With church dismissed, Smokey hung back and spoke to Blaze and Mace for a few, and Kicks hung near the back of the room, arms crossed. Everything was coming along as expected, but with Jude under his roof, he felt unsettled again.
“If this is about Eliah’s brother,” Smokey started once the door slammed shut.
Kicks let out a sigh and walked over, dropping into a chair. “I don’t think he’s going to give me a hard time, but we don’t got the bodies for twenty-four seven protection, and I can’t stay in town all the fuckin’ time.”
Smokey’s eyes were soft with understanding. “Eliah and I are looking for a bigger place.”
Kicks’ brows shot up. “Why?”
“Because I’m giving up on Wolfe House for now. I need to put my focus on the club, and my little reno project ain’t that.” Smoke dropped into his own chair, his legs spread, and he rested his forearms over his thighs. “I can’t promise this shit’s gonna get wrapped up with a tidy bow. At least, not any time soon. And I have a feeling we ain’t gonna make very many friends along the way.”
Kicks grimaced, but he knew his Prez was right about that. It wasn’t the way of that life—a lesson he learned quickly. “We’ll do what we can. You know Rory’s got a gift for making friends.”
Smokey snorted, and Kicks decided it was progress, the way he didn’t immediately threaten to burn the world down to keep his brother safe. “I trust him. But it don’t matter how gifted he is, that little shit can’t work miracles.”
“No, but he can make people see sense,” Kicks reminded him. “I wouldn’t have agreed to go along if it was a bad idea.” He rubbed at his blind eye, feeling a sudden urge to take out the prosthetic. It had been irritating the inside of his eyelid, which happened every spring when the pollen was thick.
“Yeah.” Smokey breathed out a sigh, then pushed to his feet and jerked his head toward the door for Kicks to follow. “I wanna talk to the three of you before you ride out, but I’m going to see what we can do about Jude while you’re gone. You live out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, and that’s a problem.”
Kicks grimaced. His place had been a sanctuary once. A little house surrounded by a forest that blocked the sounds of traffic. It was accessible through a small dirt-road, and it was like being on his own little planet some days.
But he had no faith that these fuckers didn’t know exactly where to find him—and that they wouldn’t swoop in the moment he was gone and finish the job they started with the rabbi. “I was gonna ask Gunner and Logan to stay. I got the space for it, and Maddie loves bein’ out there.”
Smokey gave him a clap on the arm, then they headed out into the main lobby of the clubhouse, which was actually starting to look put together. Smokey had been putting out feelers—looking for people who were familiar with club life to run the place. Logan had been a cook before he started prospecting and had impressed Smokey enough to be given run of the kitchen, but that wouldn’t last long, and most of them were too busy with the shop to commit to something full-time.
But Kicks knew their Prez wanted this place to be functional, and he wanted to do what he could to help.
He found Gunner outside, leaning against his bike, head bent over his phone with half his mouth lifted in a small grin. He knew that look—he had no experience with it himself, but he’d seen it on Gunner and Smokey enough times now to understand that falling in love did something fundamental. It changed and shifted people into new shapes, and the idea terrified him. But, deep down, he felt something like visceral need.
He also knew he wasn’t brave enough to ever reach for it.
Clearing his throat, he waited until Gunner looked over. “You and Logan wanna play house over at my place this week?”
Gunner looked mildly surprised. “What for?”
“Smokey can’t spare anyone for guard duty, and I don’t want to leave Jude on his own.”
A small flicker of sympathy crossed Gunner’s face. That was new. Before meeting Logan, Gunner was the kind of man who probably would have let a stranger take their chances on their own. “Yeah, we can do that. He doin’ alright?”
“Knee’s still all fucked up,” Kicks said. “He’s more mobile than he was, but he wouldn’t be able to run if someone showed up.”
Gunner shoved his phone into his pocket and clapped him on the arm. “I’ll be there before you need to roll out. Maddie wants to say hi. She’s been up my ass about a sleepover.”
Kicks laughed. “Why don’t I take her the night before? You and Logan can fuck in every room of the house. I, uh…” Kicks shrugged and glanced away. “I miss her.”
Gunner said nothing, which he appreciated. Kicks wasn’t the kind of guy who ever wanted to be a dad, but he enjoyed the role of fun, kind of fucked-up uncle who would literally tear the world to shreds to make that kid happy.
“I’ll drop her off after dance class. You sure Jude will be okay with it?”
He actually didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to lock Maddie out for some stranger he’d fucked once. “I’m sure,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll see you then.”
Tipping a wave to Hawke across the parking lot, Kicks straddled his bike, balancing it between his thighs before pulling out his phone. There were no messages waiting, and he wasn’t really expecting any, but he’d been all nerves leaving Jude out there, even if it wasn’t for longer than a couple hours.
He’d half considered taking food home, but there was a fire at the base of his spine telling him not to stay away. He could cook—sort of. He could cook well enough to keep them both fed anyway, and his garden was producing plenty of shit to work with. He revved his engine, then rolled out onto the street and kept his gaze moving from right to left, looking for the fucker who had been in town.
He wished he’d gotten a better look, but the guy had clearly heard him coming because he was half a mile up the road before Kicks got to the entrance of the condo building. He rolled after him for a few minutes, but the guy was quick, and Kicks had no intention of leaving Jude on that beach.
Which was probably what the asshole intended, but it had been worth it. He wasn’t in a cut, and though his bike was a Harley, it had no distinctive markings. He was exactly the sort of person who could get lost in the city full of bikers, and no one would be able to pick him out of a crowd.
He hated how clever Hydra was. He hated that a man with a face no one could remember might just be the end of who they were.
13
Kicks rolled up to the house half an hour after leaving the bar. Traffic had been a bitch, but the moment he got on the A1A, he managed to avoid slow traffic, and his bike ate up the miles like nothing. He felt a bit of panic popping and sizzling under his skin as he pulled up to the house, which only got worse until he smelled something cooking just inside the front door.
He took a handful of breaths before turning the corner and stepping into the kitchen, and he found the other man at the stove, swaying back and forth with one hand braced on his cane, the other stirring something in a massive pot. He was singing under his breath—deep and melodic, and good.