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Phoenix’s eyes narrowed as he watched the firefighters walk through the burned-out first floor, and the anger he wore made the jagged scar he had from eye to ear look that much fiercer. “If this comes back as arson, like we think? Apparently, I’m going to hell, because I’m gonna take this fucking pastor down.”
“I’m a hundred percent sure I already have a reserved parking place down there, so consider me your right-hand man.” Caine clapped Phoenix on the shoulder, and the guy gave him a nod.
Though Caine considered the Raven Riders his family and absolutely knew each and every brother would have his back in a heartbeat, he’d never felt especially close to any of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t put in his time around the club. Hell, he’d served on the board for years now as sergeant-at-arms, so he spent more than a little time with the other board members, including Phoenix and Dare, their leader. But between Caine’s belief that he was safer keeping to himself and his gut-deep fucking fear that no one wanted him around—and that no one would like what they found if he ever let them get close, anyway, his walls remained up. Way up. Even with his brothers.
Except, recently, with Phoenix.
Which was maybe because of some shit that’d gone down at Dare’s house a few months before—and some things that he and Phoenix had had to make right. Together. And maybe it was also because several other members of the inner circle of the club’s board had gone and fallen for the women in their lives, which resulted in Phoenix and Caine spending more solo time hanging out than ever before. And maybe it was because the death of Phoenix’s only other living relative had given them yet something else in common—life had left them riding alone, whether they wanted to or not.
So what friendship Caine was capable of feeling, he felt for the guy.
They made for their Harleys, which they’d parked behind the firetrucks down by the intersection. Despite everything else going on, Caine couldn’t keep his gaze from stretching across to where he’d first met Emma. Emma Kerry, he’d learned by running an easy public-records search. He looked farther down the street, but couldn’t quite make out her house. And it made him fucking itch to go there, check her windows and doors again, maybe even knock on that door and make sure she was still okay.
None of which he was actually going to let himself do. Despite how many times he’d had to resist doing it the past three days.
“What’s that look for?” Phoenix asked.
Caine bit back a curse and blanked whatever expression had hit his ugly mug. “No look.”
Even pissed off as he was, Phoenix managed a you’re-full-of-shit grin. The fucker. “If you say so.”
“You going back to the clubhouse?” Caine asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know. I’m fucking wired now. Wanna go to the Pit Stop and get a beer and some chili cheese fries? Or, hell, ride up to Mitzi’s?” Phoenix asked.
Neither the old biker bar nor the gentlemen’s club located up Maryland’s Interstate 70 held any interest for Caine. He wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t looking for some cheap hook-up. Hell, he hadn’t even checked the message boards since he’d gotten home late on Saturday night. Or, more accurately, early on Sunday morning.
In other words, since he’d left Emma’s. And even though he didn’t want to examine that too closely, he was examining the fuck out of that. Because she kept invading his thoughts. For three days now, she’d been in his head when he worked, when he rode, when he tried to sleep. When he took himself in hand and groaned in the quiet of his room. And it was a fucking problem.
“Not tonight,” Caine said, reaching his bike first.
“Dude, you are not leaving me hanging.”
Straddling the bike, Caine smirked. “You don’t need a wingman, Creed. The women love you.”
He pulled a face that held none of the anger from moments before. “Well, yeah. But that’s not the point.” There was the return of Ravens’ favorite playboy smartass.
Caine’s Harley came to life on a low growl.
“You suck at wingmanning,” he said.
“I suck at reassuring.”
“No kidding…”
Jesus. Enough already. “I am shit for people skills. You just figuring this out?”
Phoenix chuckled and held out a hand. “Fine.” Caine clasped palms with the guy, and Phoenix held on for an extra beat and nailed him with a stare. “‘Night, brother.”
Caine nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “Now get the fuck out of here.” He strapped on his helmet, tugged the black neck-warmer and mouth mask into place, and slid on his gloves.
Laughing, Phoenix made for his Harley. They pulled U-eys together, but parted ways at the intersection—Phoenix turning toward the Pit Stop, and Caine going straight.
Past Emma’s.
Without really meaning to, he slowed down. The house was dark except for the lit tree in her living room window, and he wondered if those lights being on meant that she was still awake. Then he asked himself why he cared. And if he was truly stupid enough to believe that some sweet kindergarten teacher would want anything to do with a guy like him.
