Page 24 of Chaos Bound
“Careful,” Tank shouted. “Don’t scratch the paint.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Shooter grunted as he pushed the bike up the ramp.
“Not up to me. It’s club property now that…” Tank choked on his words. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say that T-Rex was gone because he still didn’t believe it. T-Rex had been closer to him than a brother. They had a bond, and that bond was still there. He could feel it, taste it. If T-Rex were dead, he would be dead, too, like those old couples who died within days or hours of each other because they couldn’t bear to live without their partner. Not that he and T-Rex were together in that way, but they were as close as friends could be. Closer.
What the fuck was he doing? His head said it was over, but his own damn heart was still beating. He couldn’t give up. Until he laid his eyes on an actual body, he just wouldn’t accept that T-Rex was dead.
“You gotta let it go, man.” Shaggy clapped him on the shoulder, the ring on his finger digging through Tank’s shirt. “I lost a lot of brothers over the years and at some point, you gotta tell hope to take a hike and move on with your life.”
Gray and grizzled, with a bushy silver beard, Shaggy had been with the Sinners almost since the club’s inception, and yet he had never run for any of the executive positions, preferring to remain a member-at-large. As far as Tank knew, Shaggy had no kids or old lady, although he enjoyed the attention of the sweet butts, and would take two or three to his bed at a time. Jagger often bounced ideas off him and he was well respected in the club. But his biggest claim to fame was that he hadn’t cut his beard in twenty-two years. Tank didn’t know how long a beard would be after twenty-two years, but it sure as hell smelled like it had never been washed.
“Not giving up yet.” He shook off Shaggy’s hand and shouted at Shooter who had lost his battle with gravity and dropped the bike on its side. “Jesus Christ. I don’t know why Jagger gave you that patch if you can’t even push a bike up a ramp without dropping it. Take it back inside and ask the mechanics to touch it up. Then I want you to detail it like your fucking life depends on it. Make sure there isn’t a speck of dust on T-Rex’s bike. I want it to shine like the goddamn sun, so when I bring it to him he’s blinded by the fucking light.”
“Hold up, brother.” Shaggy’s hazel eyes shifted from green to brown, unnerving Tank who always looked to a man’s eyes to take his measure. “Much as I hate to defend Shooter, he was trying his best. The ramp isn’t even.”
“Then he shouldn’t have pushed the bike on it,” Tank spat out, grateful to have a focus for his grief and anger.
Shaggy shook his head. “This won’t bring him back.”
Tank clenched his fist so tight his nails dug into his palm. “I’m not doing it to bring him back,” he bit out. “I’m doing it because he’s coming back, and when he does he’ll need his bike. If it’s clean, he’ll know I never gave up on him, that I had faith, that I knew he’d be back.”
Shaggy held up his hands palms forward. “Hey, man. Whatever makes you happy.”
“T-Rex’s bike. Clean. Waiting for him to ride. That makes me fucking happy.” He turned away quickly so they didn’t see his damn eyes water.
EIGHT
What the fuck?
Holt stumbled along the wood-paneled corridor, his brain still hazy from sleep. Last thing he remembered was Naiya shoving a damned needle in his arm. Anger. Swearing. Frustration. And a curious fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect her. Then fucking nothing.
A wall of windows greeted him as he emerged into a spacious living room overlooking a thick forest with the glimpse of a lake beyond. Even without the log furniture, antler lighting, and rustic decor he would have guessed they were in a cabin. The mixed scents of cedar and pine filled the air, and something else… something delicious.
His stomach rumbled as he followed the smell to a cozy kitchen. The donuts Ally had brought to the motel room had barely made a dent in the hunger pangs that had been his constant companion for the last three months.
He jerked to a stop in the doorway, trying to get a grip on his anger. After what he’d been through in the dungeon, he wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with the loss of agency her little trick had engendered, or the vulnerability. He never wanted to be helpless again, and back at the motel… when he felt the drug pulling him down… only anger had saved him from the grip of fear.
Hand tight on the doorframe, he shouted her name. At least that’s what he thought he did. Instead, his mouth dropped open and he just stared at Naiya stirring a pot on the stove, her back to him, her body bathed in the warm orange light of the setting sun as she sang Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On.”
Jesus fucking Christ. He loved that song. The greatest fucking geektastic song by the best band of all time. He remembered the first time Tank played it for him. They’d been trunking with Cade one night and the drug dealer they’d stuffed in the trunk was making a helluva lot of noise. While Cade called the dealer’s buds and arranged a payout for his freedom, Tank turned up the radio just in time for the first few beats of “Ramble On.” Holt had always thought it was about a girl and wandering around, but Tank made him pay attention to the lyrics. Mordor. Gollum. The whole song took place in Middle Earth. Holt never forgot the grin that split Tank’s face. After that, every fucking time they drove around together, Tank pulled the song up on his phone and blasted it through the speakers. And he always had the same grin. Ear to fucking geektastic ear.
Holt had never made the connection, but as he listened to Naiya’s soft voice, watched the sway of her hips, and the sun play over her hair, he realized she had a lot in common with Tank—from her love of comic books, to the music she enjoyed, to the way she stayed calm under pressure and did what she thought was right despite Holt’s views on the matter.
His gaze drifted down to her perfect, heart-shaped ass outlined in dark denim, the flare of her hips, and then back up to the curve of her waist, hugged by a tight red T-shirt. Maybe not exactly like Tank.
He liked that her feet were bare, and that she sang as she cooked when she thought no one could hear her. After the hell he’d been through, the entire scene was surreal, peaceful. Domestic. Sweet. Not something that had ever been on his radar. He almost didn’t want to have words with her about what she had done.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to sit down and eat?” She looked back over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, the light dancing in her eyes. “I’ve made lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. I like red wine with dinner, but Doug thought you were more of a beer or whiskey man, so I bought both. I’ve also made soup in case real food is too much for you.”
Holt’s mouth watered, not just at the prospect of eating a meal, but also at the fact it was home cooked. Before his capture, he lived at the Sinner clubhouse with a few of the other unattached brothers who hadn’t saved up enough money to buy their own place. Food was grabbed on the go unless one of the brothers with an old lady invited him home for dinner, or one of the sweet butts did some cooking instead of doing what they were supposed to do—what they often did for him, what he was thinking about doing now that Naiya had bent down to pull something from the oven.
Christ. She had a sweet ass. And it had been a long time since he’d had a woman.
A woman who had knocked him out when he was about to take down a few Jacks.
“What the fuck did you do?” His gaze dropped to the dish of pasta in her hands, and he reeled from the delicious aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce. If he didn’t hurry up this conversation, his stomach would rule his head, and he would miss the opportunity to lay down the line.
“Saved you.” She placed the dish on the table. “There were six Jacks, fully armed, none of whom appeared to have been chained in a dungeon for months. I get that you want revenge. But that wasn’t the time or the place. A shoot-out would have landed you in jail, or worse, dead, and you have a Viper to kill. He’s who you want. Not them.”
