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

That was why he threatened to sell Tab’s car, punishing her for no reason and why Naomi was so quick to sell their kids.

His eyes burned into Hawk. “You think to tell me some strung out ass**le with a slew of debt was in a house with my kids?”

“I did, it would compromise the investigation,” Hawk returned then said quietly, “Tack, we’ll deal with your beef later.”

It took effort but Tack locked down the burn and prompted, “And you’re sharin’ this with me now because…?”

“Because one of the players he’s in deep with most is the Russians,” Nightingale replied. “Desperate, he wiggled in, started to do favors. Got tight. Or as tight as the Russians would get with an outsider. He spends a lot of time in your shop, Tack. He spends a lot of time in his car outside your shop, eyes on Ride. He takes a lot of notes on the comings and goings of Chaos. He lives with your ex who knows you well. And he spends a lot of time behind closed doors with the Russians.”

Tack immediately turned to Hound. “Call a brother to take your back. On your bike. Pick him up. You know where to take him.” Hound moved and Tack called to his back, “Get that bitch too.”

Hound turned. “Naomi?”

Tack didn’t trust himself to speak. He just jerked up his chin.

Hound took off.

Tack looked to Lawson and Lucas, the last had made his phone call and rejoined the huddle. “In about two seconds, you are not here and you keep DPD away from all known Chaos locations.”

“Tack –” Lawson started.

Tack cut him off. “He’s gonna talk. He’s gonna do it fast. And if he’s gonna do it fast, he ain’t gonna be doin’ it in an interrogation room.”

A muscle jerked in Lawson’s cheek. He was struggling, he felt he owed a marker but he was shackled by the man he was.

“Chestnut,” Tack whispered, referring to Lawson’s woman. “Your kids. Keep clean.”

“You go gonzo, Slim and me might not be able to cover your shit,” Lawson returned.

“Let me worry about that. You keep clean.”

Lawson held his gaze. Then he jerked up his chin. And, with looks through Tack, Delgado and Nightingale, Lucas and Lawson walked out.

“It’d help, my boys could coordinate search efforts with yours,” Nightingale stated and Tack looked at him.

“You got a line to Dog?”

“Yep.”

“Have your boy call him.”

Nightingale nodded, pulled out his phone and stepped away.

“Kane,” Hawk said low and a knife pierced Tack’s gut at his tone and the name Hawk used before he looked at him. “Lescheva f**ked up with Winchell, Pierson and the mattresses. They lost two million in product in that mattress warehouse. Shit happens, like you lose safe transport and warehousing, you deal and you don’t lose two million when you do. The higher ups do not blame you. They blame Lescheva. Then he f**ked up again when he kidnapped the wards of a police officer, took a meeting with every badass in Denver and pissed every one of us off, buying himself unwanted attention. Then he f**ked up again with Belova goin’ rogue and disappearing. All that guy knows? You did the best you could but he was dead even before your boys took him and his woman over the Denver city limits. His higher ups have been all over his shit. Nightingale and his boys have been all over his shit. The Feds are all over his shit. And Chaos has been all over his shit.”

“You are again not tellin’ me somethin’ I don’t know,” Tack pointed out.

“Prepare, man,” Hawk replied quietly.

He knew that too.

He knew. Tack knew.

Lescheva was stone cold. But even the coldest motherfucker burned bright before he flamed out.

Lescheva’s days were numbered, Tack had been working for a whole f**king year with his higher ups to see that come about at the same time extricate Chaos from that bullshit forever.

And Lescheva knew it.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t intend to take down everyone around him when he flamed out.

And Tyra was around him.

“Got shit to do,” Tack muttered.

“My boys and I are all over this.”

Tack caught his eyes.

“Owe you.”

“No marker.”

“Don’t play it that way, Hawk.”

“You had my woman’s back and in doin’ it, mine. I got yours. We’re even.”

He could live with that.

Tack jerked up his chin.

Then he stalked out of the Compound to his bike.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Chaos cabin outside Golden, Colorado…

Wearing brass knuckles, Hop clocked Gerald “Pipe” Dahl in the jaw with a closed fist and the fat man as well as the chair he was tied to went down.

Naomi, tied across the room in her own chair, shrieked, “Stop!”

Pipe spit out a mess of blood and a tooth, grunting, “I’m tellin’ you! I don’t know shit!”

Tack, standing three feet away, arms crossed on his chest, ordered in a voice cold as ice, “Get him up.”

Boz and High moved forward, grabbed the chair and hauled it up, Boz bitching, “Jesus, man, how’d you get so fat bein’ a cokehead? You’re breathin’ after we’re done with you, lay off the Doritos.”

They got him up, Boz and High stepped back, Hop looked to Tack but Tack shook his head once.

Then he looked at Pipe and demanded, “Talk to me.”

Battered, bloody, his head hanging down because he didn’t have the strength to pull it up, he pushed out a labored breath on his, “I don’t know shit.”

“He doesn’t know anything! Leave him be!” Naomi screeched.

Only Tack’s head turned and his eyes skewered his ex bitch.

“You are in a precarious position,” he told her, his voice low, chill, his words coming slow but his eyes were flaring. “Advice, Naomi, keep your mouth shut.”

Naomi looked into her ex-husband’s eyes and shut her mouth.

Tack’s gaze went back to Pipe. “Talk,” he growled.

With effort, Pipe lifted his head and, expending more effort, he focused as best he could on Tack. “Seriously, dude. I’m tellin’ you. I don’t know shit. I’m into them two hundred K for blow. They’re not gonna trust a cokehead.”