Motorcycle Man

My eyes went back to her just in time for her to keep talking.

“You’re his old lady so I’ll let you have his dick. I’ll sit on his face,” she offered her take on our plan of attack to pleasure my man together.

“Maybe it would be a good idea for you to quit talking,” I suggested quietly.

“Right, he’s good with his mouth. I get you want that. I’ll take his dick.”

I held her eyes. She kept smiling at me.

This went on a long time.

Finally, her eyes slid to the side and she murmured, “Cab’s here.”

“FYI,” I started, “that party you invited me to. I’ll take a pass.”

She shrugged then delivered her next blow. “That’s okay. He wants it like that, he knows where to find it.”

I had no retort. None at all. It wasn’t my place to tell her to get gone. It wasn’t my place to tell her I better not see her again. She belonged to Chaos in her way and I did in mine. We accepted our places and the boys called the shots.

Damn.

I had that box Tack talked about over me, closing me in, I couldn’t see clear and Tack was the one who put it there.

No, it was me.

I put it there.

God.

I tore my eyes free of hers and walked to the cab.

Then I got in and gave him my address.

The driver had pulled out on Broadway when my phone rang and I saw it was Tack.

Over it, way, way over it, when I put the phone to my ear, I asked as greeting, “Do you not understand the concept of me needing some time?”

To this, my heart stopped beating when he replied on a growl, “You call Mitzi and share, you answer to me. And if you answer to me, when you do, I won’t go gentle.”

Then I heard the disconnect.

Unseeing, unfeeling, not hearing a thing, not thinking a thing, I flipped my phone shut.

I didn’t cry until I closed my front door and I was home.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dish Out Retribution

My cell phone sitting on the nightstand ringing surprised me and it surprised me because it woke me up. After what had happened at the Compound I never thought I’d get to sleep. Apparently, I was wrong.

My eyes slid to my alarm clock to see it was just after one in the morning.

I knew the caller had to be Tack either calling to argue with me, patch things up with me or tell me he was in an Emergency Room because Operation Rivers of Blood didn’t go too good.

I was not ready for any of those options and even though I was still hurt, still pissed and had no intention of answering, this didn’t mean I wasn’t a woman. And women were like cats.

Curious.

Recklessly so.

So I picked up the phone in order to stay my course as a woman, in other words, torture myself and I saw the display said “Tabby Calling”.

I felt my brows draw together and I sat up in bed, flipped open my phone and put it to my ear.

“It’s late, honey. Everything okay?”

I heard a loud, agonized, hitched breath and nothing more and I shot up straight in the bed.

“Tabby?” I called. “Honey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“My…” another hitched breath that hurt to hear, “my… Ty…” another sob, “Tyra, my boyfriend hit me.”

Her boyfriend?

Tabby had a boyfriend?

Since when?

And he hit her?

I threw the covers back and swung my legs out of the bed.

“Is… is Dad there?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, turning on the light on my bedside table.

“Do… do… don’t tell him but can you come and get me?”

“Are you injured?” I asked.

“Not really,” she whispered brokenly and I didn’t know if that really meant no or it was code for yes.

“Tab, baby, are you injured?” I pressed gently.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, again brokenly.

Right, I had no choice but to accept that.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m outside his place. He… he… kicked me out. It’s an apartment off Lincoln and I don’t have my car because he picked me up at Natalie’s.”

Oh boy. Tab spent a lot of time at Natalie’s including a lot of nights.

This wasn’t good.

“Your boyfriend has an apartment?” I asked softly.

“He’s… yeah, he… he’s,” another sob. “Oh Tyra!” she cried, “don’t tell Dad really, really don’t tell Dad! Promise!”

I was rushing to the closet to grab clothes and I answered, “Promise, baby, now talk to me. Who is this guy?”

“He’s… he’s… twenty-three.”

Twenty-three!

She was sixteen!

“I met him… oh, it doesn’t matter. I just need a ride.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, Tabby, honey, promise. But I need a number on Lincoln so I can get there.”

She gave me the street number, shared she was sitting outside his door and I shared again I’d be there as fast as I could, she should stay where she was and if he came out, do not go back in no matter what he says, get away from him and call me.

Then, without thinking, my heart hammering, the pressure in my head increasing, my vision beginning to cover in red, I opened my phone, scrolled down and hit go.

It rang three times before I got a sleepy, “Yo.”

“Roscoe?”

“You got me.”

“It’s Tyra,” I told him, pulling up my jeans.

“What?” he asked, sounding shocked, as he would. I had his number because I had all the guys’ numbers but I wasn’t someone he would expect to get a call from unless I needed a ride or someone to mow my lawn. Mowing my lawn was, Tack had decided and it was one of what I was currently considering the few bonuses of being attached to Chaos, part of the recruits’ new duties. Seeing as a woman usually didn’t need her lawn mowed at one in the morning, a call from me at that time would be a surprise.

“I take it you aren’t on this mission with Tack and the boys?” I asked, now snatching a bra from my drawer.

“No.”

“Who else isn’t?” I asked, struggling with the phone between shoulder and ear to put my bra on.

“Recruits. Tug and Shy,” he answered.

“Right. Call them. Get on your bikes and get to…” I gave him the address and finished with, “Now.”

“Is Tack cool?”

“I don’t know. This isn’t about Tack. This is about something else. I need you and the boys at that address as soon as you can get there.” Then I added, “Come in the mood to be menacing and look badass.”