He was itching to get back to his computer, to his brothers—to doing actual work that would help his club get out of the shit. But when he checked in with Smokey and nothing had changed, he realized his presence hadn’t really been missed or needed. The only shake up was Gunner sending a text calling for church earlier than usual, but he’d done that plenty of times when shit with Maddie got in the way of their weekly meetings. Still, Kicks felt a sort of anxious edge to his steps, desperate to go home and get the hell away from the man who made him want things he had no business wanting.
He stared up at the house, and his feet felt like they were cemented to the ground. God only knew what Jude had gotten up to while he was gone. There wasn’t shit for food, no TV, no internet. He knew he should have felt a little bad for abandoning the guy, but the way he was able to crawl under Kicks’ skin was off-putting. He couldn’t sulk forever, though. He’d already made an ass of himself once, he might as well finish out the night trying to get along with the man.
When he walked through the front door, he paused to listen, but he couldn’t hear anything. It took him a second to realize that the house smelled—maybe not clean, but freshened—and if his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, there was also something baking. He stormed down the hall and came to a halt at the sight of Jude wiping down the kitchen counter with a spray bottle in one hand, the other covered in a blue rubber glove.
Jude glanced up and offered a half, almost nervous smile. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
Kicks let out a small snort as he took a few steps closer. “What would you have done?”
“Called someone,” Jude said with a shrug. He bent over to throw the cleaning bottle under the sink, then stood back up with his hands bare. “Well, first I’d eat my pie, then I’d call someone.”
“Pie?” Kicks asked. His stomach gave a harsh rumble, and he knew it was loud enough for Jude to hear, the way his lips twitched.
“I never quite got the hang of it the way my mum could bake—and honestly there wasn’t much in the kitchen, but I think it’ll be enough to get us through. I mean, unless you wanted to call for a pizza.”
“I’d fucking love a pizza right now,” Kicks admitted, but he felt lighter suddenly as he leaned on the counter and stared at the man. “Did you clean?”
“It was that or read, and all of those novels are either horror or self-help books. I’m honestly a little concerned about the person who owns this place,” Jude answered, and Kicks couldn’t stop another laugh.
“No one owns it. I mean, someone owns it, but no one actually lives here.”
“So, it really is a safe house,” Jude said.
Kicks raised a brow. “I guess.”
Sniffing, Jude looked from left to right, then leaned closer to him. “Doesn’t feel very safe.”
“Well, you ain’t dead yet, are you?” he challenged.
Jude’s eyes lit up, making Kicks’ stomach twist, but before he could say anything, the timer on the oven went off. When he turned, Kicks tried not to stare at his ass, though it was damn-near impossible. He wanted to know how many squats the guy did every day. Hell, he wanted to know if he could watch.
Instead, he bit his tongue until he tasted copper, then took a huge whiff of the pie Jude pulled out of the oven. It smelled almost meaty, and his brows furrowed.
“Is that like a pot pie?”
Jude snorted as he slid it onto the counter. “It’s beef with peas and carrots—all tinned since that’s all there was in the cupboards. But none of it was out of date. I think.”
Kicks wasn’t entirely sure he believed that. For as long as he’d been part of the Chains, none of them had ever been to this house. Smokey kept it on hand for emergencies, but before Satan’s Souls had rolled into town, none of them had needed any sort of escape. Even when Rory had been snatched, the shit was taken care of in a matter of hours.
This felt like a long game, and it settled under Kicks’ skin like an uncomfortable burn.
“So,” Jude said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, “we have two dodgy pie tins and some plastic forks in the way of plates and utensils. But I didn’t think you’d be too fussed.”
Kicks felt himself smile a little as he leaned against the counter and watched Jude dig into the crust with a large plastic serving spoon. The pie actually looked good, which concerned him, but he supposed food poisoning was the least of his worries right then. “It’ll get us through until we can ride out.”
Jude glanced up at him for a long moment, then slopped another spoonful on the dented pie tin that should have seen the inside of a garbage can years ago. It slid across the counter with a sharp scraping noise, and then Jude shoved a fork into the top.
“Bon appétit?” Kicks asked.
Jude rested his chin on his curled fist as he leaned on his elbow. “You take a few bites, and if you don’t collapse, I’ll have some.”
Rolling his eyes, Kicks shoved a bite into his mouth, and his eyes instantly watered at the searing hot gravy that took at least two layers off the roof of his mouth. He smiled through it, showing teeth and probably a little food.
“Not dead,” he pointed out, tucking the meat into his cheek.
“Fair enough,” Jude laughed and served himself a significantly smaller portion. “So, how was your soul searching?”
Choking on his second bite, Kicks pounded his fist in the center of his chest. “My what?”
“Well, you stormed off looking like you wanted to tear apart a tree with your bare hands. Now, you’re here and smiling.” Jude took some of the crust between his thumb and forefinger and nibbled on it before shrugging and eating the whole thing. “I assumed you made peace with your god.”
Dragging a hand down his face, Kicks sighed, then grabbed the pie tin and walked around to the sofa that was far cleaner than when he’d left. He was slightly annoyed when Jude followed him, but he’d come back specifically not to avoid the guy. “I took a walk, made a call. I didn’t go out there to meditate.”
“You know I was winding you up, right?” Jude said. “Have you always taken things so seriously?”
Kicks stared at him and wanted to answer, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. How did this man—this total stranger—get to him with a handful of words he would have laughed off with his brothers.
“Sorry.”
Jude waved him off and ate a bit more. “Why not tell me about yourself since we’re here in a life-threatening situation.”
Kicks’ eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”
Jude swallowed, and suddenly, Kicks saw something in his eyes behind his humor and sarcasm. Fear, maybe. He knew it well, and he knew what it took to hide from it. “It might be a good distraction from all this. I’m trying not to fall apart right now.”
Kicks set the pie down, then marched to the kitchen with the sound of Jude’s protest behind him. There were six more bottles of beer in the fridge, and he grabbed two, cracking the tops off on the counter before heading back. He shoved one at Jude, then stared at him hard until the other man took it.
“This helps. I’m not going to get wasted on a couple of beers. And even if I did, I could still save your ass.” He took a swallow, then leaned back.