Chaos series by Kristen Ashley

Tack drew her attention to him. “Keely—”

“Do not call me again, Tack,” she demanded.

His mouth got tight.

She looked to Hound and everything about her changed. She went from pissed and belligerent to sad and defeated.

Seeing that, it also cut like a blade.

He remembered her. He remembered her young and in love and so fucking happy, she walked into a room attached to Black, or walked into a room Black was in, that happiness would warm every inch of the space.

Just like Millie was with High back in the day.

But Millie could get hers back.

Keely never would.

“Be careful,” she whispered to Hound. “Be super fuckin’ careful, Hound. Because you might not have a woman who loves you more than her own breath, but you still got folks who love you. So please, God, be careful.”

With that, she turned, her hair flying, yanked open the door, stalked out, and slammed it behind her.

Tack looked to Hound.

Hound was in control. His face neutral.

But his eyes were glued to the door.

“We done here?” Tack asked, and Hound cut his gaze to his brother.

“Yup,” he answered, pushing away from the wall.

Tack watched him walk around the other end of the table. He waited until Hound’s hand was on the door before he called his name.

Hound looked back at him.

“You know,” he said carefully.

“Know what?” Hound asked.

“You know you don’t go there.”

Hound’s brows drew together. “Brother, you call me when you got somewhere to go no one else can go. What the fuck?”

Tack shook his head but did it with his eyes locked to Hound’s.

“You know you don’t go there. She’s Black’s. Dead or alive, she’s Black’s. She can move on. I hope to fuck someday she does. But she can’t move on with Chaos.”

That got him something.

Hound looked pissed.

But his voice was quiet when he replied, “You think I don’t know that shit?”

“I know you know,” Tack returned. “Just remindin’ you.”

“Don’t need a reminder, brother,” Hound grated out. “Lived with that for years, bein’ in love with a woman I can’t have.”

Without hesitation, after delivering that, he threw open the door and prowled out. When he slammed it, it was louder and the door shook.

Tack stared at the door.

Then he leaned to the table, put his elbow on it, and bent his neck to run his hand through his hair.

He’d curled his fingers around the back of his neck, the wood of the table all he could see, when he finally muttered aloud, “Fuck.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Hear?

Millie

“NO CARISSA, SHE’S too young, too new to the fold,” Tyra declared. “And no Tabby, because she’s too pregnant.”

“Hear you,” Elvira muttered.

“Agreed,” Lanie said.

I sat with my back to the arm of the couch under the window of Tyra’s office at Ride’s garage, my neck twisted to look out the window.

We were having our powwow as called by me through Tyra.

It was Tyra’s decision that it was only Lanie, Elvira, and me.

She was the president’s old lady. There was a hierarchy even if she did not one thing to demand it, so I knew that was her call.

Even so, I agreed with her decision.

“Millie?” she called.

I tore my gaze off the enormous forecourt outside, bikes parked in front of the Compound, our cars parked in front of the office, the noises muted coming through from the garage, and looked to Tyra at her desk.

Elvira was sitting on the couch with me, Lanie in a chair opposite Tyra.

It was three days after the incident and it had gone down like Valenzuela said it would.

Even though I’d reported to the police he was there and I’d witnessed all I’d witnessed, as Valenzuela said he would, a man came forward and confessed to the crimes.

He had all the timings right. He had all the activities right (not including Valenzuela and his assassin being involved, but he corroborated the Pedro hitting me, Carlos making the decision to kidnap me portion of my story).

He also had the gun used in the murders and gunshot residue on his hand.

Nevertheless, Valenzuela was collected, questioned, but he’d alibied out.

Not a prostitute.

His girlfriend, a woman by the name of Camilla Turnbull, said on record that he was with her the entire time.

They’d also found the prostitute I’d described and she’d said she was there but she’d also said the confessed shooter told her to leave prior to the macabre festivities, confirming all I said that went down. But she also confirmed the lie, that the guy who gave the confession was there, not Valenzuela.

Furthering Valenzuela’s story, there was nothing to indicate he was there.

It was a motel; the place was rife with fingerprints and DNA.

None of it belonged to Valenzuela.

Canvasing motel guests brought witnesses to me being forced up the steps and into the room. The prostitute’s attendance. Carlos and Pedro being there.

And the confessed killer was identified.

Dozens of witnesses to folks coming to and going from the motel, and no one reported a positive ID on Valenzuela or mentioned any other man being present.

Logan had refused to allow Zadie to be questioned. She was handling things okay and Logan was not fired up to let anything harm that.

Deb agreed. She was not fired up about any of this and not in a super good mood. But Logan had not been wrong. She didn’t get ugly about it. She looked after her daughters. She’d called and asked after me.