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He was bone tired and running on empty, but whatever Gate needed, Ryder would make happen because that’s the kind of brother he was.
Gate got close, stopped, and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. He nodded toward the trees where Talon had disappeared, “Hard to overcome that kind of history.”
Ryder sighed, so this is where it was going. “Giving you the truth, wanted in there, but I knew where her heart was, and it wasn’t with me.”
Gate nodded, “Doesn’t mean if it falls to shit you can’t be there.”
Ryder smirked, “Not gonna fall to shit.” At Gate’s look, he shrugged, “Told him I’d pick up the pieces if it did.”
Gate threw back his head and laughed. “If anybody can inspire a man to get his head out of his ass, it’s you.”
Ryder chuckled and shook his head, “Good for something, I guess.”
“Good for a lot, Ryde. Good for the club. And good for Jenna. She needed the hell outta you at the time.”
“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Gate. I’m a big boy.”
“I know,” Gate agreed. “Which is why we gotta talk. Got a thing needs doing.”
“I’ll go,” Ryder said.
“You don’t even know what I’m asking,” Gate argued.
“Doesn’t matter. I need to be somewhere other than here for a while.”
And after he listened to Gate’s request, Ryder was even more determined.
“Gonna be a long ride,” Gate said.
“I know,” Ryder agreed, itching to get started, to feel the miles under his wheels, to light the fire of adventure in his veins.
“Way things looked back at the compound, you might have a pretty good reason to stick around. I could send someone else,” Gate offered.
Ryder remembered a tawny mane, jade eyes, ass pressed into his hips, and his cock twitched in his jeans.
“That reason’s a good one, it’ll still be here when I get back,” Ryder said. Then he fired up his bike, hit the throttle, and rode out.
*************************
Maker
The cool, gray dawn washed over the parking lot of the diner, the pale barely light enough for Maker to see his boots.
He kicked the stand of his Harley and made for the front door, wondering if Lizzy, whose strawberry scent had haunted him every night, would be there to pour his coffee, with her big eyes and her bigger heart.
He’d chosen this diner for a reason.
Her. Strawberries and vanilla.
Headlights swung into the lot, and Maker clocked Smokey’s ride, silently cursing his sister’s military timing. The girl was always early. Most of the time Maker appreciated it. Sometimes, it was a pain in the ass.
The jeep skidded to a stop, and Smokey threw open the door, tawny hair flying in all directions.
She ran toward him, and when she launched herself, he caught her, just like he always did.
“You okay?” he asked around a mouthful of hair.
Smokey rocked back on her heels and looked up at the brother who’d offered his life to save hers. At the brother who’d given up everything so that she could run free.
