Her low murmur was barely audible, but the words hit home, and I knew she was right.
I let her go. She slipped out of the bunkhouse and her absence throttled my heart. If there was ever a moment beyond the sex that showed me how much I needed her and Locke both, it was now.
But first, he neededme.
Folk dismissed Locke. I helped him stand and inclined my head at the clubhouse. “Shower?”
“Can we do it in here? I don’t want to take this shit into your house.”
“Our house, brother.” But I heard him. I steered him away from Folk and Viktor and into the depths of the bunkhouse. The bathroom was basic as hell, but big enough that I could support Locke without stepping on his feet.
Feet that I realised were cut to shit the moment I helped him peel off his socks, and it was a theme that continued. Bruises. Welts. An absolute massacre of a gash to his upper arm, the source of most of the blood staining his skin. I was no fucking medic, but— “Holy shite, that’s deep.”
“It’s fine,” Locke said absently. “Folk can tape it up.”
He tipped his head under the spray, not seeming to notice that it wasn’t hot yet.
I tugged him back. “Give it a second.”
“What for?”
“For the water to warm up.”
“It doesn’t get warm, bro. When was the last time you showered in here?”
“Sober? No idea.” I stuck my hand in the spray again, grimacing at the icy torrent. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’d have fixed it.”
“Yeah, with your shirt off and no fuckin’ idea how hot you are. Woulda needed a cold shower after that anyway.”
Locke dazzled me with a shadowed grin and used my distraction to escape my hold.
He stepped into the shower, wincing as the water hit his injuries and struggling to raise his mutilated arm enough to wash his hair and face.
My clothes disappeared in a heartbeat. I closed the distance between us and eased him against the tiled wall. “I got you.”
Washing the blood from his bruised skin was a nightmare I packed away to deal with later. I took stock of his injuries, hoping my horror didn’t show on my face. Then realising he’d read my heart anyway, because he always did. Locke wasn’t a mind reader, but he comprehended my most intimate emotions far better than I ever had.
The water turned lukewarm, then cold again in the time it took me to wash Locke’s entire body, for the first time in my life, not registering his big dick. He’d lost weight. “Did they starve you too?”
“Little bit.”
“As in a fucking lot?”
That dark grin came back, but it was too heavy with sarcasm to dazzle me this time.
We were chest to chest under the frigid spray, the extra inches he had on me lost by the angle of his lean against the wall. His lips were chapped, eyes half hidden by the bruising under them, cheekbones sharper beneath the scruff on his face. I wanted to kiss him, but something wicked and unwelcome danced in his gaze.
Fuck.What if?—
“They didn’t.”
Locke’s growl jerked my focus back to him.
“Didn’t what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking to put that look on your face. They kicked the crap out of me and left me to rot. That was it. Can’t pretend it was fuckin’ fun, but I’ve taken a hell of a lot worse.”
That was it?I bit back a growl of my own, accepting his answer. What else could I do? Ranger had vowed that we’d kill these fuckers twice, but in reality, I couldn’t do shit to men who were already dead, and Priest was still in the wind.