“No?” she asked snidely. “Well, when Joint Taskforce Badass Motherfuckers of Denver, and that would include Chaos, if you’ll recall, got those shipments impounded some serious people got seriously deep in some serious fucking shit.”

Axl and Auggie didn’t even look at each other.

“Which shipments?” Aug demanded.

But he knew.

So did Axl.

“Worst thing that happened in Denver, when Chaos got out of transportation protection,” she muttered. “Second worst thing, when Bounty fucked everything up and then saw the error of their ways and rebranded to Resurrection.”

Axl, nor Aug, were interested in her opinions on the histories of local motorcycle clubs.

“Which fucking shipments, Brandi?” Auggie shared this by biting out.

She looked him dead in the eye. “You know which ones, Augustus.” Her gaze then darted between them. “Now, we even?”

“No,” Axl and Aug said together.

“All right then, you feel like starrin’ at your own funeral and givin’ up fuckin’ that pretty pussy you been taggin’,” she began, and a finger of ice trailed down Axl’s spine at her mention of their women, “those shipments were meant to assure some pretty hefty retirements. And the men dreamin’ of fishin’ boats or drinkin’ beer in oceanside bars, checkin’ out chicks in bikinis they could actually afford to impress enough with their bank to suck their dicks, have not given up on that dream.”

Neither man prompted her, because when she was on a roll, she didn’t need it.

And she was on a roll and gave it to them.

“And when the good cops get the drop, where do those shipments go, boys?”

They were in the police impound.

Evidence that just sat there.

For.

Fucking.

Ever.

“And what does this have to do with their problem with Nightingale?” Auggie asked.

“All of you,” she corrected.

“Whatever, B. Talk,” Auggie clipped.

“This is not a new project,” she told them. “You assholes running interference over the years, you been shaking things up for them for a while. They had long-term goals. You kept fuckin’ with them. Those Rock Chick books come out, suddenly Lee Nightingale and Luke Stark and Vance Crowe and Eddie Chavez and Hank Nightingale,” she stressed the two cops on that crew, “are famous? Untouchable.”

She paused.

They waited.

“So they decided to stop fucking around, get the job done, and go for a couple big scores. And you all fucked those too.”

She paused again.

They waited again.

“It’s been awhile since those books came out,” she said low.

“So Nightingale is a target?” Axl asked.

She shrugged. “Nightingale. Delgado. One of the Chavezes. Sebring. Rush Allen of Chaos. Who knows? Who cares? They did you a solid. Delivered those cops to you. Let Cisco off the hook. You didn’t take the hint. You keep stirrin’ up this hornet’s nest, the gloves gonna come off.”

“Why’d you mention the women?” Axl demanded.