“He was awake?”
“Not really.” Locke grimaced. “He was pretty sick, and to be honest, I think he was looking for you.”
“I am here now.” I spoke to myself as much as Locke, taking a breath that seemed to lose itself somewhere I could not be right now.
Locke rose and returned to me. “I’m here too, so you should take a break. Get some food down you. Sleep. I know you’re a tough motherfucker, but you’re no good to him if you’re dead on your feet.”
“I’m fine.”
“Never said you weren’t.” Locke gave me a look that was more parental than any I had ever experienced. “But I know how this goes. You love him, you don’t want to leave him. But Ranger’s gonna do his nut if he opens his eyes to find you hanging on by fuckin’ thread.”
“I am that transparent?”
“Viktor, I know you. And by the way, I called this shit between you and him.”
“You did not.”
“I did.” Locke smiled, his warm eyes crinkling at the sides. “And just so you know, for a long time, this idiot was the only reason I ever laughed. Now fuck off to the kitchen. Orls will sort you out.”
He all but pushed me out of the room with a silent promise to remain with Ranger until I came back, though he stopped short of shutting the door in my face.
I let it happen and followed the scent of food through a living space I hadn’t taken much notice of when I’d arrived. It was simply decorated. Bland. As if no one lived here. But voices from the kitchen lured me in, and I found Orla O’Brian slicing bread at the counter while the vice president of the Rebel Kings MC lounged on a stool.
Nash McGovern. I had dealt with him a lot over the last few years, and I had always liked him. Appreciated his even temper and honesty. His kindness when he had adopted Ranger and hisfriends into the Rebel Kings. Would I have known Ranger as I did if he had not done that?
I truly could not say.
“Come sit.” Nash patted the stool beside him. “Take the weight off that leg.”
“My leg is fine. How is yours? You are okay?”
He had been hurt—Jake had told me, maybe? It seemed a lifetime ago. Long enough that Nash waved away my question.
“I lived. But I hurt just looking at you, so sit the fuck down, boyo.”
Nash was too Irish to sound like Locke, but the sentiment was the same, and I found it easy—too easy, perhaps—to do as he asked.
I sat down.
Nash leaned in and gave me a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
He wasn’t talking about the gun battle a few nights ago, and I knew it, so I spoke nothing but truth in return. “I was not sure either.”
“You doing okay? Need anything?”
“No, Nash. I am fine.”
The answer was automatic. As unstoppable as it was untrue, and Nash was not fooled. But I had other concerns. “Cam has gone home?”
Nash leaned back in his seat. “Think so. Though the last time he told me he was going somewhere, he was lying through his fucking teeth, so...”
I bit back a smile. “If it is any consolation, I was not expecting to see him when I did. My brother lied to me too.”
Orla banged a plate on the counter. “Look at that. We both have brothers who are massive dickheads.”
“For the best of reasons though, yes?”
“If you say so.” Orla’s beautiful scowl deepened. “Saint and Alexei are in my bad books too.”
