After a beat, Emilio let out a long, slow sigh and shrugged. “It is what it is. And you’re wrapped up in this shit, whether or you like it or not. But you gotta make a choice, sweetheart, because I ain’t always gonna be close enough to save your ass.”
Jude had never been in the position to need a protector before. It triggered something primal in him, visceral—the need to take control. The need to pin Emilio by his throat and show him he was capable. And it was so bloody absurd he almost started laughing. Standing there on the street with a busted knee, half-shaking because a man sitting on a wall had terrified him out of his wits.
If the reckless seventeen-year-old who had picked a fistfight with strangers on the street could see him now…
“You can’t give me a timeline, can you?”
“Of what?” Emilio asked, his brows rising. “Of when this shit will be over? None of us have a goddamn clue. I have to leave town next week and see if we can sort some shit out, but that’s just the beginning.”
Jude glanced over his shoulder at the condo—a sad, sorry attempt at freedom from all of this while also not letting Eliah get too far away. Deep down, he’d known it was an illusion, but it hurt to admit it right then. He swallowed thickly, feeling it get caught in his throat like he had a stone lodged there, and he shook his head.
“Where can I go?”
“Right now,” Emilio said, meeting his gaze firmly, “with me. Smokey and Eliah are holed up in some little studio—and they’d make room, but those two keep fucking like rabbits…”
Jude held up a hand. “I don’t need to…” He cleared his throat. He knew staying with Emilio was going to be a disaster, but he also supposed his fate was sealed the afternoon in that cottage when he gave in and took him apart. He’d told himself it was just the once, but Jude always knew when he was lying to himself, even if it took him this long to admit it. “Let me get my things.”
Emilio nodded and made no move to follow him, and for that little bit of pride he let Jude keep, he thought he fell just a little more in love with him than he ever wanted to be.
12
Kicks hated himself for being a weak man, but the moment Jude’s name popped up on his phone, he knew something was wrong. And the moment he heard Jude’s voice, he knew he wasn’t going to leave until he got the stubborn asshole somewhere safe.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise that they’d gone after Jude first, but it bothered him more than he wanted to think about, knowing they could have found Jude at any time. They were still scrambling to put protections around River Crest, and their resources were small—especially now that Nate had turned in his badge and disappeared into the fucking wind like the ghost he once was.
Kicks suffered in silence all through church, which was inconveniently the day after he got Jude moved over to his place. Smokey kept staring at him, and he felt like he had ants under his skin. When he’d told his Prez about moving the rabbi, Smokey hadn’t done anything more than nod, and Eliah had given him an almost patronizing smile, which made Kicks want to put his fist through the wall.
He’d gone so much of his life—after leaving the service, after his attack—not letting anyone get the best of him. But Jude had managed to unravel him in a single night, and even after this long, the man was still under his skin.
“We got the meeting set up for next Wednesday.” Smokey’s voice cut through Kicks’ thoughts, and he glanced over at Rory who was leaning forward in his chair. He was the only non-patched person there, but he was official enough for church now that he was going to be acting as a liaison.
Kicks’ nerves were even more on edge now that they had a date to meet up with the Cobras’ VP. “We’ll roll out the night before,” he said and saw Rory nod in agreement.
Smokey stroked a hand down his beard, then glanced over at his Enforcer for a second. “You sure you got this shit?”
Hawke rolled his eyes and glanced over at Kicks, nodding for him to answer in his stead. “This ain’t hard work, Prez. It’s a fuckin’ meeting.”
“If you want to take a couple prospects…” Smokey started, but Rory’s scoff interrupted him.
“You know why that’s a stupid fucking idea,” Rory said, and Kicks almost laughed because he was the only one brave enough to speak to Smokey that way. “This isn’t gonna turn into a fight. They want Hydra taken down as much as we do.”
Smokey’s jaw twitched, but he eventually nodded and sat back in his hair. “Yeah, but I don’t fuckin’ trust these guys.”
“My brother and I haven’t always gotten along, but he follows a code,” Blaze offered quietly. Kicks felt bad he hadn’t gotten to know the kid a little bit better before now, especially since he could see something quiet—almost haunted—in his eyes. He was a man who kept to himself though, and while Kicks probably should have questioned a man who decided to prospect for the Chains instead of the Cobras, something about it felt right.
Smokey let out a heavy breath, then shrugged. “We got no choice but to trust him. So far, we’ve only seen one fucker in town, and we couldn’t get an ID on him.”
“It wasn’t Hydra,” Rory said. “Jude would have recognized the man who almost killed him.”
Smokey twitched, and Kicks knew it wasn’t because of the threat to Jude’s life. It was knowing what Rory had been through at the hands of the maniac that was threatening the peace of River Crest. And now Smokey was also dealing with the heavy guilt of leaving that night—of falling for the trap Hydra had set.
“It don’t fuckin’ matter who it was,” Smokey said after a beat. “What matters is they’re getting ballsy enough to show their faces again.”
Hawke knocked on the side of his chair, then lifted his hands. ‘We need to tell anyone out riding if they see someone in town flying colors that aren’t part of clubs we know, they need to follow them.’
Gunner leaned over to murmur a translation to Rory before he sat up a little straighter. “More than that. They need to take the fuckers out. Hawke can get answers if we can get them to the shed, and no club with their heads out of their asses will blame us for doing what we need to do. Everyone on the fuckin’ east coast knows what’s going on here.”
Smokey looked exhausted, but resigned, and he nodded. “Mace, I want you to take a couple prospects to the clubhouse and reinforce the shed. Get it set up for shit Hawke might need. But we need to tread carefully. I don’t got shit in the way of protection now that Nate’s gone.”
There was a mood that rippled through the room—frustration, mistrust, but also understanding. Smokey had kept the man hidden, but having someone within law enforcement was something every club needed. Dirty cops were easy to come by, but hard to keep around and hard to keep loyal. And the Chains weren’t exactly rolling in cash, so any payroll they had would be small. Especially after Hydra torched Smokey’s house.
“We got this,” Gunner said quietly. He’d taken Smokey’s deception the hardest, but Kicks also knew that there was nothing that would break Gunner’s loyalty. Smokey had saved his life in more ways than one.