Motorcycle Man
Page 27
The getting ready for bed part I could do. My getting ready for bed left me in nearly the same outfit I was in when Tack left the room. Except it was drawstring pajama shorts rather than jean shorts and there was no bra under my camisole. Therefore I did that part.
I was sitting cross-legged on my covers, rubbing hand cream in my hands when Tack returned, again closing the door behind him.
“Tack, maybe we should –”
I stopped speaking when his hands immediately went to the hem of his tee. Then it was up and gone and I had a full on view of his wide chest, tight abs and array of tattoos.
Holy heck. I forgot what a great chest he had. How broad his shoulders were. How much I really liked the definition of his collarbone. How much more I liked the ridges of his six pack. And how stupefyingly fascinating his tats were.
He’d undone his belt and two buttons of his jeans by the time I pulled it together but I lost it again when he turned and sat on the bed to pull off his boots and I caught sight of his back. Tack’s back was tattooed too, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, spanning his ribs and down his spine. It was an insignia I saw a lot around Ride and included wings, flames, the profile of an eagle and the American flag with a waving banner that spanned his waist in which, in old style, old West writing it said, simply, “Chaos”.
It was an unbelievably cool tattoo.
I hadn’t recovered from it by the time he had his boots off and stood. It was then I snapped to, opened my mouth to suggest we talk in the living room prior to his leaving for the night and then his jeans were gone.
My breath caught and my eyes glazed over and before I knew it, Tack swept the covers down, climbed into bed, grabbed my hand, pulled me forward so I went up on my knees then toppled down on him. Finally, he swept the covers over us both.
I lifted my head and chest and stared down at him.
“Uh…” I mumbled.
“Elliott Belova is in some serious bad shit and I say that knowin’ he was in serious bad shit before. The shit he’s actually in is serious,” Tack started the conversation and I snapped my mouth shut.
Then I opened it to ask, “So, he chatted?”
“Man wouldn’t shut up,” Tack answered.
Suddenly all ears, I dropped my chest to his to get closer and whispered, “Tell me.”
To that, for some reason he asked, “Your girl in there, this wedding, it big?”
“Um… yeah. She’s spending ten thousand dollars on flowers alone.”
“Jesus,” Tack muttered.
“Her dress cost more than my car,” I informed him.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Tack was still muttering.
“And you already know about the fourteen thousand dollar engagement ring. I won’t get into the catering,” I finished.
“Christ, that explains that,” Tack said.
“What?” I asked.
“Babe, her man loves her. Blinded by that shit. Wants to hand her the world.”
“And?” I prompted when he didn’t go on.
“And, Red, he can’t afford fourteen thousand dollar engagement rings and ten grand on flowers and whatever the f**k on catering. That guy is in so deep he drowned about six months ago. He’s dead man walking.”
I felt my eyes get wide. “Really?”
“Really,” Tack affirmed.
“I thought he made good money, she made good money. I thought –”
“They might make good money, darlin’, but I’m guessin’, the way they live added to that f**kin’ wedding…” He shook his head. “He couldn’t swing it. He also couldn’t say no. He had some money, made what he called a ‘bad investment’ but what he means is, he got ripped off. Promised two hundred percent return in two months turned into a loss of one hundred and fifty K in the blink of an eye. The guy he gave the money to disappeared. Belova scrambled. Tried to find a way out usin’ family ties but found himself hooked to some serious men who wanted to use his super brain to do some super serious illegal shit. They paid him and these guys pay you, they own you. Now, they own him. He can’t get out from under it. I just called a cop I know and it’s worse. He’s not only on the grid, he’s on radar. These men won’t cut him loose and Lawson at DPD didn’t say it flat out but I get the sense the cops know what he’s doin’. Belova’s done, he wants out and he wants out bad. Your friend talked to him about me, this guy’s got an idea about bikers, he came over here to talk to you to get to me but he got me. He made another stupid play, thinkin’ I do that shit. Now he’s owned by the Russian Mob, he’s on cop radar and he’s not my favorite person, making assumptions like that about me. One way or the other, this guy is f**ked. Far as I can see, he’s got two options, jail or dead. But even if the cops get to him before the mob, he goes inside, he’s dead. He even thinks of talkin’ to the cops, he’s dead. So, my guess is, he’s dead.”
I stared down at him and felt my nose start to sting as I thought of sweet, generous, totally in love with my best friend Elliott.
Then I whispered, “Damn, I don’t think I’m better anymore.”
Then I dropped my head and did a face plant in Tack’s chest.
I felt his hand glide into my hair and cup the back of my head as I heard and felt him mutter, “Baby.”
I turned my head, pressed my cheek to his chest and Tack’s hand slid to under my ear but his thumb moved to stroke my cheek as I deep breathed to fight back my tears.
Then I said softly, “Don’t be mad at him, Tack. It wasn’t cool, him asking you to do that. It was messed up. But it sounds like he’s desperate and I always knew he’d do anything for Lanie. He’s got enough to worry about. He doesn’t need to worry about pissing off scary biker dude.”
“Babe, he’s still at the Compound which, right now, is maybe the safest place in Denver he could be.”
I lifted my head and slid my hand up his chest to rest my chin on it as my eyes went to his.
“You’re protecting him?”
“For now, until I decide what to do with him, but, Red, that don’t mean I’m not still pissed at him. Comin’ to your house, talkin’ to me on your deck, with you and my kids in the house and asking me somethin’ that f**ked up?” He shook his head. “No.”
I nodded because he was right. What Elliott did was a big no.
Therefore, to change the subject, I asked, “What did he do for the mob?”
I was sitting cross-legged on my covers, rubbing hand cream in my hands when Tack returned, again closing the door behind him.
“Tack, maybe we should –”
I stopped speaking when his hands immediately went to the hem of his tee. Then it was up and gone and I had a full on view of his wide chest, tight abs and array of tattoos.
Holy heck. I forgot what a great chest he had. How broad his shoulders were. How much I really liked the definition of his collarbone. How much more I liked the ridges of his six pack. And how stupefyingly fascinating his tats were.
He’d undone his belt and two buttons of his jeans by the time I pulled it together but I lost it again when he turned and sat on the bed to pull off his boots and I caught sight of his back. Tack’s back was tattooed too, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, spanning his ribs and down his spine. It was an insignia I saw a lot around Ride and included wings, flames, the profile of an eagle and the American flag with a waving banner that spanned his waist in which, in old style, old West writing it said, simply, “Chaos”.
It was an unbelievably cool tattoo.
I hadn’t recovered from it by the time he had his boots off and stood. It was then I snapped to, opened my mouth to suggest we talk in the living room prior to his leaving for the night and then his jeans were gone.
My breath caught and my eyes glazed over and before I knew it, Tack swept the covers down, climbed into bed, grabbed my hand, pulled me forward so I went up on my knees then toppled down on him. Finally, he swept the covers over us both.
I lifted my head and chest and stared down at him.
“Uh…” I mumbled.
“Elliott Belova is in some serious bad shit and I say that knowin’ he was in serious bad shit before. The shit he’s actually in is serious,” Tack started the conversation and I snapped my mouth shut.
Then I opened it to ask, “So, he chatted?”
“Man wouldn’t shut up,” Tack answered.
Suddenly all ears, I dropped my chest to his to get closer and whispered, “Tell me.”
To that, for some reason he asked, “Your girl in there, this wedding, it big?”
“Um… yeah. She’s spending ten thousand dollars on flowers alone.”
“Jesus,” Tack muttered.
“Her dress cost more than my car,” I informed him.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Tack was still muttering.
“And you already know about the fourteen thousand dollar engagement ring. I won’t get into the catering,” I finished.
“Christ, that explains that,” Tack said.
“What?” I asked.
“Babe, her man loves her. Blinded by that shit. Wants to hand her the world.”
“And?” I prompted when he didn’t go on.
“And, Red, he can’t afford fourteen thousand dollar engagement rings and ten grand on flowers and whatever the f**k on catering. That guy is in so deep he drowned about six months ago. He’s dead man walking.”
I felt my eyes get wide. “Really?”
“Really,” Tack affirmed.
“I thought he made good money, she made good money. I thought –”
“They might make good money, darlin’, but I’m guessin’, the way they live added to that f**kin’ wedding…” He shook his head. “He couldn’t swing it. He also couldn’t say no. He had some money, made what he called a ‘bad investment’ but what he means is, he got ripped off. Promised two hundred percent return in two months turned into a loss of one hundred and fifty K in the blink of an eye. The guy he gave the money to disappeared. Belova scrambled. Tried to find a way out usin’ family ties but found himself hooked to some serious men who wanted to use his super brain to do some super serious illegal shit. They paid him and these guys pay you, they own you. Now, they own him. He can’t get out from under it. I just called a cop I know and it’s worse. He’s not only on the grid, he’s on radar. These men won’t cut him loose and Lawson at DPD didn’t say it flat out but I get the sense the cops know what he’s doin’. Belova’s done, he wants out and he wants out bad. Your friend talked to him about me, this guy’s got an idea about bikers, he came over here to talk to you to get to me but he got me. He made another stupid play, thinkin’ I do that shit. Now he’s owned by the Russian Mob, he’s on cop radar and he’s not my favorite person, making assumptions like that about me. One way or the other, this guy is f**ked. Far as I can see, he’s got two options, jail or dead. But even if the cops get to him before the mob, he goes inside, he’s dead. He even thinks of talkin’ to the cops, he’s dead. So, my guess is, he’s dead.”
I stared down at him and felt my nose start to sting as I thought of sweet, generous, totally in love with my best friend Elliott.
Then I whispered, “Damn, I don’t think I’m better anymore.”
Then I dropped my head and did a face plant in Tack’s chest.
I felt his hand glide into my hair and cup the back of my head as I heard and felt him mutter, “Baby.”
I turned my head, pressed my cheek to his chest and Tack’s hand slid to under my ear but his thumb moved to stroke my cheek as I deep breathed to fight back my tears.
Then I said softly, “Don’t be mad at him, Tack. It wasn’t cool, him asking you to do that. It was messed up. But it sounds like he’s desperate and I always knew he’d do anything for Lanie. He’s got enough to worry about. He doesn’t need to worry about pissing off scary biker dude.”
“Babe, he’s still at the Compound which, right now, is maybe the safest place in Denver he could be.”
I lifted my head and slid my hand up his chest to rest my chin on it as my eyes went to his.
“You’re protecting him?”
“For now, until I decide what to do with him, but, Red, that don’t mean I’m not still pissed at him. Comin’ to your house, talkin’ to me on your deck, with you and my kids in the house and asking me somethin’ that f**ked up?” He shook his head. “No.”
I nodded because he was right. What Elliott did was a big no.
Therefore, to change the subject, I asked, “What did he do for the mob?”
