“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.