Nash cringed. He was the only one.
Cam stilled my restless fingers. “We hear you, brother. We’re not complacent. But we need to move on.”
I let it go, trying to block out thetick, tick, tickof my brain and coveting the cigarette Mateo was rolling between his fingers. I hadn’t smoked since getting caught in the warehouse fire had left me feeling like an asthmatic sloth. The burning in my chest had long faded, but the idea of deliberately inhaling smoke still freaked me the hell out.
Decoy joined us. Business returned to the lucrative timber haulage he and Alexei had set up. He looked fucking exhausted, but they were killing it. We’d never had so much legitimate money coming in or been able to provide so many low-risk jobs for our membership.
On paper, the club was the most stable it had ever been.
But we had scars, man. So many scars. Right now, we were entering the first period of time in months that we’d all been fit to ride, and fuck if it didn’t feel too good to be true.
You are traumatised, wingman.
I fired Alexei a scowl.
Get out of my head.
He rose instead, and I realised that church had broken up around me.
Cam was called away, but I knew I wouldn’t miss him for long. I had a screwed-up gig ticket in my back pocket. We all did.
For the first time in forever, we were going out.
* * *
Cam
We lay on the roof of the Joker, the only proper boozer in Porth Luck. Saint was beside me, staring at the sky, Alexei on his other side, drinking vodka straight from the bottle.
I stretched out on my belly, watching the band play in the rowdy pub garden beneath and trying to figure out why the hell we were here. Not that I wasn’t grateful for my belated secret Santa present. Just confused as hell. Saint didn’t like busy places or loud noises. Neither did Alexei, and yet here they both were, with me, watching my brothers tear the place up below us.
“This band is the tits.”
Saint sat up on his elbows. “You like them?”
I watched the singer bounce around the stage, stamping his feet to the thumping drums, a tin whistle in one hand, a harmonica in the other. “Yeah. I’ve lost count of how many instruments this dude can play, though.”
Saint grinned and lay back down, fingers twitching for the cigarettes he’d given up.
Alexei passed him the vodka instead.
I returned to surveying the scene in the packed garden. Mateo was talking to a girl. Embry was pretending not to notice. Nash, Orla, and Rubi were dancing like maniacs while Decoy kept a sober watch in the corner, a stolid fortress I valued more now than ever.
Only River escaped my scrutiny. He’d walked out the moment Rubi had arrived, but I’d pushed it out of my mind. That was a drama for another day. Right now, I was here with Saint and Alexei.
They were kissing, wrapped up in each other while Saint still held the vodka bottle.
I stole it, heat blooming in every part of me as I watched them together. Me and Alexei fuckeda lot. Sometimes Saint joined in. Others he observed through gleaming, hooded eyes and that was enough for him. But fuck, seeing them together never got old.
Alexei pulled back, leaving Saint with a smile, turning his gaze on me. “You’re not going to dance, biker boy?”
“Me?”
“No, the other biker boy.”
I fisted the expensive T-shirt he wore and tugged him closer, claiming his mouth with a kiss far rougher than he’d ever get from Saint. “I want to be with you.”
It was true. Getting rowdy with my brothers away from the club was something I’d always enjoyed, but this, on the roof with Saint and Alexei, was fucking perfect.