TWENTY-THREE
Taco sat at the bar with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. It hadn’t made a sound all day. He checked again, but nothing new.
What the hell?
He’d never been one to dwell on missing texts, but for some reason, he was all twisted up inside over this one. He needed that text. The profound disappointment was uncomfortable for him, making him feel like a pussy—something he wasn’t used to.
Never in his life had Taco placed any value on whether a woman responded to his texts. He just wasn’t the kind of guy who got attached like that.
Love ‘em and leave ‘em. That was his way. Kind of like Country used to be. Which, shit, had him worrying about his mental health.
No way was he falling for a chick. That just wasn’t in his wheel house. Didn’t want it in his wheel house. Taco had no use for monogamy. Women were a complication, something to have fun with and move along afterward. Getting attached was like shooting yourself in the foot. It just wasn’t practical or advisable.
He took a drink of his beer then checked his phone again. Still nothing. He scowled, pissed at her and even more with himself. Was she ignoring him? Had something happened? The possibilities were vast and annoying the shit out of him.
He didn’t have time for this kind of aggravation.
Repo was still home recovering from the attack, leaving them a man short, and Blake had everyone operating on high-alert. More hands on deck, more men on the streets, more ears to the ground. Country had them all outfitted with vests in case of another drive-by, and the women and children were on lock-down, prospects running errands for the families so they weren’t put in unnecessary danger. Everyone was on edge.
Who the fuck had it out for them? The only logical conclusion to jump to was Cruiz and his band of bastards. The only problem with that theory was Cruiz was deader than a doornail, leaving his bastards running around like chickens with no heads.
Organizations like his took time to come back together after such a big event. His death should have crippled them for at least a few months while they fought each other for his position. So, Taco was inclined to believe it was someone else at the fore…but who?
They’d been clean for so long, he couldn’t think of a single person or group who’d have a beef with them. The Spartans no longer dealt in arms or drugs, keeping everything above board. If anything, they had friends.
So where was this coming from?
Again, his thoughts returned to Cruiz, but he couldn’t make the pieces of the puzzle come together.
The shit was enough to give him a headache. He squeezed the phone in his hand a little tighter. The silence was pissing him off. He’d been spending time with that woman, day and night, knowing the risk he was taking, and she was ghosting him? Better not be, that’s all he had to say.
If she thought for a second she was going to just fuck him over after everything he’d done for her, all the pieces he’d picked up, all the trouble he’d gone through just to be together at all, even for a single damn night, then she was mistaken. Taco was old school enough that he didn’t take that kind of shit lying down.
She’d better be dead or dying before she thought about chucking him into the wind like what they’d been up to was nothing. Otherwise, he’d make it clear as a church bell what he thought about that. Say what you gotta say to his face, that’s what was up. Simply put, Taco didn’t appreciate being ignored. He demanded and got respect.
Holding up two fingers, he summoned the temporary bartender, a pretty little number with small but perky tits, no bra needed. She was on top of it, popping the top off another cold one and setting it down in front of him. Despite that bright smile and fresh face, he missed Red standing on the other side of that counter. Nobody brought warmth to the place like she did. Something about that woman…
Repo was a lucky bastard staking claim to her. Smart too. Someone someday was going to snap her up. Might as well be him. Honestly, Taco would have done it ages ago, but Red was like a wild stallion or some shit. Spirited in a way that he wasn’t sure he could break—not that he had any interest in doing so. Something as free and majestic as her? Nah, that was something to behold. No changes necessary.
He hoped to damn sure that Repo understood that. Else he might have to put a hurtin’ on the man. And that was not a fight he’d look forward to.
Fuckin’ scary devil eyes. Gave him nightmares.
No wonder Red wasn’t so keen on signing on with him, but Taco didn’t see where she had much choice. If a woman could be castrated, Repo had effectively done that to her. One word from him, and no man would touch her. She was floating out to sea without a life preserver now, so it was either align herself with him, or diddle herself straight into the nursing home.
Personally, Taco didn’t know which the worse punishment was.
But, from the whispers he’d been picking up tonight, it sounded like Red might be coming around to Repo’s way of thinking. She’d been sticking to his side like glue this past month, but Taco wasn’t big on trusting the rumor mill. Those tended to embellish. He did know, however, that she’d been required to see to his care after the man left the hospital, and he’d witnessed her fear and anguish firsthand right after he’d been shot. The woman had been beside herself with grief. But he didn’t know if that was more because they had history, or because she was genuinely having feelings for the man.
Hard to tell sometimes with women.
Taco just knew he missed her face around the place.
Sick of listening to himself inside his own head, Taco slugged back his beer and checked his phone again, even though it hadn’t made a sound since the last time he’d looked at it. Still nothing. Whatever. He wasn’t going to chase her down. Tonight.
He was in no condition to ride out anywhere. But tomorrow was another story.
“Hey,” he called to the girl behind the counter. “If the prez needs me, I’ll be in my room.” Then he jerked his thumb behind him as he stood, only teetering on his feet a little.
She nodded, her eyes flashing that familiar look that he recognized well. But Taco wasn’t in the mood to extend an invitation. She just didn’t do it for him.
Which, come on, was a warning in and of itself. Taco had never been a picky eater. But apparently, his tastes had changed.
What the fuck ever with that too. He wasn’t in the mood for self-analysis.
Sleep. That’s what he needed. Sleep and a clear mind, then he was going to tackle the hell out of this little…issue in the morning.
***
Tucker hadn’t been sleeping well. Hell, how could anyone be expected to sleep when there were nefarious fuckers roaming the city shooting at his bros? He wanted to track them down and draw blood, but he was holding back, keeping his shit together. For now.
Talia wouldn’t allow it anyway. Going off half-cocked wasn’t allowed. She made that very clear. Tucker was listening to the little woman: one, because he loved her and he’d do anything to make her happy, and two, because she was watching his ass like a hawk. He literally couldn’t get up for a drink of water without her eyeballs tracking his every move.
That was going to make sneaking out hard. Not that he was planning to. Just…he liked having options.
“It’s late, sugar. Aren’t you going to go to bed?”
“I will when you will,” Talia said in a conversational tone that belied the argument just waiting to happen. She was spoiling for a fight, ready to throw down some words at the drop of a hat.
He knew that stubborn look of hers all too well—tight jaw, lips thinned, unblinking stare. And those arms crossed under her tits, pushing them up high and drawing his eye, even though she had zero intention of giving him any of that sugar.
Cue internal sigh. It was a good thing Tucker was a—somewhat—patient man. He would wait her out, then he’d punish her later. Maybe a good paddling would relieve the tension. Oh yeah, he could already see her tight little ass over his lap, cheeks red with his handprint.
Damn.
He shifted his hardening cock, smirking when Talia’s gaze flashed on the movement. She didn’t look the least bit enticed.
Hell, he was going to try anyway. “You wanna fool around?”
“No.”
Sliding in closer, Tucker draped his arm over her shoulders, ignoring how stiff she was. “You mad at me, sweets?”
“No. I’m just waiting for you to piss me off.”
He chuckled. “Baby, if you wanted to fight, all you had to do was say so. I’ll help you blow off some steam.” He nuzzled the side of her head, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hairspray or shampoo or whatever frilly woman stuff she was currently using.
Talia sighed and relaxed into him. “I don’t need to blow off steam. I just don’t want you running around getting yourself killed.”
Running his fingers down the side of her arm, Tucker said, “You know me better than that, Talia. I’ve got years of training just like you. I don’t do anything without thinking it out first.”
“But you’re angry.”
“Hell yeah, I am. My friend just got shot, unprovoked. I have no idea who it was or why they did it or who they’re going to target next. There’s a real threat, to all of us,” he said, giving her shoulder a little squeeze so she knew just where his center of focus was, “and I want to get to the bottom of it before anyone else gets hurt.” Or worse. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud.
Her head fell back against his shoulder, and she closed her eyes. “I hate this. In that hospital…all I could think of was what if that had been you. And when I looked at Ginger…” She shook her head, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion. “That could have been me standing there.”
Chest constricting, Tucker pulled his woman against him and held her tight, trying his best to absorb all of her pain, worry, and fear. “That’ll never happen.”
“You don’t know that for sure. Shit happ—”
Grabbing her jaw, Tucker turned her face up to his. “It’ll never happen.” He’d see to it personally. No one was going to hurt his family ever again. He was going to use every resource at his disposal to track those bastards down and make them pay. When he found out who was behind this, he was going to be the last thing they saw coming.
Talia, staring up at him, searched his eyes—ever the analyzer. When she found what she was looking for, she gave him a faint nod. “Okay.”
And there was nothing else to say. She trusted him implicitly; Tucker had no doubt about that. It was a gift, one not freely given, and he intended to take care of it.
But the road to hell was always paved with good intentions.