War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

8. Awake

CHAPTER 8

AWAKE

An ominous chill skates over my flesh. Waves of goosebumps raise across the surface of my skin. Callan’s words sit like a stone in my chest. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. We put one monster down tonight only for another to awaken. The world always finds a balance.

Shutters come down over Callan’s eyes. A dark fierceness stares back at me, the storm raging above and inside us both. “We need to go,” he states, rain dripping from his lips.

Leaving his bike, he takes my hand and jogs across the parking lot. The rain comes down harder, stinging as it bounces off my head. We climb the steps leading to the back entrance of the compound. Callan enters a keycode, disengaging the locks. Pulling the door open, he ushers me inside. My body quivers, the water penetrating the fabric of the sweats to my skin beneath. “What about your bike?” I mutter, jerking my chin at the door, the cold shaking my voice.

Pulling the door closed, he looks down at me. Our bodies are inches apart, our breathing strained. “I’ll get it later.”

The atmosphere has shifted since the call, a heaviness pushing down on us. “Callan,” I begin, placing a hand to his chest. He stops me by capturing my face in both hands and angling my head to his lips, brushing them over mine. Such a tender touch, so contradictory to the strong, formidable man who wields it.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead against mine, dragging his thumb along my jawline in delicate strokes as if everything between us is suddenly this fragile, breakable thing.

“Let’s get out of these clothes,” he whispers against my mouth. My core throbs at his words. I wish we had more time before potentially pulling the pin on the grenade sitting between us.

Callan reclaims my hand, and we head down the hall toward his room. A heavy thrum of music vibrates the walls. I’m guessing there’s a party in full swing by the sounds of laughter and chatter humming all around us. It’s such a contrast to what Callan and I have been doing, it’s comical in a sick, twisted way. The image of Monster covered head to toe in blood blasts through my mind, turning my stomach.

Edward Jarvis was an evil bastard. Even if he wasn’t the one responsible for Harley, he deserved everything he got tonight. But I’d be lying if I said being in the company of such evil doesn’t leave a dark stain on your soul. Spilling blood, taking a life, being an accomplice—it alters you. I’ve changed in so many ways since coming to the Kings. Hardened, grown. Even with all the hurt and chaos I’ve been through the last few months, I don’t regret coming here. Fate drew me home.

Callan slows to a stop when we reach the foyer. “Is Kitty here?” he asks Diamond, who’s mopping the floors like a mother hen. I offer her a smile, tucking wet, stringy strands of hair behind my ear. She fusses, wiping the puddle we’re making on the floor.

“Yes, she’s in the bar.”

More water drips from our clothes. “Sorry.” I cringe.

If she notices our odd attire, she doesn’t make it known. She waves a nonchalant hand. “It’s just water, darlin’. I’m happy to have you home. We all are. They’re waiting for you in the bar.” Home. I feel lighter hearing those words from her lips.

“Can you tell Kitty to come to my room?” Callan phrases the question, then turns, walking away before she can reply.

“Thank you, Diamond,” I call over my shoulder as Callan continues down the corridor with his hand still tightly clasped around mine. We enter his bedroom, and he immediately begins stripping me out of the soaked sweats. Moving in determined silence, he retrieves towels from the en suite and pats me down. He pauses when reaching my tattoo, his jaw flexing. My gaze is drawn to his throat as he swallows. I place a hand over his. “What are you thinking about?”

Tension coils the muscles in his neck. “That I don’t want things to change between us.” Images of us in that shower blaze through my mind, warming me all over. It’s hard to imagine anything affecting how I feel about him.

“Why would they change?”

His eyes lift to mine. “My dad’s awake, Rogue. We’re going to get the answers you’ve been seeking.” There’s so much sincerity in his voice and emotion spilling from his eyes that it weakens me to look at him. I didn’t think I would ever get answers from Jericho Cox and now I’m battling an internal war with whether I even want them.

If he admits to being the one who killed Harley, I’ll still want him dead. I don’t expect Callan to like that outcome, but he’ll have to accept it.

It will change everything.

“You said he’s not that kind of person. He wouldn’t have hurt her.”

“I know what I said—and I believe it.” His voice hardens, conviction wrapping around each word. It doesn’t match the fear in his eyes.

“So, you have nothing to worry about.” I palm his cheek, and feel the damp water on his skin. He’s taking care of me before himself. “It’s going to be okay.” The words leave my lips, but I’m not sure I believe them.

Seconds pass in silence. My heart hammers in my chest. His smirk falls into place, the vulnerability from moments before locked away once more. He takes my hand, kissing the knuckles. “I know it will be.”

Getting to his feet, he passes me the towel and walks back to the en suite. Noise of the cabinet door opening and closing filters out. I listen as he moves around in there. Nervous energy zaps through my blood, making me restless. I want to assure him that nothing his dad says will change anything, but I don’t. I can’t. Instead, I towel dry my hair and rummage through my things, finding clean, dry clothes. I slip on some panties, then a sweater and pants, the fabric harsh against my skin. Nerves eat away at my stomach. Nibbling on my lip, I sit and then stand. I can’t shake this horrible feeling everything is going to turn bad.

Callan walks back into the bedroom, slipping on a pair of jeans as footfalls sound outside the room. The bedroom door swings open, and I drop my ass onto the bed.

“What’s going on?” Kitty bursts in, clearly not learning her lesson from the last time she barged in here with me on her heel. God , Georgina in just a towel, acting like something went down between her and Callan feels like a lifetime ago. I can’t believe I let her manipulate the situation so much, I left the club—left Callan.

“You could have found me yourself, ass.” She glares at her brother as he rummages through his dresser for a shirt. “I was in the middle of cleaning house at the card table before you summoned me.” She waves an irritated hand in his direction when he continues to ignore her. “I’m not a dog who comes when you whistle.” I snort, and her attention turns to me. Her nose scrunches as she drags her gaze over my outfit. “I hope that’s not what you’re wearing to the party.”

Callan walks over to the bedroom door, slams it shut, and pulls a shirt over his head. “Dad’s awake,” he says once she’s finally taken a breath. He squeezes her shoulder. Tears well in her eyes, and he nods.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know much. We need to get over there. You good to go now?”

She swallows, her head bobbing up and down, a hand raking through her green wig. “Yes,” she rushes out, her breath hitching. “Yes. Okay, let’s go.” She swipes at her eyes before patting down the pockets of her bright pink fur jacket. Pulling out her cell phone, she flits her fingers over the screen. A second later, it chirps with an incoming message.

“Who are you texting?” Callan asks, tugging on a pair of boots.

“No one. Chill.” She rolls her eyes and slips her phone away before moving toward the door, only looking back when Callan doesn’t follow. “Are you coming or what?”

Narrowing his eyes on her, Callan grabs his cut and pushes his arms through it. He then turns away from her, approaching the bed where I’m sitting.

“Come on.” He holds his hand out for me. Nerves dance in my stomach.

I hesitate, and Kitty steps toward her brother. “Shouldn’t it be just the two of us for now?”

“Rogue’s coming,” he states, matter of fact.

“But—”

“Kit”—he glares at her over his shoulder, authority emanating from the rigidness of his spine and shoulders—“she’s coming.”

I slip my hand into his, choking back the dread threatening to consume me, and follow his lead. He passes Kitty, leaving her to trail behind as he guides us out of the room and through the clubhouse, nearly mowing Cutter over when he steps out of his bedroom and into our path.

“Whoa! Where the hell are you going in such a rush?” He frowns, looking between us.

“Out,” Callan grunts, moving around him.

“Hold up. You need company?” he asks before we can retreat.

Callan holds up our conjoined hands. “I have it.”

“Good to have you back.” Cutter jerks his chin at me then jabs a thumb in the opposite direction. “There’s a party being thrown in your honor.”

Before I can form a response, Kitty interjects. “What am I, chopped liver?” She crosses her arms, jutting out a leather-clad hip. Her pants look like they were painted onto her skin. I don’t miss the way Cutter does a full sweep of her body as he turns his attention to her.

“You going with them?” he asks.

She looks to her brother and shrugs. “My master called; I must follow.”

Cutter licks his lips and raises a brow. “I don’t know whether to be turned on or weirded out.”

“I’m her brother, asshole,” Callan warns.

“Hence the weirded-out part.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Callan tsks, turning and continuing our departure.

“Well, where the hell are you going?” Cutter’s voice trails behind us.

“Nowhere that concerns you.” I hear the smile in Kitty’s voice as she trots up behind us.

As we reach the far end of the club, the distinct sound of skin slapping skin blends with carnal moans. Rounding the small curve in the hall, Callan groans. “A hundred rooms in this place and they fuck in the hallway.” Green is balls deep inside one of the blonde triplets, her hands splayed against the wall with her skirt hiked around her waist and his bare ass pumping like a jackhammer behind her. Green doesn’t slow his pace even as we pass, and Kitty smacks his ass.

“Good form.” She claps her hands and walks backward to keep watching. A smile tilts my lips. We enter a garage, and my mouth gapes open.

“Is there anything this place doesn’t have?” I ask as we stroll past rows of motorcycles.

“A pool.” Kitty purses her lips at her brother.

“We’re not getting a damn pool,” he grumbles.

“A pool would be cool,” I defend, biting my lip when Callan cuts me with a death glare.

Kitty raises her arms. “Told you.”

“How many brothers do you think we’d find floating face down in a pool if we had one?” Callan snaps.

“Or fucking in it.” I shudder. “Those horny bastards would have pool orgies.”

“I still don’t see an issue with it.” Kitty smirks.

Wind howls against the metal shutter spanning the entire back wall as Callan slows, heading toward a row with three black SUVs.

“We can take my car,” Kitty says.

“Not even on my worst day,” Callan retorts.

“Dick.” She jabs him in the arm, and a growl climbs in his throat.

Strolling to the back of the room, Callan opens a cabinet and takes out a set of keys before walking up to one of the beefy black SUVs with blacked-out windows.

“Shotgun!” Kitty shouts.

“No.” Callan shuts her down, then shifts his eyes to me. “Get in, Rogue.”

Kitty scowls at him, her eyes glaring as she pouts over the hood. “It’s fine,” I tell them both. Opening the back door, I climb inside and fasten the seatbelt.

It smells expensive in here. Black leather seats. Cherry wood dash. Chrome finishing. I whistle low. No way this doesn’t come with a hefty price tag, and there are three in this garage. I lean back in the deep seat, a sigh filtering through my lips. My sanity needs this tiny offering of distance.

Callan folds himself into the driver’s seat, his eyes finding mine in the rearview. “Are you okay being back there?”

“She’s not a child, Callan.” Kitty scoffs, slipping into the passenger seat. Popping open the center console, she pulls out a pack of gum.

“No, but she was kidnapped in the back of a cop car. Why don’t you think before being a brat?”

I shrink a little into myself, squeezing my eyes closed. Dark, haunting images of that night play behind my lids.

His harsh grip as he shoved me in the back of the car with no escape. Liquor laced breath panting over my face. Pain blooming everywhere. Gunfire piercing the silent night sky.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four

Five…

The hole in his forehead. Wide, dead eyes.

“Oh shit. I didn’t think. Do you want to swap seats?” Kitty leans over the seat to look at me, shoving the gum into her mouth.

“No, it’s fine. I promise. I just want to forget that ever happened.”

Callan clicks a button on his keys and the shutter judders and begins rising. It must be a chore opening such a big garage door every time someone comes or goes. “Everyone good?”

“Yes, let’s go.” Kitty rests her boot on the dash until Callan glares at her. Lowering her leg, she mumbles, “Sorry.”

Kicking over the engine, Callan drives us out of the compound, the front gates opening before us. The journey down this road after Callan’s mention of the police incident turns the marrow in my bones to lead. I’d expected a visit from the police to the compound by now, but so far Callan has made true on his promise that Larkin wouldn’t be found. He would be reported missing by now, though, surely? I’ve been tempted to google his name, but fear that they can trace any searches back to me.

An awkward silence thickens the air as we drive. The wind and rain beat heavy on the car windows, blurring the scenery and offering me a small mercy.

“What did they say on the phone?” Kitty looks over at her brother, breaking the silence.

“That he’s awake and asking for me,” he grunts.

“He’s talking?”

“They said he asked for me. That’s all I know.”

“Did he mention me?”

“Kit.” He exhales, exasperated.

She looks to the window, fidgeting with a thread on her jacket before huffing and switching on the radio. “Oh my god! I can’t stand how quiet it is!”

“It’s going to be okay, Kit,” I soothe, placing my hand on her shoulder.

She offers me a tight smile, resting her palm on my hand. “Now’s not the right time. But when we get back home, I’m going to kick your ass for leaving like you did,” she informs me.

A genuine smile tilts my lips.

“Noted.”

We pull into the hospital parking lot and my lungs seize. A frantic boom pounds in the center of my chest.

Callan’s gaze burns into me through the rearview, but I can’t look at him. What if this is the last time we’re all together? If Jericho admits to killing Harley, will they condemn him for it or protect him from my wrath? Fear grips me in a chokehold.

I wrap my arms around myself as Callan backs the SUV into a parking spot. Cutting the engine, they both exit the car, but I’m frozen. My hand hovers near the handle. Loneliness seeps into my heart, grief’s darkness enfolding me in its isolating grasp.

The door opens, and Callan’s large frame fills the space. I turn toward him, inhaling a shuddering breath. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his expression burning with intensity, those dark eyes full of love. My heart flutters.

“Yes.” No hesitation. No second thoughts. He offers me his hand, and I hold onto it as I hop out of the SUV.

“Then trust that I’ve got you. Trust that I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper, reaching up and wrapping my arms around his neck.

He encompasses my body, surrounding me with all of him. I wish we could stay like this, basking in the glow of our love.

“Are we going in or making out in the rain?” Kitty calls from across the parking lot.

“She’s impatient,” he murmurs against my ear. I get it. If it were my dad, I would be too.

“We’re coming,” I call back, sliding away from Callan. The rain has eased, but the winds are still high, tossing my hair around my face as Callan intertwines our fingers and guides me to the entrance we took the last time we were here.

It feels like we’re walking to the gallows, our breathing heavy, the echo of Kitty’s booted heels chasing behind us. A sharp tang of bleach clings to the air, burning my nostrils. Callan swerves us around nurses as they rush in and out of rooms, exhaustion sitting heavy under their eyes. Hushed whispers creep in from waiting areas. I want to drown it all out and never step foot in a hospital again. Moving deeper into the hospital, the noise diminishes to nothing. The occasional sound of a door closing is the only sign there are people here.

“It’s like an apocalyptic movie down here. Imagine waking up from a coma and wandering into these deserted halls.” Kitty shudders, and I silently thank her for breaking the tension. It had become so thick that it was sticking to the back of my throat.

We come to a stop outside Jericho’s room, our gazes shifting between each other. “Whatever is said inside that room doesn’t change what we’ve been through outside of it.” Kitty squeezes my arm, nodding to her brother. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Callan and I agree as he opens the door.

A wall of stifling heat hits me in the face as I enter. Only the beeping of a monitor greets us. It’s so clinical and bare, I wonder if we should have brought flowers and almost laugh out loud.

Jericho is so still, so fragile— so easily snuffed out .

“Daddy.” Kitty sniffles, startling me, her voice carrying across the room as she moves toward Jericho. My feet are cemented at the door. My stomach dips when he moves, the sheets rustling as his legs twitch.

His eyes peel open, and my lungs constrict, holding all the air in them hostage. A half smile tilts one side of his face as his daughter stares down at him. Jealously, green and ugly, whirls. I’d give anything to see my dad alive.

“You look like shit.” Callan leans against the side of the bed, his tone wavering with a mix of relief and humor.

“I don’t think they’ve fed me,” his father grunts in return, his voice raw, raspy.

“I’ll have them rectify that for you.” Kitty brushes the sleeve of her jacket under her eye, swiping an errant tear from her cheek.

Jericho’s eyes trail over Callan’s cut, a smile creasing his lips. “They say I’m going to be okay, so don’t get too comfortable in my seat.”

Kitty lets out a small laugh. “We’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

It’s almost intrusive that I remain in the shadows, watching from afar. Jericho’s too preoccupied with his kids to see the stranger in the room.

“What can you tell us about what happened to you?” Callan cuts to the chase, and all my senses come alive.

“I got shot.”

“No shit.” A growl rumbles up Callan’s throat. “You didn’t tell anyone where you were going.”

“Do I have to?” Jericho scoffs. “Are you forgetting that I’m the pres—not the other way around.”

“It’s because you’re the pres that you shouldn’t be going places without at least letting a brother know. Look what happened.” Callan fumes, his eyes narrowing on his dad.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” he confesses.

“Who?” Kitty asks, a crease forming along her forehead.

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t like fucking at the club, so I meet her at the motel opposite Ray’s bar.”

“Since when do you go chasing ass?” Callan raises a brow.

“Only when the ass is worth the twenty-minute trip.”

“What happened? You couldn’t satisfy her so she shot you?” Callan asks in a teasing tone. But there’s nothing humorous about the way his gaze drifts over his dad’s torso, knowing bullet holes scar his skin.

“Watch your mouth. I left her slumped in a fresh-fucked haze and went to take care of some business.”

“Alone?”

“I didn’t think I’d need back up. I was meeting one guy.”

“Who?”

I hold my breath, waiting, listening. The anticipation accelerates my pulse.

A snap of energy crackles through the air as Jericho grabs his son’s wrist, leaning toward him. “That little bastard from the Devil Riders’ club.”

The world around me spins.

“Who?” Callan demands with his posture rigid, matching my own.

“Their president, Tyler.”