I clenched my eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. “I deserve to torture that bastard.”
“Yep,” PD whispered, fingers gliding gently across my skin. “And you will. Just give King time. He has a plan.”
“I’ve given him enough time.” I curled my fingers around the edge of the chair and tightened until the wood creaked. “How much more does he need?”
“I’m as angry as you, Will.” He kneaded a little too hard, and I hissed as pain shot through me again. “I was the one who had to see you land on that road and bleed everywhere. I had to see you in the ICU. I fucking know how angry you are, and we do deserve this. Trust me. King ain’t doing this for the fun of it. He’s got a reason. If they think the Demons are colluding with that dumb fuck of a commissioner, then we need to know. The Demons want us out of this city, and so does Johnston, since we blackmailed him. They are up to something. King taking Dallas from them was the cherry on the shit cake. It’s when, not if, they try to kill us all.”
I closed my eyes, the topical medication starting to work its magic. The agony slowly drained away. It wouldn’t stay gone for long, but I’d take anything I could get. “I know.”
“King will give us our revenge. He won’t deny us that.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, and I froze, waiting for more. But nothing came. He patted me gently on the hip. The sound of his gloves snapping as he removed them was familiar background noise. “Go to bed. Relax. Try and sleep. We’ll go see King in the morning when he’s not busy fucking Dallas raw.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat and inclined my head toward him. He smiled, small and halfheartedly, and backed away, heading down the short hallway to his room at thevery end. I watched him until he disappeared, heart beating so rapidly that I thought it’d jump out of my chest.
Relief expanded across my back, and I knew it was the perfect time to try and get some sleep. I took some painkillers before I headed to bed, hoping that I could actually catch some z’s.
2
PARIS “PD” DEITERS
My black bowler hat sat on my dresser. The new red ribbon above the brim gleamed. I’d replaced it two days ago with Faye’s help. She’d had some dead time at the Ink Well, and she was a Goth angel, so she’d helped me out. I had steady hands, but she was amazing when it came to fine stitching to hide the seams. I snatched my hat up, twisting it in my hands as I paced the room.
The paintings on the walls, which I normally loved, all seemed too bright and poked at my eyes. My bed was too neat. I made it every morning, folding hospital corners into the blankets. My easel in the corner pissed me off as I stepped past it. Not for any good reason, I wanted to kick it over and stomp the canvas until it snapped. But Will’s eyes stared out at me where I’d started painting them in and I refused to ruin it.
What had I been thinking, kissing Will? It wasn’t much, and maybe he’d been too tired and hurt to notice, but fuck. The warmth of his skin still tingled on my lips. The docs had told me he wouldn’t remember anything from the accident. That whole day might be lost to him forever. So, I hadn’t said anything when he’d woken up. I hadn’t kissed him. I hadn’t grabbed him anddragged him against my body the way I’d wanted to, either. At the time, he’d been hooked up to so many tubes and wires....
Rage pelted through me and I wished I’d drank more. It would be nice to be passed out on the floor of the clubhouse. Of course, I hadn’t done anything irresponsible since Will had gotten home. He was my priority, even if he didn’t realize it. My life revolved completely around him. Making sure he got to the physical therapy appointments he still had. Watching out for him.
Right this second, King had one of the fucks who’d caused Will’s pain hanging around in a fucking shed. I leaned against my bedroom door, listening for Will. The toilet flushed, then a door closed. I held my breath and waited a while, pacing some more, fury drenching my common sense in gasoline and lighting a match. I stared at my bed and wanted the blankets to be rumpled from Will sharing it with me.
What if I’d just asked him if he wanted to come in here?
What if I’d just fucking lost my goddamned mind and had turned him around in that chair and blown him?
What if . . . he didn’t want that anymore?
My heart twisted. What if, thanks to the accident, he’d changed enough that he didn’t want me now?
When Will had woken up in the hospital, I’d taken it as a sign that some benevolent being in the universe fucking loved bikers. Maybe I didn’t deserve it, but I was getting a second chance to take my balls in hand and let Will know how I felt about him. But he was so sick and hurt, and when I’d stared down into his pale face, clean of his beard for the first time in years, I’d told myself I’d wait until he felt better, and then I’d make a move.
He needed to focus on healing, not whatever bullshit we might kick up in the dust of fucking and moving our relationship to something more than friends. He had to focus on himself.
The problem was, it was almost four years later, and while his body had healed a lot, I couldn’t call himbetter.
I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to call him better.
He was the same man, yet not. His mind was different. He was anxious and nervous and always huddling in on himself when he thought no one was paying attention—pained and consumed by everything he’d gone through.
Beforehe’d always been laughing.
He would come into the shop to shoot the shit and have fun with the clients he knew—we had a lot of regulars—and I’d have to chase him out because he’d get people laughing too hard while I was trying to tattoo them.
Now he barely smiled.
It was hell watching him go into his room alone each night, knowing that shit should’ve changed. We’d finally taken the terrifying leap past friendship that we’d been dancing around for years. We’d kissed—and it had been delicious—and a fucking bike accident had snatched it away.
I slapped my bowler hat onto my head.
My boots were nearly silent in the hallway as I crept out of my room. I stopped at Will’s door and cracked it open, the same way I did every night. He lay on his bed, sprawled out. He was the type of man who could sleep with no blankets and it was warm in the room. We didn’t run our air conditioning much. I rubbed my hand over my mouth as I memorized the curve of his firm ass under his black boxer briefs. Even though his back hurt him, he insisted on sleeping on his belly. His back still looked strong, despite everything. There was a spot on his shoulder that had been pebbled by road rash. It was old, though, an injury from when we’d first started riding together. He’d taken a turn too tight and dumped his bike.