His woman? When did I become Tack’s woman?

“Tabby’s already part-slut, spendin’ time around you and all your bitches. She don’t need to learn the high-class, fancy-ass way to spread her legs,” Naomi fired back.

I gasped, Rush made a noise like a growl and Tabby whimpered.

Automatically, my arm stretched back, searching blindly until I found it and then I wrapped my hand around Tabby’s, held it tight and moved back until the back of my side touched the front of hers. The minute it did, Tabby’s hand closed around mine like a vice.

“Did I just hear you?” Tack said in a soft, dangerous voice.

“You heard me, ass**le,” Naomi snapped.

“You’re tellin’ me I just heard you,” Tack gave her another opportunity to stand down.

“You heard me,” she clipped.

Another knock came at the door at the exact same time Lanie made her appearance.

“What on earth is going on?” she asked from the mouth of the hall wearing her shimmery, fabulous, short kimono, a towel wrapped around her head, her beautiful face and perfect bone structure no less beautiful with my pale pink terrycloth towel framing it.

Naomi looked around Tack at Lanie then back at Tack and she shrieked, “Fuck me, you buildin’ a harem?”

Another knock at the door.

Tack’s hand wrapped around Naomi’s arm and he yanked her from the door. Stepping back, he threw it open.

I peered outside and stared in shock at my favorite aunt, Bette, and favorite uncle, Marshall, who didn’t live in Denver. They lived outside DC.

Aunt Bette’s eyes were round and she took in the inhabitants of my living room, her gaze finally resting on me and I knew she’d heard Naomi but then again, how could she not?

“Uh… surprise?” she asked and Uncle Marshall pushed in, shoving his wife in with him as Tack took a couple of steps back, dragging Naomi.

Uncle Marsh’s eyes also looked around my living room then found me.

Then, just like Uncle Marsh, he grinned his shit-eating grin.

There was only one person on this entire earth that could hear a foul-mouthed woman shrieking in his beloved niece’s house and find it grin-worthy and that was my Uncle Marsh.

I pulled in breath through my nostrils, tipped my head back to look at the ceiling then I looked at Uncle Marsh and grinned back.

Chapter Twelve

Family Reunion

“You might wanna step aside,” Tack growled at Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh.

Aunt Bette stared up at him but Uncle Marsh shuffled Aunt Bette to the side just as Tack manhandled a struggling, spitting Naomi out the door. He slammed it in her face and locked it. And then he turned to face the room.

Pounding came at the door and Naomi could be heard screaming, “You did not just do that!”

With all that was happening and without having had that first cup of coffee, I was at a loss but luckily my feet weren’t. They took me to Aunt Bette while more pounding sounds came at the door and I knew, being closer to them, they came from fists and feet.

I ignored them and Aunt Bette, who was staring at the door, jumped when I got close.

“Hey, Aunt Bette,” I murmured and wrapped my arms around her.

“Open this goddamned door and send my kids out here!” Naomi yelled.

“Uh… hi there, Tyra,” Aunt Bette murmured back, giving me a squeeze.

I let her go and smiled at her.

Naomi screeched over continued pounding, “Open the f**king door!”

I kept ignoring it and turned to Uncle Marsh. “Hey, Uncle Marsh.” Then I wrapped him in my arms.

Uncle Marsh’s hug was different than his wife’s. My mother’s cool-as-hell brother loved me and he loved me a lot. Therefore, his hug was tight, it was warm and it spoke volumes, every word beautiful.

“Hey, honey,” he whispered in my ear.

“I said open the motherfucking door,” Naomi shrieked with more hammering.

I stepped back but Uncle Marsh kept me close with his hands on my upper arms.

My Aunt Bette was petite, had short, curly hair and big, blue eyes. Aunt Bette was the kind of aunt who was interested in everything you did, supported every decision you made, wanted nothing but your happiness and gave love without conditions. She was a call ‘em as she saw ‘em, did what she liked and liked what she did, said what was on her mind and if you couldn’t hack the honesty that was your problem, kind of person. I adored her.

Uncle Marsh looked like a shorter, but way cooler, Kevin Costner. Uncle Marsh got his news from Aunt Bette therefore communication with Uncle Marsh was sporadic unless you were sitting on his deck (where, the last fifteen years, we had spent the vast amount of our time together). That said, he supported every decision you made, wanted nothing but your happiness and gave love without conditions. He was also a call ‘em as he saw ‘em, did what he liked and liked what he did, said what was on his mind kind of guy but his way was that when he called ‘em, did what he liked and said what was on his mind, you listened and learned because he was wise and he wasn’t a fan of bullshit. I worshipped him.

“I’m here for some meetings,” Aunt Bette put in over the continued pummeling heard at the door. “Your uncle decided to come with me, surprise you and make it a long weekend with his favorite niece. We thought we’d pop by and take you for breakfast.” There was more pounding at the door and Aunt Bette gamely ignored it. “My meetings don’t start until this afternoon then we have the whole weekend.”

Uncle Marsh let me go and the minute he did, Tack was there, warm, lean body to my back, tattooed arm curved around my chest. When he did this, I was surprised for a variety of reasons. First, this was a claiming gesture. Second, it was meant to communicate, clearly, it was a claiming gesture. Third, it was a claiming gesture that was meant also to communicate togetherness and intimacy. And last, although we had been intimate, that wasn’t something I wanted my aunt and especially my uncle to know, I wasn’t aware we were “together” as such and I wasn’t certain how I felt about being claimed.

Aunt Bette’s and Uncle Marsh’s eyes immediately dropped to his arm. Then they shot to my face and I knew that neither of them missed a single thing Tack was communicating.

Aunt Bette’s eyes turned openly curious.

Uncle Marsh’s face wiped blank.

Aunt Bette did not judge. She was who she was and you took her as she was. She returned the favor.

Uncle Marsh had been a fighter jock in the Air Force. Now he was a golf pro. He wore Ralph Lauren and Tag Heuer watches. He still had a military haircut. He also didn’t judge. That was, I learned in that instant, until a big, badass, scary biker dude with an arm covered in tattoos, wearing faded jeans and a tight tee, needing a haircut and needing it four weeks ago and who Uncle Marsh just witnessed manhandling a raving woman who assaulted my front door and hurled obscenities at it curved his painted arm around his much-loved niece’s chest. On those occasions, he judged.