Chapter Six
Skip
I watch the naked woman sprawled across the motel bed, legs spread wide, pussy glistening with need for me.
And I feel… nothing.
Not a damn thing.
My cock doesn’t even twitch.
She’s sexy as hell. Big tits, perfect handlebar hips, lips made for sucking dick…and still, nothing. Not a spark.
Still fully dressed, I drag a hand down my face and turn toward the door.
“Sorry, darlin’,” I say over my shoulder. “Family emergency.”
“Motherfucker!” she yells as I shut the door behind me and head for my bike.
Lucky for her, she drove herself. Tried to climb on the back of my ride earlier, but that wasn’t fucking happening. A real biker knows that seat stays empty unless the person on it means something. That spot’s sacred. Reserved for the one fate picks out just for you.
Images of Eli flicker through my mind before I can stop them. His nervous smile. The way he blushes when I tease him. Those soft, sleepy eyes.
I grit my teeth and shove my keys into the ignition, trying to shake it off.
I’ve gotten so damn obsessed with that man that I didn’t even notice Knuckles slipping. Didn’t even recognize that something was fucking wrong because I was so focused on his anger. I’m supposed to be a brother first, and I’ve been a shit one lately.
I thought burying myself in some hot, willing pussy would fix it. Would cure whatever spell Eli Waddell has over me.
But I couldn’t go through with it.
Didn’t even want to.
I spend hours doing random shit before I head back to the compound. I park my bike and head straight for Knuckles’ place…not surprised to see him sitting on his porch and drinking beer at nearly three in the morning.
“Must’ve been some magic pussy if you were gone that long,” Knuckles says, lifting a beer to his lips.
“Nah,” I chuckle, dropping into the chair beside him. “Dick wouldn’t cooperate. Went for a ride instead. Ate some Chinese and then went to the gym for a few hours. Needed some fresh air to sort through some shit.”
He snorts. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a brown-eyed pretty boy, would it?”
I shoot him a look, but he just smirks like he already knows the answer.
Three days ago, Knuckles finally broke down and told us what the hell was going on.
Lung cancer. Stage four.
Docs gave him a year to live.
That was ten months ago.
The reminder hits hard.
Two months is all we have left with him.
It doesn’t sound real when I think it, but the man sitting next to me…beer in hand, grin still in place…is dying. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
I hate that.
Hate that I can’t fix it.
Hate that I didn’t notice sooner.
Knuckles coughs, a rough, wet sound that makes me tense. He waves me off before I can say anything, like he’s sick of people worrying.
He’s had that cough for a long while now. Hell, we all noticed it. But Knuckles is a smoker. We didn’t think much of it. Neither did he.
Which is why the cancer wasn’t caught in time.
Now, every rasp, every labored breath, is a reminder of just how fast time’s running out.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “I’ve had a good run. More women, booze, and fights than I can count. Guess I finally pissed off the wrong organ.”
“Not funny,” I say quietly.
“Sure it is,” he grins, taking another drink. “You just forgot how to laugh.”
I snort despite myself, shaking my head. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, but you love me.” He smirks, then looks at me sideways. “So… brown-eyed pretty boy, huh?”
“Damnit, Knuckles.”
“What?” he says, grinning wider. “Man’s got you all twisted up. I can see it clear as day. You’re lookin’ at him like he’s the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”
“Maybe I just see something worth protectin’,” I mutter.
Knuckles leans back, studying me. “Careful, brother…protectin’ has a way of turnin’ into lovin’ when you’re not payin’ attention.”
I glare at him, but he just laughs, coughs again, and raises his beer like a toast.
“Too late for me, Skip,” he rasps. “Don’t be too late for yourself.”
Knuckles was being a dick these past few months because he was adjusting to the news that he was going to die. I’d be angry as fuck too.
“Why were you such an ass to Eli?” I ask.
“Fuck man,” he sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just saw the eagerness in his eyes to please those around him, and it made me fucking furious that someone so weak still had so much life to live while mine is slowly draining out.”
Knuckles leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I need to apologize to him,” he says quietly.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him. “It’s late.”
He shakes his head, stubborn as ever. “No. Tonight.”
“Knuckles…”
He cuts me off, voice rough but steady. “Skip, you don’t get it. I don’t know how many ‘tomorrows’ I’ve got left. Every time I close my eyes, I wonder if I’ll open them again. I’m not wasting what I’ve got left on guilt.”
That one hits me right in the gut. I look at him…really look…and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the unbreakable bastard I’ve always known. He just looks… tired.
“Fuck, Knucks,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “It’s three in the damn morning. He’s probably sleeping.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Then we’d better get moving.”
I curse under my breath, but I’m already reaching for my keys. “You’re lucky I love you, old man.”
“Damn right I am.”
We head out together, the night air cool against my skin as I fire up my bike.
I told myself I’d keep my distance from Eli…told myself it was better for both of us.
But as Knuckles climbs onto his bike, pale and coughing, I can’t bring myself to say no.
Maybe I’m doing this for Knuckles.
Maybe I’m doing it for myself.
Either way, I know one thing for certain…
I’m about to wake up the one person I’ve been trying like hell to stay away from.
With a quiet curse, I pull out my phone and open the garage’s employee records. My thumb hesitates over Eli’s name for half a second before I tap it and type his address into my GPS.
“Got it,” I mutter.
Knuckles chuckles weakly beside me. “You sound thrilled.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, sliding my phone into the holder on my handlebars, “it’s hard to be thrilled about waking up a man I’m trying not to want.”
It takes fifteen minutes to get to the dark apartment complex Eli lives in.
“I know the owner of this place,” Knuckles says as he swings off the bike. “He’s a fucking ass.”
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“Rob Dorsen,” he answers.
I file the name away just in case Eli ever tells me his landlord so much as looks at him wrong.
I have zero qualms about making that man, or any man, suffer.
Knuckles notices the corner of my mouth twitch. “Why are you smirking?” he asks, standing beside his bike.
“Just thinking about burying the man alive if he hurts Eli,” I say, my voice low. “Maybe send him off with an hour’s worth of oxygen so he can wallow in that slow, constant fear before it runs out.”
Knuckles doesn’t laugh. We both know I’m not joking.
“Come on, brother,” he says, walking through the doors that had zero fucking security attached. “I need to apologize so I can go home and sleep.”
Worry nags at my heart at the utter defeat in his voice.
“Don’t stop fighting, man,” I tell him.
“No use in it, Skip,” he says. “I can fight all I want, but it won’t slow things down. It just wastes my energy. I’d rather save that for you fuckers.”
“Who the hell are you?” someone calls from a crack in one of the apartment doors.
“Doesn’t matter who the fuck we are,” Knuckles says, voice hard as steel. All weakness completely gone from his voice. “We’re looking for Eli Waddell.”
“What the hell do you want with that loser?”
“What fucking apartment, Rob?”
The man in question steps out, shoulders squared like he’s ready to take a swing. That is, until his eyes drop to our cuts. The color drains from his face.
That’s right, fucker. Do you really want to piss off the Shadows? We own this town.
“Four-oh-two,” he mutters, retreating into his apartment. “And while you’re up there, tell him to turn the damn alarms off. I can hear them all the way down here.”
Why would his alarm be going off at this hour?
Worry twists in my gut, and I decide to skip the elevator and take the stairs.
By the time we reach the fourth floor, Knuckles is a little winded, but otherwise fine.
“Why isn’t he turning off the damn alarm?” I mutter, rapping on Eli’s door.
“Maybe he ain’t home,” Knuckles says, pounding a few more times.
We wait several minutes, but the only thing that happens is a handful of nosy-ass neighbors poking their heads out to watch the show.
“Did anyone see the man who lives here leave?” I call out, voice raised.
When no one answers, Knuckles growls, “Answer the fucking question.”
“He hasn’t left since getting home a couple of hours ago,” someone says. “That alarm has been going off for about an hour.”
He only got home a couple of hours ago? Eli got off work at five. Where’s he been this entire time?
“And no one thought to check on him?” Knuckles growls.
I bang on his door again. Harder this time. “Eli! Open the damn door!”
Nothing. No footsteps. No voice. Just that muffled, nonstop alarm buzzing behind the wood.
Something cold slides down my spine.
I wait five more long, suffocating seconds.
He doesn’t answer.
“Fuck this.”
I shoulder the door once. It shudders but holds. Second hit causes the frame to crack. Third time, the lock gives, and I stumble inside with Knuckles right behind me.
The alarm is blaring from somewhere, echoing around the small space. The place is dark except for a light flooding under a door. The sound of running water thrums under the alarm’s scream.
“Eli?” My voice ricochets off the walls. “Eli!”
No response.
No movement.
Just the shower.
My stomach drops. Why the fuck would he close himself in the bathroom with the shower running? People only do that when they…
Fuck no.
“Knuckles, call an ambulance!” I bark, my voice cracking like something inside me just snapped. “Now!”