Kicks’ lip quirked up in the corner, and he breathed out. “Fuck. Yeah.” He held the food boxes a little tighter. “Thanks for this.”
“Thank me later after you get your brains sucked out through your dick.”
Kicks flipped him off with his free hand as he walked around to the front of the club and carefully strapped the boxes to the back of his bike. The traffic was heavy, and he stood a little on edge as a handful of bikes rolled past, but none of them lingered, and he couldn’t see any visible cuts flying any colors.
He hated that he didn’t have universal peace in their home. He knew it was coming—most likely. He knew that with the Cobras at their back, they had a far better chance at winning. And he knew that Smokey was focused now—and ready—willing to do whatever it took to take Hydra down and end the madness.
And there might always be someone ready to take his place, but the ghosts of their past were slowly dwindling down to nothing.
By the time Kicks got to his place, the sun had long-since set. He could see a light burning in the front room, and he walked inside, finding Jude on the sofa with his feet stretched onto the table. He glanced up from his book with a smile on his face, his kippah still on the back of his head, though it was askew like he’d dozed off in it.
It was endearing and soft and perfect, and Kicks set the food aside so he had both hands free to cup the man’s face and kiss him long and thorough. “I missed you. Did you have a good…uh. Sabbath?”
Jude’s eyes crinkled in the corners with his grin. “It was lovely, thank you. Did you bring tea?”
“Uh…”
“Dinner,” Jude clarified, rolling his eyes a little. “I was going to make something, but Eliah wanted to walk around a bit after, and my knee was aching by the time I got here.”
Kicks flopped next to him and opened the first box, which was stuffed full of barbequed chicken, then the second, which was piled high with potatoes, collard greens, and cornbread that was just slightly soggy where the greens’ juice had leaked.
“You’re a dream. Have I told you that enough?” Jude asked, seizing a chicken leg.
Kicks licked his lips, drawing up the small threads of courage he had. “I think so. Uh. I love you. Have I…I mean. I know I haven’t said it, but I hope I’ve showed you enough.”
Jude froze, his mouth half full, the chicken hanging limply from his fingers. Kicks seized it before it fell on his lap, and then he took Jude’s fingers and kissed them.
“I know I didn’t say it before, but I should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ in love with you, there really ain’t words for it.” He closed his eye and ran his thumb over Jude’s knuckles. When he was brave enough to look again, he saw the man was still staring. His eyes were dry—which made him feel better because he wasn’t sure he could deal with shit like tears right then, but he saw the profound shock in his lover’s face. “I hope I didn’t fuck up…”
“No,” Jude breathed out. He carefully pushed the boxes of food onto the table, then dragged Kicks close and kissed him again, then again. And again. He tasted like grill smoke and something distinctly him, and Kicks knew he was damn-near addicted. “You’re perfect, love.”
Kicks closed his eyes and let those words wash over him—the praise touching something deep that no one ever had before. “I’m happy. I didn’t think I’d be allowed this. I thought I could be content with what the universe saw fit to give me. Then you rolled up, and…I don’t know,” he finished with a laugh. “I just know it’s real fuckin’ good.”
Jude didn’t say anything then, but Kicks didn’t need him to. The soft touch, the way he kept him close, and the quiet way he breathed out his name like it was a prayer—it was all enough.
Epilogue
There was nothing worse than the emergency ring on his phone sounding when his ass was being filled with come. And he almost ignored it, but Jude pulled out almost abruptly and leaned over the bed, tossing it to him. He was a little breathless as he picked up, and he knew the moment was only going to get worse when Smokey’s voice sounded over the speaker.
“He got Hawke on the way into town.”
Kicks closed his eye against the words, the question rising on his lips he was almost too afraid to ask. “Is he…?”
“No,” Smokey said. “He’s too fuckin’ stubborn to die. But Rory was on the back of his bike.”
“Mother fuck,” Kicks said. He threw the blankets back and slipped from the bed, grimacing at the come leaking out of his hole. He let out a small groan of appreciation when Jude appeared with a warm, wet cloth, and he searched for boxers as his lover cleaned them both off. “Where’s he at now? How’s Rory?”
“He’ll live. He got thrown from the bike and into the ditch off the side of the road. But that ain’t all.” He stopped and took a breath. “Jax was with them. They was meeting some contact who said he had a lead on Hydra, but it was a fuckin’ set up. They took them to St. Joe’s. Jax is in pretty bad shape. Last I heard, he wasn’t conscious yet.”
“And Hawke?” Kicks demanded.
“Broken arm, broken collarbone. Could’a been worse. Rory said it wasn’t Hydra, but Hawke told him the fuck was wearing a Devil’s cut, and they wouldn’t act without him giving the say-so.”
Kicks pinned his phone between his shoulder and ear, then struggled into his jeans. “I’m gonna take my truck. Jude’s with me. You wanna ride out so you can get there faster?”
“I fuckin’ got Maddie with me,” Smokey growled, though Kicks knew his irritation wasn’t at the small girl. There was a tense pause, then he said, “Nate’s there too.”
“The fuck, man?” Kicks asked. “Since when?”
“Since he was trackin’ him, I guess,” Smokey said, sounding furious. “Fucker.”
Kicks took a breath as he pulled his cut over his shoulder, then glanced over at Jude who was dressed and waiting by the bedroom door. His heart thumped hard in his chest, full of some emotion that he was pretty sure didn’t have a name yet. And fuck, whatever it was, it meant he loved this man with every fiber of his being.
“Let Rory know we’re on our way. Tell him not to leave with Nate,” Kicks said.
“He already knows. I’ll be heading out the second Gunner gets here.”
Kicks wanted to tell Smokey to hang back, but he knew better than that. He was the President of the club, and he needed to handle this shit. “I’ll see you there, brother.” He hung up, then reached for Jude’s hand, and he took it immediately. He gave it a single squeeze, then swept into the kitchen for the keys to his truck and led the way out the door.
As he climbed in, Jude pulled out his phone, and Kicks gave him the address for the GPS. It only took a second to sync, and then they were hauling ass down the road, eating up miles, though it would be hours before they got there.
“How bad is it?” Jude asked quietly.
Kicks let out a breath. “Hawke’s pretty bashed up. I don’t know what condition Jax is in, but Rory’s only got a couple scrapes.” He rubbed at his eye, then settled farther back into his seat. “It wasn’t Hydra, but it was some of his men.”