by S. E. Jakes
“I’m here to see him now,” Noah was telling Ryker. “I’ve been looking for him.”
“I’m taking care of him. He’s not up for visitors.” Ryker’s voice held that no-nonsense edge, coupled with a growl.
“I’m his best friend,” Noah challenged. “And you’re nothing more than a self-appointed bodyguard who shows up whenever the fuck he feels like it.”
Ryker remained unperturbed. “Better bodyguard than you are for your supposed friend.”
“I don’t fuck him and leave.”
“I don’t fuck him over and leave.”
“Good one,” I muttered from my spying position. But I did want to know where the hell Noah had been without his phone. I knew he and Linc had probably been going crazy looking for me while Gretchen kept me in the ER for about six hours, most of which involved me trying to sleep and failing. She’d sent me off with strict instructions for lots of rest, along with pain meds and a wrap for my ribs. And a sleep aid, since every time I closed my eyes, I flashed back to Iraq.
Christ. I leaned my forehead against the doorjamb as a wave of dizziness sifted through me, and just tried to breathe as Noah and Ryker continued to argue, their voices like tomahawks pounding a drum that was my skull.
“What the fuck business are you getting Sean involved in?” Ryker demanded.
“He likes to be called Rush. Not that you’d know shit like that. He’s nothing to you but a convenient lay,” Noah said now, and I bristled. Because that wasn’t true. There was more than fucking and roses and hell, it was just more shit I’d forgotten in my denial. There was the music he left for me—loaded onto my iPod. The way he checked me over for injury when I’d still been in the Army, subtly, sure, but he’d done it. All the while, I’d pushed that down, pretended it didn’t mean anything, just like the roses didn’t.
But they did. It all did.
Noah wasn’t stopping to let Ryker respond. “And none of this is your business, because I don’t report to Havoc.” Noah’s words were snarled, the anger directed at Ryker—or more accurately, at me because of Ryker. For Noah, bringing Ryker around was some kind of betrayal.
Like the kind where your friend does a job to save your life, and you were too busy to think that maybe someone stole your phone on purpose.
I swore I heard Ryker growl. Jesus, this was bad. Noah could fight, but I knew from up close and personal ways that Ryker could take him easily.
And of course, despite all my aches and pains, I got hard thinking about it.
“And you are going to fucking report to me when you’re talking him into doing shit that almost got him killed,” Ryker said.
“Rush’s a big boy. I don’t have to talk him into anything. And I’m betting you do a ton of shit that’s outside the law. You’re worse for him than I could ever be.”
“Jesus, Noah,” I muttered, fisting my hand against the doorframe.
“You almost got him killed and walked away, scot-free. He took a job for you. And then he got himself to the hospital and home, and where the fuck were you?” Ryker’s voice was controlled and calm.
I grabbed the doorjamb and waited for Noah’s response, which was, “I lost my goddamned phone. I was on a job. Rush knew I was on a job.” Noah said it so convincingly, I almost believed him.
Fuck. I exhaled painfully. Because no, “I goddamned didn’t, and you know it.”
My words were low. But, as if Ryker heard me, he issued Noah a final ultimatum. “Get out of here. Don’t get him involved in another one of your jobs or you’ll regret it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Take it as such, and take it seriously.”
“I’ve known Rush for over twelve years. You’ve known him for a matter of months. No, I take that back—you don’t know him, you fuck him.”
I heard a crash. A semihowl from Noah followed, and then Ryker’s low voice vibrated through me. “I know Sean better than you ever could.”
And then, there was the slam of a door, followed by silence. Whether Noah left on his own accord or Ryker tossed him out, I didn’t know or care at the moment, although once the painkillers wore off, I was pretty sure I would.
Ryker came in and caught me before I made it back to bed. Then again, I hadn’t tried really hard not to be seen.
He glanced at me, raised his brows. “Hear what you wanted to?”
“Not especially.” I white-knuckled it back to bed, but I would’ve refused help if he’d offered. Which he didn’t. Although I swore I heard him call me a “motherfucking stubborn bastard” under his breath while he waited for me to get into bed. And then he fixed my pillows and the blanket, and I let him. Because I’d accomplished a day’s work by walking ten paces back and forth.
“Take this, Sean.”
I didn’t argue about the pain pills. I hated them, but I wasn’t a martyr. I gulped them down and lay back against the pillows, my brain spinning, still trying to figure out why the fuck Noah had lied about me knowing he was on a job. Why he’d been safe, walking away from his job last night without a scratch, and I’d barely limped to safety, all fucked up.
“What’s Noah into?” Ryker asked finally.
I didn’t like actually saying what I did out loud—part covering my ass but mainly a superstition. “Same thing as me.”
Ryker jerked back, stared at me. “No, babe, not the same thing at all, because he looks perfectly fine and you look like you went ten rounds with a wall.”
“I took the job to help him out.”
“You weren’t on the same job—understand?”
I got it, although I wish to hell I didn’t. I didn’t believe Noah would’ve knowingly set me up, but something had happened . . . and he had to have realized it when I called Linc about the crash.
“How long’ve you known Noah?”
“Feels like forever.” And right now, not in a good way.
“You got instincts?”
“Fuck you, Ryker. Noah’s been in my life for a long time and he’s never deserted me, so that trumps instinct every time.”
“He’s deserted you now. And you’re too loyal.”
“Yeah, I am. Too bad you can’t say the same.”
His mouth quirked. “You jealous, babe? Think I’m not loyal to you in some way?”
I snorted. But the answer was yes. To both.
“Yeah, you’re jealous.”
“Keep wishing that.”
“I don’t have to wish.” He leaned forward, so his forehead was nearly touching mine. “For the record, I’m not fucking anyone else. Neither are you.”
I didn’t know if he was asking or telling on that last part, but my money was on telling. And he’d walked out of the room before I could shoot back a smart answer. Which was good, since the pain pills were making me not so smart. I closed my eyes instead, and felt the stupid smile on my face.
For the record, I’m not fucking anyone else.
I must’ve slept again, because I woke to the smell of food and my stomach growling. Ryker was there with a tray.
“Definitely a good nurse,” I said, just to piss him off, because he was revealing things about the people in my life that I didn’t want to know.
Halfway through the soup, I was tired. So Ryker fucking fed me. I let him, because I was hungry. I swear, if I could’ve let him fuck me at that moment, it would’ve happened.
“Thanks,” I managed. He gave a half grin, had to know what I was thinking, then picked up the tray and started to walk out of the room with it.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “The brakes in the car were cut.”
He turned around. Put the tray down on top of the dresser and came back to the bed.
“And yeah, I’m sure,” I told him, when all he did was study me.
He continued to do so, and I shifted until he finally said, “And you don’t think there’s a target right between your eyes?”
“There’s always competition in the imports market. Guess Edmund stepped on someone’s
toes.”
“Jesus, Sean. I figured . . .”
“What?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.
He looked at me with those dark eyes that missed nothing. “I didn’t take you for naive.”
I bristled. “Trust me, that’s not a problem of mine.”
Ryker considered that, then asked, “What kind of hold does Noah have over you?”
“He doesn’t.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but I refused to get into it now. I was avoiding all of it, refusing to center in on what really happened, changing the subject. “Did you know the Hangmen were into stealing cars?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I met Casey at a drag race.”
“Met him?”
I sat back, enjoying Ryker’s seeming jealousy for about two seconds. “He told me to get in touch. You know, about cars.”
Ryker gave a slow, disapproving shake of his head. “Before or after you won?”
“How do you know I won?”
“Sean . . .”
Jesus, warnings from him equaled a hard dick. Immediately. “Before.”
“Not about the car. That’s a bonus for him now.” It was Ryker’s turn to sit back. “You’re in some dangerous territory.”
“Tell me about it.” I stared at him pointedly.
His brows raised. “You like my danger though, Sean.”
I couldn’t deny it. But this shit with Noah . . . “You really think Noah’s in over his head?”
Ryker nodded. “He’s involved in bad shit. He can’t protect himself or his friends.”
Ryker’s cut lay casually across my chair. The Havoc guys were like legends, rarely seen, but once they were, they lived up to their rep . . . and everyone else lived with the consequences. Ryker could protect himself and his friends, and if he considered me a friend, just what would be the cost of that protection? Was Noah now the one in real danger? And was I going to have to choose between Ryker and Noah?
I glanced down at the rose tattooed on the back of his hand, the stems disappearing up his sleeve. It’d been there all along . . . another thing I’d missed. Or noticed and blocked out on purpose.
What else was I missing?
slept and woke and slept for what seemed like years, but each time I woke up, instead of roses, Ryker was still there. Which meant he was also there two days after the accident to let McKibbins in for an unexpected visit.
For the first time since the wreck, I was clearer. The pain was lessening, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling semihuman again and dealing with the new cell phone that Ryker had gotten me (through my plan, though, because I had insurance on the damned thing so it’s not like I was a kept man), when the doorbell rang. Ryker gave me his best stay put look and I rolled my eyes at him and then he went to answer it.
“Babe, it’s the police. Officer McKibbins. Should I let him in?”
I was still caught on the babe part, kind of reveling in that until the McKibbins part totally fucking ruined it, especially when I heard him bitch at Ryker, “I’m coming in,” which probably meant official business.
I was now actively thinking about taking more pain pills, because getting through this visit sober was going to be a bitch. He had to know about the accident—or he suspected. And even if I’d had on long-sleeves, which I didn’t, there was no way to hide the bruises on my face.
McKibbins walked into the kitchen—in full uniform blues—like he owned the place. Ryker was right behind him, and stopped in the doorway, eyeing McKibbins warily.
I didn’t bother to get up. “Always a pleasure, Officer McKibbins. So glad you’ve been keeping current on my address.”
The man who’d known me since I was ten didn’t crack a smile. “When did you get out of the service?”
Ah man, we were going to start here? “Like you don’t know?”
“Sean Rush, answer the damned question,” he snarled and Ryker moved around the table, leaving plenty of space between himself and McKibbins, to stand behind me, unmistakably protective with his hand on the back of my chair. I felt the heat from his body close to mine.
I wanted to tell him that this shit with McKibbins was old news, that this was actually a pretty damned civil exchange. Not only had McKibbins’s father arrested mine, but McKibbins had always hated me for getting his baby brother in trouble, hated me more for Billy’s death our first week in the Sandbox.
I guess I couldn’t blame him. But I did, because I’d never had to talk Billy into anything. The guy’d been a juvenile delinquent from birth, way worse than me, and having a family full of cops did something to him, made him want to rebel against anything resembling authority.
Billy only chose the Army to spite his family. Because of his connections, he’d had an opportunity for some kind of daytime reform school / nighttime house arrest deal. He’d actually been ready to choose jail, he’d told me, but he hadn’t wanted to leave me or Noah, and we’d been forced to enlist when our sentences were handed down.
I stared at McKibbins. He looked nothing like Billy at all—there was none of that casually handsomeness, and none of the goddamned joy the kid had been born with. “I’ve been home for three months.”
“And what’ve you been filling your time with?”
I stretched, trying to appear calm and casual, but fuck, moving meant wincing. Still, I managed, “Reading. Journaling. Getting in touch with my inner self.”
McKibbins’s face got nice and red, just the way I remembered it looking, and hell, he was lucky I didn’t tell him that he wasn’t my goddamned parole officer. Because I wasn’t on parole. But then he said, “You’re such a fucking wiseass. Don’t know how to help yourself.” That much was true. And then he crossed his arms and got into why he was really here. “You look like you’ve been in an accident.”
Ryker snorted. “I rode him too hard.”
McKibbins blinked at me, then turned to Ryker, while I gave Ryker a brief what the fuck expression of my own. But Ryker continued, “He was fixing my bike and I wanted him to take it for a test run. He pushed the throttle too hard and wiped out. He’s more used to cars these days.”
“That he is,” McKibbins managed without a trace of irony. “And I guess I’m supposed to take the word of a known gang member.”
“Havoc’s a club. But you know that.” Ryker reached in his pocket, and McKibbins tensed, his hand going to his holster. “Shit,” Ryker muttered. “I’m grabbing my phone, okay?”
Slowly, he drew his hand out of his pocket, holding his cell phone. “I’ve got pictures of the accident.”
“You just happen to have evidence of the crash?”
“So I can send them to insurance.” Ryker smiled innocently and showed McKibbins a picture that made him glare. “For the record, stubborn over there looks worse in person than my poor bike.”
“When did this happen?” McKibbins demanded of me, but Ryker broke in, saying, “Tuesday,” with the ease of someone who lied regularly, often, and well.
Hell, was he lying to me?
I shook that off in favor of the current standoff. I even pulled myself out of the seat, slowly. Painfully. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if they started fighting, but I’d have to do something.
Finally, McKibbins spoke, his tone ugly when he told me, “Glad you have a new patsy to stand up for you.”
Instead of growling or getting pissed, Ryker just gave a short laugh and remained at ease. I admired him for that, but I couldn’t laugh it off. With that one statement, McKibbins got to me, easily and effectively, and I knew it showed on my face because his expression was triumphant.
“He’s done it before,” McKibbins continued, making sure to shove the knife in deeper and twist it. “He ends up killing his so-called friends who protect him. In this case, might be a blessing.”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I snarled. Must’ve started to lunge at him without noticing, because Ryker’s hand was now on my shoulder, holding me in place. But I was beyond the pain. I w
as all anger now.
“I think you should leave,” Ryker suggested to McKibbins, his tone still placid. McKibbins had actually taken a few steps back when I’d moved toward him, and his hand had gone to his holster again. Like he was just looking for an excuse.
My gut churned—rage and guilt a massively awful combination. I twisted away from Ryker—I don’t know if he let me or if I surprised him with my strength or if he’d been holding me loosely because of the injury. I don’t know how close I got to McKibbins, if I made contact or not—I suspected not because I’d have been in cuffs in his car. But I was moving. Fighting Ryker’s hold.
And I didn’t know when McKibbins left or if he said anything else because the sound inside my head was an angry dull roar. When I was able to think—and see and talk clearly without spitting out curses—I found myself holding on to Ryker, my forehead pressed to his chest, clutching a fistful of his T-shirt.
I blinked, then breathed in the scent of him. Goddamn, he always smelled so fucking good.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“Gotta stop speaking out loud like that.”
“I don’t mind it.”
“Figured,” I muttered. He didn’t press me to look up or let go of him. In fact, his arm remained around my lower back. Finally, I lifted my head to meet his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Sean.” A pause. “He seems to know you pretty well.”
“Seems like a lifetime ago. Billy and I stole cars together before we went into the Army. Like you heard, his family thinks it was all my fault, that Billy was on the straight and narrow until I came along.” I spoke like it was rote to say, like the feeling wasn’t coursing through me. The whole thing was like a fucking nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
“Ah, Sean.” His hand ran roughly through my hair.
All the memories of that time were sifting, rolling together, threatening to catch me up and take me under. I didn’t want that. “I can’t go there right now,” I said, more to myself than to him, but he still answered me.
“He’ll be back.”