Jude couldn’t help his grin, even as he shook his head. He never did understand the faith healers—the sort of damn-near pagan-ritual hysteria of the religion that gripped the States. “I take it that failed.”
“Up to now,” Forge said with a wink. “At least with my leg. The rehab got me clean though, and I was grateful for that.” He went silent a long moment. “I probably never would have looked at another club again if it weren’t for Smokey. I went to work in an auto shop, started modifying my bike so I could ride with my leg. I guess word spread, and he showed up one day with an offer.”
“And?” Jude said.
Forge laughed. “And I took it.”
Jude gave him a careful look. “And it’s different now?”
Forge nodded his head once—a stiff, almost military-like motion. “From the moment I put the Knights’ prospect cut on, I knew they wasn’t what I needed. But when Smokey stood in the lobby of that shop, I knew that was where I belonged. He didn’t look at me like I was a burden or some freak side-show bullshit. He liked my work because it was good, and he wanted me in this club because I was loyal. It was as simple as that.”
Jude didn’t insult him by asking him if it felt right. He didn’t need to. He could see it shining from Forge’s soft blue eyes, and from the way his jaw was set in a firm line. This place was everything to him, because of course it was. And maybe, he was starting to realize, he didn’t need to give up his kippah or ink his skin or take up a gun in order to fit.
Maybe he just needed to be himself, because this was the one place he’d found that seemed to mold itself to what everyone else needed. And he didn’t think there was anywhere like it in all the rest of the world.
19
Kicks wanted to blame the fact that shit had been hitting the fan repeatedly for the last year and a half for why he was so on edge and why he was so surprised when things didn’t go straight to hell in a handbasket the moment he arrived to meet with the Cobra’s VP. Jax was nothing and everything like he expected. He looked a lot like his brother, and he wore most of his age in the corners of his eyes. His mouth was set in a permanent frown, and his pale skin was mottled with a faint sort of grease sheen from working in a mechanic shop all day.
But he didn’t hesitate when he shook Rory’s hand, which was exactly what Kicks had been waiting for him to do. He also talked directly to him instead of directing his questions at Kicks or Hawke, and when Hawke lifted his hands to sign, Jax looked more intrigued than anything else.
“We heard some shit about you guys,” Jax said over dinner as they all sat around a table with three boxes of pizza spread out in front of them. Kicks wasn’t really hungry, but the beer in his hand was taking the edge off his nerves.
Kicks snorted, but it was Hawke who answered, his gaze darting to Kicks, imploring him to interpret, which he did. “We figured. If not the cop thing, then the fact that we’re all a bunch of disabled homos.”
At that, Jax threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck, man. I mean—yeah. People are pretty pissed about the cop thing, but Ghost made his own bed when he turned in his cut for a fuckin’ badge.”
Rory’s jaw tensed. “He had his own shit to work out.”
At the venom in his tone, Jax threw up his hands and let out a low whistle. “Call off the dogs, brother. I’m just callin’ it like I heard it. I always had mad respect for that dude.”
Kicks wasn’t sure Jax was telling the truth, but he had no grounds to call him out, and it didn’t matter. Nate was god only knew where, and he wasn’t part of the Chains. He didn’t need defending. “I think what Hawke means is, we get why people ain’t exactly lining up to form any sort of partnerships with us.”
“That’s because they got their heads crammed so far up their asses,” Jax said with a shrug. He licked his fingers, and Kicks couldn’t ignore the way Hawke was staring. Something was happening, and he wasn’t sure if he should put a stop to it or not because unless it was just a hook-up, there was no fuckin’ way forward for that. “Reaver ain’t a bad guy, even if he’s an asshole most of the time. I’ve seen worse Presidents. Hell, Cobras are fuckin’ full of them.”
Kicks couldn’t really argue with that. They hadn’t been established long, but long enough he’d been able to trace paths of corruption. “And he’s really good with this shit?”
Jax’s face went dark. “That fucker started killing our brothers. Believe me, he’s willing to dance with any goddamn devil out there if it means stopping that crazy fuck.”
Kicks sat back and rubbed his fingers over his mouth. “Then tomorrow, you and Rory can set the terms. I’ll take it back to Smokey and see what he thinks, but he’s goin’ after Hydra no matter who is or isn’t on our side.”
“That’s why Reaver’s anxious to get something settled with y’all,” Jax said. He glanced over at Hawke, and Kicks had a feeling it was going to be a long night for the Enforcer. “We don’t wanna keep you long though. We know y’all got shit to do, and Hydra’s been lickin’ his wounds god only knows where.”
That was the problem though. Even forming an alliance with the Savannah Cobra’s, none of them had any information the Chains didn’t already have. Hydra was in the fuckin’ wind, and there was no telling when he’d show his face again. It had been months. Hell, it was creeping up on a year and not a goddamn word. The only thing they knew for sure was that the fucker wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t enough.
“What we need tomorrow,” Rory said, setting his hands on the table next to his plate, “is for your club to decide if it can help us track him down.” There was a very faint tremble that Kicks was pretty sure no one else in the room noticed except maybe Hawke who had turned a sharp eye on the kid. “We can work out the details over what our clubs can offer each other in the future. But I know first-hand the shit he’s capable of, and I wouldn’t have set my life aside right now and come all this way if my priorities were anything other than wiping him out.”
Jax stared at Rory for a long time, then he folded his arms over his chest and sat back with a low whistle. “Shit, kid. You takin’ over for your brother when he goes?”
Rory snorted and shook his head. “No. I’m in grad school, and I plan to see that shit through. But I can’t focus on what I need because this monster is out there biding his time.”
Jax ran his fingers around his mouth, then down his chin before he gave a stiff nod. “I ain’t in the position to make promises, but I can tell you we’re on the same page. Your club don’t got a lot of what we want or need right now, but Smokey probably knows that fucker better than anyone.”
Kicks wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Smokey had long-since left the man he was behind—with his name and his cut at his father’s feet. He’d grown into an entirely new person, but he did have the advantage of being able to predict Hydra. At least, a little. He had failed that last time though, but so had Nate. And so had Rory.
“Shake on it, man,” Jax said, and he extended his hand.