1
WILL “ROOK” GARDNER
If I closed my eyes, I could still hear my helmet slamming against the road almost four years later, cracking under the force of the hit. The feel of my body rolling across the asphalt, my leather riding jacket ripping as I tumbled. Of course, I had to get rid of that jacket because it was bad luck to keep one that was torn from a crash. Even now, my ribs ached and my back throbbed, a reminder of the accident that had nearly taken my life.
Twenty-three broken ribs, completely snapped off from my rib cage.
Two punctured lungs.
Broken collarbone and right shoulder blade.
A couple of broken vertebrae, not severe enough to paralyze me, thank fuck.
Traumatic brain injury.
That wassomeof the damage the doctor had listed off to me when I woke up enough to comprehend what he was saying. I spent three weeks in the ICU, nine weeks in another hospitalroom. They took photos of my insides to show medical students because, according to the textbooks, I shouldn’t be alive.
I was a freak of nature.
They said I waslucky. All I should feel was gratitude for being a “miracle.”
I wouldn’t call it that. My body always hurt, one way or another, and all I was doing was sitting here at the gleaming oak clubhouse bar, slouched over on the stool, nursing the lukewarm beer in my hand.
“You okay there, Will?” The kind voice made me raise my head slightly. I nodded at Josh, Scar’s brother and Rogue’swe’re not defining itpartner—whatever the fuck that meant. They’d been together long enough to besomething.
Josh was still a kid in my eyes, young and impressionable and loyal, even though he wasn’t a club member and he’d been an adult for a good, long while. His hair changed color depending on the day. Right now, it was rainbow.
“I’m fine.” I peeled the sticker on my bottle, the same thing I’d been doing for the last half hour. Josh didn’t question me any further, and I was grateful. Everyone treated me like I was made of china.
PD was the worst offender. He meant well, but I was stronger than he gave me credit for. He ran after me because he expected me to fall apart, all while acting coy about what he was doing.
Hell, I couldn’t remember a time since my accident when any of the boys had called me by my road name—Rook. But that didn’t say much because my memory had been shit since I’d woken up. Apparently, that was part of the brain injury. They called it frontal lobe damage. Grant tried to explain it once, but I didn’t understand a word he’d said. To be fair, I probably wouldn’t have comprehended it before I’d kissed the pavement.
Art had been my thing in school. I knew anatomy because I’d learned to draw it and didn’t care about much else.
Music pumped behind me, bodies gyrating as people literally fucked and danced across the black floor tiles. Laughter and conversations joined in with the thumping rock beat, but I ignored them all. It was easier to wallow in self-pity than pretend I was having fun. Once upon a time, when my MC brothers had these types of parties, I’d join in on the action, but I hadn’t felt like being here since I’d left the hospital.
As much as I fucking wanted my life to be the same, it wasn’t.
A hand touched me, slim fingers curving over my shoulder. I glanced around to look at Bliss, Jester’s favorite whore from the Courtesan. Also his... husband? Not husband? I wasn’t quite surewhatthey were. They got married in Vegas about a year ago, something that didn’t stick because it wasn’t formally done—but according to a few of the guys, Jesterwantedto make it official. Bliss.... Well, I didn’t understand their relationship drama.
All I knew was they took a break, and now Bliss was back at the club, though I wasn’t sure why. Jester kept trying to talk to Bliss, but Bliss ignored him. And no man here was dumb enough to touch Bliss unless they wanted their hands cut off.
Drama was not my thing.
He smiled, dazzling me with a toothy grin that would’ve blown any man away. I hadn’t been interested in a guy since.... Well, now I referred to everything assince. Bliss was beautiful, though, with a pixie face and natural brown hair. He’d bleached it blond for a while, but he looked much better this way. Real. Innocent. Not fake like most of the other Courtesans.
“Hi.” He plopped his cute butt on the stool beside me and cocked his head, blinking big eyes at me. I could see why Jester had taken a shine to him. He was sweet but also really slutty when he wanted to be, and I knew for a fact Jester loved that. My club brother had claimed Bliss over every surface in thisbarroom, and all the Kings had seen it more than once. Jester wasn’t shy about fucking Bliss out in the open.
“Hey.” I tried but failed to give him a smile.
“Are you all right?” He nudged me with his small elbow, mouth turning downward. The expression on his face wasn’t quite pity, but it wasn’t far off. “I haven’t talked to you in a while. I just wanted to check?—”
“’M fine. It’s life.” I shrugged.
“Life sucks sometimes.” He leaned his elbows on the shiny wooden bar and rested his head on top of his hands. “My Aunt Lisa had a brain injury from a stroke. She had a lot of issues after that. Mostly memories and stuff.”
Here we go again.This topic was the only one people around here seemed to harp on. I tore at the label on my beer more violently, ripping it in half, hoping it scared Bliss away. He was many things—beautiful, flirty, charming—but not a coward. The first time he’d walked into the clubhouse, he’d chosen his prey and gone for it. A few other guys had attempted a shot at Bliss’s ass before Jester had decided Bliss belonged to him. I had no idea what was so different about Bliss compared to all the other pretty whores, but whatever it was, Jester liked it.
