he reached for the door and held it open. The shop was mostly quiet that afternoon, and Forge moved on ahead to the bay to check if there were more cars waiting as Smokey grabbed Kicks by the shoulder.
“I’m gonna need your help apart from all this shit,” his President said in a low voice.
Kicks’ brows rose. “You know you can count on me for anything.”
“We need more than allies. I know I been harping on establishing ourselves, but that fucker burning my house down didn’t do us any favors.” Smokey’s voice was rougher than usual, and Kicks knew that he’d taken the loss hard. He’d built the place up from bones with his own two hands. And a lot of the work had come from trying to distract himself as Rory grew up and as he struggled with whether or not he wanted to be in the club in the first place. But Wolfe House was supposed to be more than a roof over Smokey’s head. It was supposed to be a place for all of them.
“Just tell me what you need me to do,” Kicks promised.
Smokey grimaced. “I need you to head up the final shit for the bar opening. I took care of all the paperwork, but I want that place up and running for us by the end of next month. It means taking care of new hires. Logan agreed to get the kitchen started, but he can’t do the shit all on his own, and we don’t have anyone who got the experience. Or wants it.”
Kicks grimaced. “More civvies.”
Smokey shrugged as he led the way out the back door, and Kicks shielded his eyes against the sun as he glanced out over the garden. It was over-grown from neglect—nearly everyone with too much shit on their minds and not enough time to pick squash—and it made him ache a little because he missed what was.
But he also knew what he signed up for.
“We know enough people around here that I’m sure we can come up with some names. Ask everyone to start lookin’,” Smokey said, and rubbed a hand down his face.
Kicks nodded, and he absently pushed at the bullet wound, which was still sore but healing better than he expected it to after being thrown out of a damn window. “How are you doing?”
Smokey’s brows rose, and he let out a low chuckle. “You really wanna know?”
“Apart from being pissed that Rory got dragged into this,” Kicks said with a grin, “and apart from finally getting dick on the regular.”
Smokey laid a punch to his arm that hurt, then he started forward toward the supply shed and Kicks kept up his pace. “Things are fine. I’m fuckin’ shit scared that someone’s gonna come after Eliah when he’s on campus, and I can’t spare anyone to watch him twenty-four seven.”
Kicks bit the inside of his cheek as his mind inevitably strayed to Jude, who hadn’t been seen, but Smokey had mentioned a couple times that he’d gotten a place just outside of town. “I think he proved he can take care of himself.”
Smokey snorted as he wrenched the door open and leaned in for a box that looked heavy with parts. “Stubborn fuck still won’t touch a gun, and I think he’s…” Smokey trailed off with a sigh. “I don’t think he’s really over the fact that he had to shoot someone.”
“They’re very…English,” Kicks supplied, and Smokey laughed at that. “Is Jude doing okay?”
Smokey shrugged as they headed back toward the bay. “He had surgery on his knee. I guess he fucked it up pretty bad, jumping out that window. He won’t be running marathons anytime soon, and Eliah’s pissed because he got himself an apartment and keeps kicking him out every time he shows up to help.”
Kicks grimaced, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Where does he live?”
At that, Smokey turned and gave him a pointed stare. “Why? You wanna go play nursemaid?”
“Oh, fuck you,” he started, then licked his lips. “But I probably should go see him, you know? I mean, half that shit was my fault.”
Smokey shook his head, but it was clear from the look on his face he was going to give Kicks what he wanted. “Don’t get your hopes up for that man. He’s not like his brother.”
“No,” Kicks agreed, but that was why he liked Jude. He was different from anyone he’d ever met…and he sucked dick like a god. He didn’t think he was going to get another