Even though he didn’t miss his opportunity, he didn’t take advantage, his head lifted and my eyes opened to see his staring into mine.

His hand at my neck squeezed reassuringly and he ordered gently, “Now, eat your pancakes, babe.”

I did as I was told. I took the pancakes and he got me butter and maple syrup. I sat at a stool at his bar, readied them and ate them while he made some for himself.

He was right and I was surprised.

They were the best pancakes I’d ever had.

* * * * *

It was just after noon and I was spent.

Tack had gone down the mountain to see about getting my things. He had decreed that I was staying at his place. Thinking about this, people were kidnapping me. Dad and Meredith were homeless and their vulnerability had been proven by a firebomb. Leo was a cop but he had a job that he had to work in order to get paid which meant he couldn’t spend his days guarding me. I was still averse to buying a gun and, anyway, I was pretty sure there was a waiting period prior to earning a permit so that was out.

Tack had a bevy of badass bikers at his command and a mountain hideaway.

So I picked Tack.

While he was gone I called and left a message with Dad telling him where I was so he wouldn’t worry and telling him I’d explain later. I also told him the dinner Elvira and I sorted out with Hawk, Gus and Maria was off and I’d explain that later too. I didn’t call Meredith because she could take calls at work and I wasn’t ready to go there. I did call Cam and Tracy. Cam ranted about Hawk saying how she knew, she just knew, Hawk was a motherfucking ass**le. Tracy sounded exactly as heartbroken as I felt.

I didn’t call Troy. He wouldn’t gloat, I knew that, he’d be kind. He’d also offer me a place to stay and Troy was a great guy but he didn’t have a bevy of badass bikers at his command and a mountain hideaway. He had a condo and his male friends were mostly bankers.

I was sitting on Tack’s huge, slouchy, comfortable, tan couch that faced the view, my mind filled with unhappy thoughts at the same time considering a nap which I hoped would last around fifty years, when I saw Tack on his bike roaring up the drive. He was alone and his Harley was not laden with suitcases.

Shit.

I got up and met him at the front door.

He looked unhappy.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“No,” he answered, moved to a door off the entry area, opened it and pulled out a leather biker jacket. He turned, tossed it to me and I caught it. “Put that on, peaches. I hate to break this to you but Hawk’s bein’ a dick. He won’t release your shit unless he sees you. My boys are in a standoff with his boys at his warehouse and to get your shit without unnecessary hassle which could mean anything from minor injuries to bloodshed to hospital stays, I need you to show your face.”

My body had locked but my mouth moved to form the word, “What?”

Tack invaded my space and one hand went to my waist, the other hand curled around my neck. “Darlin’, he’s demandin’ to see you. So,” his hands gave me a squeeze, “we gotta let him see you. He’ll see you, I’m at your back, then we take off and my boys go in and get your shit.”

“He’s holding my stuff for ransom until he sees me?” I whispered.

“Yep,” Tack answered.

“Why?” I was still whispering.

“Fuck if I know,” Tack replied.

I stood there, his hands on me, staring into his eyes.

Then I lost my mind.

I stepped back and yanked on his jacket. “That f**king dick!” I shouted. “God! What was I thinking! I must have lost my mind, getting involved with him. Temporarily insane!”

Then I freed my hair from the collar, stomped straight out the door and toward his bike only to be pulled up short with an arm at my belly, my foot just about ready to take the step off the decking at the side of the house and onto the gravel drive.

Tack lifted me clean off my feet, turned and put me down.

I pulled away, whirled on him then he said, “Babe, boots.”

I looked down at my feet in socks. Then I tipped my head back to look at Tack to see his mouth twitching.

Then I stomped into his house to get my boots.

* * * * *

Tack was right.

When we made it to Hawk’s warehouse there was definitely a standoff. A big black van was surrounded by about a dozen bikes and a dozen bikers were facing off against an equal number of commandos. Hawk had pulled in what looked like the entirety of his workforce.

He was amongst them.

Tack drove his Harley between the battle lines, stopped in front of Hawk and put down a foot.

“You see her, now let my boys in,” Tack growled.

Hawk looked at me. Luckily I’d spent the entire ride down the mountain nursing my snit, stoking it up so I was good and freaking angry so seeing him didn’t make me dissolve into tears or anything else equally humiliating.

“Inside,” Hawk clipped at me.

“No f**kin’ way,” Tack clipped back.

Hawk didn’t take his eyes off me. “Inside,” he repeated.

Tack pushed down the bike stand and I knew he was losing it too so I hopped off.

“Gwen –” Tack started.

I whipped my head around so fast my hair flew over my shoulder.

“It’s cool, I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute,” I assured him.

“Peaches –”

“I’m fine, Tack, honestly, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Then I didn’t wait for his response, I skirted Hawk, pushed through his line of commandos, or, more accurately, between Fang and Jorge, and stomped into the warehouse.

When I got to the area just beyond the space under the bed platform I saw that rumor and Tack were right. When Hawk was done, he was done. I knew this because my two suitcases were there, my desk, my disconnected computer and my box of desk shit.

Why he wanted me there, I didn’t know. Maybe because he was an ass**le. But then, most men were.

I grabbed my suitcases, lugged them up, turned and ran smack into Hawk.

My head tipped back. “Get out of my way,” I snapped.

He bent, pulled the suitcases out of my hands then his hands were on me. I barely got the chance to struggle before I was up against the paneled room under the platform and I was held there with his hand at my chest.

“Now, babe, you’re gonna let me explain.”

“Take your hand off me.”

“Her name was Simone,” he stated bizarrely.

“Who, your new toy?” I shot back.

“No, my dead wife.”