Page 40

Emma

Istir to soft music. Did I leave the radio on or something?

I open my eyes and squint at the light before I lift my head and realize the pillow I was leaning on isn’t actually a pillow. It’s a muscular arm and not one belonging to Lick.

I grimace and look up at Knuckles, but he just looks down at me, amused. “Feel better?”

I’m about to answer him when my stomach swirls uncomfortably. I press my hand to it, hoping to calm it slightly, but it's never that simple.

Knuckles, of course, doesn’t miss a thing. “What’s wrong?”

“Gonna be sick.” I get to my feet and sway, trying to remember where Lick said the bathrooms are before I find myself swept up in a set of arms and hustled out of the room.

I close my eyes to try to keep the nausea at bay as the sounds of the room disappear. We push through a door a second before I’m lowered to the ground. I blink my eyes open and find myself leaning over a sink in a masculine-looking bathroom. Before I can say anything, I’m throwing up the meagre contents of my stomach, cursing myself for falling asleep without taking my meds beforehand.

I jolt when I feel a cold facecloth pressed to the back of my neck as a deep voice whispers soothing words of comfort. I can’t make out the words, thanks to the roaring in my ears, but I appreciate the gesture. I don’t feel the usual humiliation of puking in front of someone. I’m so beyond that now, especially when it all feels so out of my control.

Once I finish and I manage to catch my breath, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look up at Knuckles. “Where’s Lick?” I whisper.

“I’ll grab him. He was setting a room up for you both. Can I get you something?”

“Lick has my medication in his pocket. Some water would be good, though, or something with ginger in it. That seems to help a little.”

“I can do that. Hold on a second.”

He disappears and reappears moments later with a desk chair. “Let’s get you seated so you don’t fall down.”

He lifts me onto it and makes sure I’m close to the sink in case I start throwing up again. “Is it always like this?”

I offer him a wry grin, my energy zapped from me. “No, it’s usually worse.”

“Jesus,” he runs his hands through his salt and pepper hair, looking pissed that it’s not something he can fix.

“I’m okay, I just really need my medication.”

“Shit. Be right back.”

I rest my head on the cool porcelain and concentrate on my breathing. It feels like the worst of it might have passed, but I’ve been caught out too many times to be complacent about it.

I don’t know how long I’m ruminating over all the decisions I made that led me here, puking my guts out in the surprisingly tidy bathroom of a biker compound.

When the door slams open, I turn to find Lick barrelling towards me. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Your dad took good care of me,” I tell him. I spot Knuckles over his shoulder and offer him a genuine smile. “Careful, Mr. President, you might make me start believing that you’re a teddy bear underneath that scary snarl of yours.”

He shakes his head as he nudges Lick out of the way and hands me a can of ginger ale. “Drink this slowly.”

I salute him and take the can, sipping at it tentatively, waiting to see if it will make a reappearance before I drink too much. Both of them hover over me until I’m almost done before Lick holds out one of my pills for me. I take it and swallow it down with the last of my drink.

“You want to try and eat something or go straight to bed?”

“Are you trying to take advantage of me, Lick…” I wrinkle my brow and look at his father. I can’t believe that he named his baby boy “Lick.”

Lick answers my unspoken question. “Kennedy. My name is Noah Kennedy.”

“Noah Kennedy. I like it.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” He picks me up, much like his father did before, and carries me out of the restroom into what must be his father’s office.