King’s Survivor (The Kings of Men MC #11)

Chapter 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 was some of 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 hospital room. 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 was lucky. 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’s we’re not defining it partner—whatever the fuck that meant. They’d been together long enough to be something.

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 sure what they 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, Jester wanted to 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 as since.

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 this barroom, 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.

“Nothing?” He tilted his head and batted his lashes, and the act might’ve worked on any other man—but not me.

Any passion inside me had disappeared. I was a hollow shell of a man. Empty. My club brothers didn’t even trust me to have their back anymore.

A muscled arm wrapped around Bliss’s shoulders, showing off a skull tattoo on a large hand.

Jester appeared on his other side, leaning against the bar.

He was a giant compared to Bliss. His dark red hair and beard were a little shaggy.

Maybe he’d been holding off on getting a haircut.

Most of the club went to Barber, and he could be an annoying fuck to deal with, so I didn’t blame Jester.

He blinked at me carefully with a look I didn’t really understand.

It was almost as though he was reading my mind, so I glanced away. I hated it when he did that.

Bliss’s entire demeanor changed and something ugly and pained flooded his face.

He slapped Jester’s hand, glowering. “Jester, you know you can’t touch me.

You can’t—” He glanced at me, then back to Jester, whose expression crumpled.

“Let’s talk somewhere else. Now.” He sent me a small smile over his shoulder, one that told me he understood, and grabbed Jester by the arm, dragging him away from the bar toward the hallway that led to King’s office.

Whatever was happening wouldn’t end well. Poor Jester. The guy had finally decided to commit, but now Bliss was as squirrelly as they came.

I sighed and took a sip of my beer, wincing at the lukewarm liquid before I shoved it away. There was no way in hell I could drink this.

Groaning, I rose to my feet and glanced around the room.

King and Dallas were on one of the black leather couches, canoodling worse than a newlywed couple, while Barber and his hairstylist boy toy were laughing over at the side of the room.

There were other couples, too. Eyes and his man.

Bishop and his pretty Destiny. Even fucking Scar and Charley.

Scar, of all people. I hadn’t expected him to hook up and settle down, especially not with another MC brother.

I was nearly like him once. I’d finally gathered the nerve to kiss my best friend, PD. Fuck. It’d been perfect, and he’d kissed me back.

For years, I’d watched him from a distance, thinking about all the things I wanted to do with him before I would convince myself I couldn’t ruin our friendship.

We’d gone to college together and been prospects together.

We’d been good friends since. I couldn’t destroy that.

I’d also told myself he couldn’t feel the same way.

Until that day.

That kiss.

But it’d been the same day as the accident. We’d been so high on adrenaline from the simple act of pressing our fucking lips together that we’d needed to ride. And we had. Then, those fucking Demons had come along and ruined everything.

Fuck!

I shivered as small snippets of memories rippled through my mind.

The doctors had told me I might not ever remember the entire thing, that my brain had blocked out the incident and the pain to protect me, but I wanted to remember.

All I had now was feelings and pain and a few visuals that left me wondering about the specifics.

PD and I hadn’t done anything intimate since, never even talk about the kiss. He didn’t bring up the topic, so what could I do? Neither did I. An idiot could tell he was worried and the sympathy wasn’t sexy. It was annoying. I wasn’t a kid, but my MC brothers wanted to treat me that way.

Shaking my head, I moved across the room and out the front door of the clubhouse, stumbling slightly. I breathed in the warm summer air, the scent of motor oil from the bikes sending a wave of calm through me.