“Thinking about going for a jog?”
Jude bristled and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Are you the comedian of your motorcycle gang?”
At that, his smile disappeared. “Our club is not a gang. Just like I know you’re not a damn priest.” The icy tone in his words told Jude he’d crossed some line he hadn’t known was there.
“Sorry. I’m…unfamiliar with this situation,” he offered.
Kicks didn’t soften, but he didn’t look like he wanted to commit murder anymore either. At least, not right then. He snapped the lid off the storage compartment and stared down at the pathetic little grocery bag Jude had packed. “Do you need any of this shit right now?”
Jude shook his head. He didn’t. He’d taken the kippah his grandfather had given him before he died, but that was in his pocket. Other than that, he had his tefillin, a couple sets of extra clothes, and a spare phone charger. But nothing he had apart from that kippah was irreplaceable. And even the kippah could be sacrificed in place of his life. Hell, his grandfather would rise from his bloody grave if he thought Jude might sacrifice his safety for a bit of fabric.
“There’s probably some food here if you get hungry,” Kicks said, his voice more of a grunt. He stomped over the sand and up the two stairs, wrenching the door open. “But I doubt it’s going to be very good. This shit’s been sitting for a while.”
Jude was surprised it wasn’t locked, and he half-expected the place to be filled with more bikers. He followed the other man in with only a hint of trepidation and let out a small breath when he found the place empty. The front room was dark, and the air inside was stale, like no one had been in there for years. There was a faint scent of damp that clung to the walls, and he could see a few dark patches near the ceiling.
He wasn’t entirely thrilled about their present accommodations, but he was also feeling a little bit better about the situation. If this man really was going to kill him, at least it would be quick. He didn’t think Kicks was going to play the long game of death by black mold.
“Do you want something to drink?” came Kicks’ voice from around the corner.
He ventured down the hallway and turned into a great room, which had a lounge that led right into a small kitchen. Kicks was leaning on the open door of the small fridge, his sunglasses pushed into his hair, the profile of his face showing off his scowl. The room was still dim, but there was a small row of recessed lights in the ceiling that cast the man in a faint yellow glow.
“I don’t imagine you’re offering me something like tea,” Jude said with a small sigh. He dragged his hand over the back of the sofa, and it came away with layers of dust. “So, I’m not sure I want to risk it if it’s all out of date.”
“It’s beer,” Kicks said dryly. As if to demonstrate, he pulled one from the top shelf and cracked the top on the counter. It tumbled to the floor with a soft clink, and Jude found himself mesmerized by the way he lifted the bottle to his lips, drinking deeply, his throat working around his swallows. “But no, I wasn’t offering you tea,” he said after swiping his hand over his mouth. He set the bottle down, then reached for the cabinet handle and pulled it open. “Looks like we’ve got some canned spaghetti and a couple of boxes of mac and cheese.”
Jude managed not to grimace, knowing that being fussy wasn’t going to do him any favors with this man. “I’m not really peckish.”
“Peckish,” Kicks echoed.
Jude rolled his eyes. “Hungry. I had a big breakfast, so I’ll be fine for now. Thank you for the offer, though.”
“So polite,” Kicks said sounding only a touch sarcastic. He walked around the counter, then stared down at the handprint in the dust before sighing and moving to the window, reaching for the cord. The blinds lifted like they didn’t want to move, but when he got it open and a fresh breeze began to waft through the room, Jude found himself breathing in a little deeper.
“So,” Jude said. His fingers itched to pull out his phone and check on Eliah, but the last text he’d gotten was short and terse. He was fairly sure his brother wasn’t injured, but he was obviously scared, and it was setting off Jude’s need to protect him. “We just sit here on our damned hands until it gets dark?”
Kicks hiked himself up onto the back of the sofa and gave Jude a wry look. “Are priests allowed to swear?”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m not a…” He stopped and dragged a hand down his face. “You know what, never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
Silence fell, and then the biker sighed and actually managed to look sorry. “I’m being a dick.”
Jude snorted. “I hope you don’t expect me to argue against that point.”
“No,” he answered, the side of his lip curling up a little. “I know you’re not a priest. And I know that rabbis aren’t the same thing.”
“We’re not, and I suppose swearing isn’t exactly something I should make a habit of, but it’s probably the least of my sins. My mother always said the yetzer ha-ra developed early in me.”
Kicks blinked at him. “The…what now?”
Jude chuckled, glancing around before he found a kitchen chair. He dragged it near the sofa, eased down, and let out a sigh. His thighs were still trembling from the long ride, and he wasn’t sure how well he was going to hold out for the final stretch.
“It’s sort of the…inherent will to do,” he shrugged with his hesitation, trying to find the words, “I don’t want to say evil because it’s not always that. More like…self-indulgence, at least when it comes to my own moral failings.”
“You think self-indulgence is bad?” Kicks asked.
Jude shrugged. “It can be. When it comes at the expense of others and ignoring the will of HaShem.” He picked at a thread on the side of his jeans, then shrugged. “I’ve spent a lot of years trying to pay better attention to myself, but I’ve never been good at resisting temptation. No matter the consequence.”
He didn’t miss the way Kicks swallowed thickly. “What do you do about it?”
“Try to balance myself with the yetzer ha-tov.” He stopped, then smiled at himself. “To put first what I know is right and good. I might still be lacking a bit there.”
“So like, the devil and angel metaphor,” Kicks said, and he fluttered his fingers over his shoulders. “Whispering shit in your ear, seeing if you’re more inclined to be sinner or saint?”
“Something like that.” Jude smiled at him and realized he kind of liked this man in spite of the situation. He was at the very least nothing like he’d been expecting, and it set him more at ease than he thought he could be. “Suffice it to say, I won’t go to hell for saying damn.”
“Or fuck,” Kicks reminded him, jabbing the neck of his beer in Jude’s direction.
He rolled his eyes and leaned back a bit. “Or fuck. Or bloody fucking shitting hell. I got put in a week of detentions for that one during a maths lecture. But my professor was an absolute tit about everything I did, so it would have happened even if I’d tried to behave.”
Kicks stared, then burst into chuckles, and Jude marveled at the way the man laughed. He curled into himself and tried to muffle it, like he didn’t want the world to see that he was capable of letting go for a second. And Jude was suddenly overcome with a need to see him broken apart. To strip him down to nothing, until he was incapable of hiding himself.