck shit’s layin’ heavy on Chaos. You want the truth, I hope they all get their throats slit. Bleed Chaos all over the streets. Make it dead. Like Natalie. Like Black. That’s where I’m at, man. Fuck your father. Fuck his Club. And you here to do his bidding, not reaching out to me, not lookin’ after your mom when she needed you, not for years, Rush, fuck you.”

She disconnected and he was left breathing heavily.

He dropped the phone from his ear and concentrated just on breathing.

“Let me guess, that bitch didn’t invite us over for tea before we got her ass safe,” Hop bit out.

Rush couldn’t look at him.

“Rush,” Hop called.

Rush stood completely still, just breathing.

He felt Hop get closer.

“Brother,” Hop said quietly.

“She said she hopes Chaos gets our throats slit. Bleed out all over the streets,” he told his boots.

The wall of rage that came from Hop and slammed into Rush might have knocked him over if he wasn’t focusing everything on standing there rather than finding a baseball bat and destroying something.

Anything.

If he had it in him to notice, he’d have sensed Hop retreating.

But he didn’t notice until he heard Hop talking.

“Yeah, Tack. We’re in Boulder. Naomi isn’t at work. Rush called her. All I got from him after their chat is that she told him she hopes we all get our throats cut, bleed out on the streets. I’m not givin’ that gash another second of my time. Wouldn’t have done it in the first fuckin’ place, but I’m here for Rush and Tabby. That shit comes outta her mouth, I’m out, my brother. And Chaos should be out. You want her protected, call a marker with Pope. She’s ceased to exist for Chaos.”

Slowly, when he could manage it without flying apart, Rush turned his head to Hop.

He had his neck bent, looking at his own boots, phone held to his ear.

Hop glanced at Rush then looked again to his boots.

“He’s pissed as shit, Tack, but he’s holding it.” Hop was silent a second before he started nodding. “Yeah, I’ll get him home.” Another moment of silence then, “Right. Later.”

He lifted his head, dropped his phone and looked again to Rush.

“We’re heading back,” Hop declared. “You gotta pursue this, come back with another brother. I’m sorry, Rush. But I’m done.”

“Hang a minute,” Rush grunted.

Then he looked at his phone. Hit the screen and put it to his ear.

It rang.

He got voicemail.

Then he spoke.

“Any love I had for you, and newsflash,” he bit, “there was still love, Mom. You killed it. You. Bonus info, reaching out goes both ways. After you sold me and Tab to Dad then spread that fucked-up brand of love you have for Tab instead of telling us we lost a grandparent not long after she lost her fuckin’ fiancé, you didn’t reach out either. Now, if you survive this, and this shit is serious and the threat is very real so that not happening is a possibility, you’re still dead to me. Forever. No turning back. I’ll have kids, and you won’t know them, like you don’t know Playboy. I’ll make a woman mine . . . a woman, Mom, who is not a fucking thing like you, and you’ll never meet her. I have no idea who shoved that stick so far up your ass it tore through your heart, makin’ you unable to give love, and not worthy of anyone lovin’ you. My advice, not that you give a shit, pull that stick out. Not for me. I’m gone for you. But in the years you have left, you’ll need somebody. Not someone to use. Not someone to abuse. Someone who cares enough to make sure you eat your Jell-O at the old folks’ home. Let go of the hate, Mom, before it buries you. And get outta Colorado. 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.”

He disconnected.

Shoved the phone in his back pocket.

And looked to Hop.

“Let’s roll.”

Rebel

“So tell me about his member. He has a beautiful member, am I right? All the rest of him carries through to his crotch?” Essence asked.

It was after I sent Meryl what she needed.

After naptime.

After a late lunch delivered by Jag (one of the brothers, a recruit who’d helped hijack me, and yes, you guessed it, he was gorgeous—young, but hot).

We were hanging out in Essence’s kitchen, drinking fresh-brewed tea we’d poured over ice and shooting the shit, both of us standing, leaning full body on our forearms into the massive butcher block she used as an island.

My kitchen was a riot of color everywhere, à la Essence.

Essence’s kitchen was enormous, but nearly all white.

That was except for the butcherblock, the sky-blue paint on the walls behind her glass-fronted cabinets, little button knobs on her cabinets and drawers that were all different colors and styles, and a cornucopia of bright, mismatched, square tiles that covered the floor in front of the work area, the rest of it was wood.

“One could say God likes him,” I answered on a smile.

“Far out!” Essence shouted.

One of her cats, a poofy ginger one with a smushed face called Groucho, even though she was a girl (Essence was into gender-neutral naming) jumped up, sat, swished her tail on the block and stared at me.

We both ignored her. Cats anywhere—island, counters, enjoying the show when you went to the bathroom—was the way it was anywhere near Essence.

“He’s great, Essence,” I told her.

“I was getting that impression.”

“I really like him.”

“Not much not to like,” she said, lifting her glass to take a sip.

I shook my head. “He’s more than handsome, honey.”

“I hope so. Though he’s really, really handsome, and I wouldn’t normally say this, but he’s so handsome, back when I was in my prime and I could land a cutie like that boy, it’d probably take me a whole year to get over him if he was a jackass.”

I grinned.

“Well, he’s not a jackass . . . at all,” I said as my phone binged with a text.

I looked down.

It was from Rush.

I opened it.

Not gonna make lunch. Pick you up. 5:30.

I wasn’t surprised he wasn’t going to make lunch, considering it was coming on two thirty.

Still, it was sweet he touched base.

And it was cool having my first-ever text from him.

Cool. Hope you’re having a good day. See you later, honey. I texted back.

“Him?” Essence asked.

I lifted my head to look at her. “Yeah.”

“I knew because your aura turned all red and green and lots of pink.”

I totally had to download an aura chart.

“With some white,” she said softly in a way I knew that was more significant than the others.

“What’s white?”

“Balance.”

For some reason, that took the breath out of me.