“Pope in Boulder and his boys are on their bikes.”

Tack nodded.

That was the last one. He’d called in all his markers. Every single one.

The door opened and Tack’s eyes cut to it to see Brock “Slim” Lucas and Mitch Lawson coming through the door.

He felt Hound get close to his back but he didn’t move and he didn’t much like the looks both men were wearing.

“My guess, you know shit’s gone down,” Tack stated as they stopped in front of him.

He got chin lifts then Lucas’s gaze shot to Hound and back to Tack. “Your boys out?”

Tack nodded.

“Just you two?” Lucas pushed.

“Reason why you wanna know who’s here?” Tack pushed back.

Lawson said quietly, “We’ve got news.”

“Spill,” Tack ordered and Lawson looked to Hound. “Now, Lawson,” he growled.

Tack watched both Lawson and Lucas’s bodies go alert as if waiting for or preparing to attack.

“A red 1967 Mustang with tags registered to Ride Custom Cars and Bikes was found abandoned on the side of 6th Avenue. Tyra drive that ride?” Lawson asked.

Tack closed his eyes and looked to his boots, that burn in his chest searing deep. He knew then why they wanted to know how many brothers were there. If they felt they had to lock him down, they wanted to know what kind of fight they had on their hands.

“That’s Cherry’s ride,” Hound confirmed.

“Cherry?” Tack heard Lucas ask and he opened his eyes and looked up.

“Tyra,” Hound grunted, his hand landing on Tack’s shoulder.

“That all you got?” Tack asked and two sets of surprised eyes hit him. They thought he’d lose his shit.

And he would, she didn’t come out of this breathing.

Now, him losing his shit would in no way help his woman.

“That’s all we got,” Lucas stated.

“No blood?” Tack asked.

“No blood,” Lawson affirmed.

This was not good news, it was not bad. Lescheva wasn’t messy when he did his wet work and it depended on his mood when he’d stop playing and get down to business.

“Are you confirming Tyra Masters is missing?” Lucas asked and Tack felt Hound’s hand leave his shoulder.

“If she’s good when we find her, DPD could f**k this,” Hound growled from behind Tack, knowing Lucas’s question meant he wanted authorization to get the Denver Police Department involved in an official capacity.

“DPD won’t f**k this,” Lawson returned.

“DPD don’t know what they’re dealin’ with,” Hound shot back.

“DPD knows what they’re dealing with and they know there’s a possible hostage involved and they have experience extricating hostages while they’re still breathing so DPD won’t f**k this,” Lawson retorted then his eyes went to Tack. “And I know you know, man, and I sure as f**k haven’t forgot. I owe you. DPD won’t f**k this because I won’t let them f**k this.”

“We’ll discuss who owes who after she’s home safe,” Tack replied then he looked to Lucas, “Make your call.”

Lucas stepped off to the side, pulling out his phone.

“Tack, brother,” Hound clipped and Tack turned to him. “We do not need cops involved in this.”

“The Russians got my woman. She needs every man on the hunt she can get.”

“Tack, this could get messy,” Hound reminded him of something he already knew.

“Objective, she ends this day home and breathing.”

“Tack –”

“Done talkin’,” Tack ground out as the front door opened.

All eyes went there to see Cabe “Hawk” Delgado and Lee Nightingale, another local badass, a private investigator, walking in. Hawk was carrying a manila folder.

Both men’s eyes scanned the space then came back to Tack.

But it was Hawk who spoke.

“Boys out?”

“What do you think?” Tack asked back, not about to have this conversation again, then he dipped his head to the folder. “What’s that?”

“You need to look at some pictures,” Hawk told him, stopping and tossing the file on the bar.

“Got other things to do, Hawk,” Tack said low, Hawk’s head turned to Tack and they locked eyes.

“In about thirty seconds, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ that is gonna seriously piss you off. But you got other things on your mind so I know you’ll get over it. We’ll deal with your beef later.”

Fuck.

“Give it to me,” Tack growled.

Hawk didn’t delay.

“Ride has been under my surveillance for three years,” he announced and Tack felt Hound’s fury explode behind him but he lifted a hand and kept his eyes locked with Hawk’s.

“The Russians, Arlo and High,” Tack guessed accurately, dropping his hand.

Hawk nodded. “We’ve been workin’ with the Feds.”

“What else?”

Hawk tore his gaze from Tack’s, looked down at the folder and threw it open. He shifted an eight by ten black and white to facing them and pointed to it. It was a still shot taken in the interior of Ride’s auto supply store of a man alone in an aisle.

Hawk twisted his neck and his eyes went back to Tack. “You know that man?”

Tack stared at the photo and the burn in his chest singed even deeper.

“Fuck me, that’s Naomi’s man, Pipe,” Hound muttered then louder, “What the f**k’s that f**ker got to do with this?”

“Your ex’s man,” Hawk said, ignoring Hound and straightening away from the photo.

“Yeah,” Tack forced out on a grunt. “You wanna tell me why you’re takin’ photos of that ass**le shoppin’?”

“This guy is a f**k up,” Hawk stated.

“Got a woman with the Russians,” Tack warned. “Don’t waste my time tellin’ me shit I know.”

“No, Tack,” Lee Nightingale entered the conversation, “This guy is a f**k up. He’s in deep with about every player in town.”

“In deep how?” Tack bit out.

“Drugs.”

Jesus. Fuck. Shit. God f**king damn it.

That motherfucker was using with his kids around. And his ex bitch knew, let him, hid it and played Tack.