It was easier to let them assume it was military service that had fucked him up beyond repair. That he’d taken it up the ass from the American Military without lube, just like so many others who had come before him. And maybe that made him a fraud—he was honorably discharged after all—because after his injuries, he wasn’t fit to serve anymore. He couldn’t hold still, and his remaining eye couldn’t focus on all those screens the way they needed him to. And he jumped at every fuckin’ loud noise.
But every time he opened his mouth to talk about the night at the bar—and the men who had followed him out, and the burning heat of the truck when they tied him down—his throat closed up. Then his head would spin, and his stomach would twist in on itself. And it made him feel like he was losing his goddamn mind—because maybe he was.
He was close to breaking when he met Smokey and Gunner, and he knew deep down that the Chains had saved his life in more ways than one. Being part of that family didn’t stop the night terrors or those moments during his day when he could hear faint voices that shouldn’t be there. Or when he could feel the ghost of hands squeezing around his neck—and searing hot metal burning into his back.
But it gave him something to hold on to.
The officer patch on the breast of his cut—the vow he took for his brothers—that was the first time he ever felt like he was standing on steady ground. It was easy to look at the men who stood next to him and know he would die for them—in more ways than he’d ever been willing to die for anyone.
He’d lay his life on the line, and more than that, he’d put bodies in the ground without hesitation. And he had.
His soul was already blackened beyond repair for what he’d done in the past. He’d been dragged out into the middle of nowhere and tortured. It was that moment he knew there was a monster living inside of him. One that wouldn’t ever let love settle in his bones. So he embraced it with the same ferocity as he embraced everything else.
After all, what were a few more deaths if it meant saving the lives of people who—unlike him—were truly and impossibly good.
Kicks was unsurprised when Smokey called and gave him the order to ride out on the babysitting job. “I don’t wanna spare you right now, but I know you can get in and out quicker than anyone else.”
Kicks had seen this shit-show coming from a mile away. The moment Smokey’s eyes went soft for that fuckin’ professor, it was all over. Smokey wasn’t the kind of man to make mistakes, but shit happened when you fell in love. Or so Kicks had heard. And he wasn’t such a cynic that he didn’t think he’d never be able to fall in love, but he wasn’t going to let himself catch a case of stupid for the sake of dick on the regular, either.
Kicks was fine with sex—at least in theory, but he was a man who hadn’t let himself indulge—hadn’t let himself be vulnerable since before the night that fucked his life forever. He didn’t begrudge other people who wanted to get off, of course.
But he also knew when his brothers were being led by the promise of screaming orgasms. He’d seen that look before—that sort of craving and need that turned men into animals. And while he trusted his brothers, he didn’t have any faith that their lust wouldn’t turn the situation into an epic nightmare now that two of them had fallen head over heels.
“Send me the address and tell me I’m not gonna have to fuckin’ knock this guy out and hog tie him just to get him back here,” he said, rummaging through his drawer for his gun. He really wasn’t sure how this was going to go with the brother. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to meet the professor, but he’d been hearing Rory sing his praises about what a bad-ass he was since the moment the kid started college.
But from what Kicks had seen, the guy was just another pretentious, tweed-wearing asshole, and he couldn’t imagine this brother was anything different. Especially if he was a fuckin’ rabbi of all goddamn things.
Kicks wanted nothing to do with any religious shit, but he also understood that Smokey wasn’t going to let this go now that he was tangled up with the professor. And Smokey being in love with this new guy meant Kicks would guard him with his life. No matter what. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to let the guy’s brother hang in the wind, waiting for one of Hydra’s bastards to take him out.
He just wished the situation wasn’t such a goddamn confusing mess—and he wished he understood what the fuck it was Hydra wanted with them. The generations-long beef that some of these men had with Smokey, all because he came from the Reapers, didn’t make any damn sense to him, considering the Chains had more than one brother who had patched over from different clubs. But he also didn’t know a whole lot about what life was like for Smokey before he left his old name and cut behind and made his way east.
There was a darkness in his President’s eyes—the look of a man who had seen some shit. Who had done some shit. A look that echoed inside Kicks’ soul, and it was that kindred spirt that had gotten its claws in Kicks and never let go.
And it was for that understanding alone that when Smokey said jump, Kicks said how high without taking a single moment to ask why his President would give that order.
Even now, when he actually was questioning Smokey’s judgment, he was still ready to ride out. “How much does this guy know about us?” Kicks asked as he locked his door and headed for his bike. He glared at his storage compartment, which was barely big enough for a couple of grocery bags, but he had no qualms about making this guy ditch his shit so they could get out of there fast.
None of them were sure how many Devils were in town with eyes on them. Even without seeing a single one, Kicks had felt watched most of the week, and he was unsettled by it, which was unusual. When the shit that blew into town on Gunner’s heels hadn’t sent him reeling, Kicks hadn’t expected to feel any different the moment trouble showed up again.
But it didn’t take long for him to realize how different the situations were. Rat was a fucking junkie with a grudge, nothing more, and Kicks had seen enough men like that cross his path and fall on their own swords. Hell, when assholes rolled into town and tried to take Rory, they’d put a few of them in the ground without remorse, and Kicks hadn’t felt anything but relieved when the kid was back in the safety of their circle.
But this man—Hydra—he was dangerous. For the first time since patching into the Chains, Kicks felt unsure they’d be able to walk away from all of it unscathed.
“We didn’t tell the guy much,” his Prez said with a grunt, not doing much to assuage the Road Captain’s worries over this new civvie bullshit. “Just to expect you and to not ask questions. Eliah says he’ll fill him in when you guys get back.” Smokey’s voice was steady, but there was the undercurrent of pain from being shot. Kicks hated to say he was worried since he knew Smokey could take care of himself, but his gut wouldn’t stop churning.
He turned his head from side to side, trying to get a better view of the landscape. His eye had been missing damn-near ten years, and normally he didn’t think twice about it. But when there might be extra eyes in town keeping tabs on all of them, he’d never felt more blind.
“What do you want me to do if I catch a tail?” He swung his leg over his bike and glanced around one last time to be sure.