“Orls.” Nash’s voice held a warning.
“What?” She flipped her glare to him. “Viktor was there. He knows. Who’s he going to tell? Fucking Ranger?”
She stomped to the stove.
Nash heaved a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “Sorry about that. It’s been a fucked-up few days and we’d got too used to the quiet.”
“Hopefully you will have it for longer this time around.”
“That’s the dream.” Nash drained a coffee mug and set it aside. “Your brother left, by the way. In case you didn’t know. Said he was going home, wherever that is.”
With Jake, who knew. The island wasn’t his only port in a storm. “He was okay?”
“Think so. He looked fucking tired, but he didn’t want to hang around. Said to tell you there’s a bird by the sea. That make sense to you?”
I nodded, trying to care about helicopter locations and escape routes. But the Kings had always possessed a way of making such things feel unnecessary. “I am surprised he lived long enough to leave. Ivanov put a blade to his throat three times while we were out.”
Nash snorted. “That’s not going to stop. Dude holds a grudge like no one I’ve ever met, and I’ve known Orls since I was sixteen and skinny.”
“Watch your mouth.” Orla came back with plates of food and an orange that she rolled across the counter. “Eat what you can, sweetheart. I know it’s hard.”
Sweetheart. The term jarred me. No one had ever called me that. Not even Ranger when he was laughing at me, which was a lot. And I missed that laugh so much right now. It felt like weeks since I had last heard it.
Months.
Years.
“At least have a go.” Nash nudged me. “Come on, I’ll eat with you.”
I zoned back into him pushing a plate of breakfast food closer to me—the kind of food Ranger would have fallen on if he’d been well enough to eat it.
Orla gave me an encouraging smile too. “Eat it for Nash, if not for you. Save him having three breakfasts in the space of an hour.”
Honestly, as the Rebel King’s matriarch pinched my cheek and walked away, I would rather have eaten the orange. But without Ranger to share with, it did not feel right.
I ate the breakfast, staring into space, until I noticed Nash had no shoes on either. “You... live here?”
Nash pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs. We own the whole building except the old gal on the ground floor.”
“Thank you for allowing me to be here. I will not forget.”
“Jakov said that to me once.” Nash took my plate and his to the sink. “But it’s us with the debt—me and Orls. We wouldn’t have Locke if you hadn’t got him out and got him across that river.Wewon’t ever forget that.”
“Thank you.”
Nash rotated to face me again. “I need to tell you something else.”
Tension flooded me. Stress I did not have the energy for. “Can it wait?”
“It’s nothing bad…I don’t think, anyway.” At my soul-deep frown, he continued, “We found your bike. The black Ducati. It was on farmland down in Newquay. Locke said you were riding it the night you got took.”
Relief replaced whatever emotions had strangled me. I let air flow through my lungs again. “They did not burn it?”
Nash shook his head. “I have it squared away somewhere safe. I can fix it up for you, if it’s not too hot for the road.”
I considered that, but my brain rebelled. I did not care about bikes or anything else, and perhaps it showed.
Nash came closer and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll keep it till you figure it out. Don’t worry about it for now. We’ve got you, brother.”
