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“You here with me, boy?” Tank rumbled, his concerned eyes running over my face. “You spaced out.” His thumb stroked over my neck, and I shivered, focusing on his touch to ground myself.
April was no longer crying and was now swiping at her cheeks. She’d been transferred to Hawke’s lap, and he and Brewer were softly talking to her. Christ, I’d been out of it a good minute. No wonder Tank looked so concerned.
“You know we’d never let anything happen to him, don’t you, doll?” Hawke gently asked April, drawing my eyes to him.
“Daddy,” her chin wobbled, “my dream?—”
“Okay,” Brewer said softly, his fingers combing through her long, dark hair. His eyes were tender as he gazed at her, his hand never stopping its soothing stroking over her hair. “Alright, sweetheart. Deep breaths, you hear me? You’ve got to tell us what you saw.”
“Baby boy,” Tank rumbled, drawing my eyes back to him, “light up, you hear me? Otherwise, you’re not going to make it through this.”
“I’m fine,” I mumbled. But I still reached into the pocket of my cut and grabbed the long, slim container that held my rolled blunt.
“No, you’re not,” Tank retorted, not letting me downplay how I was feeling. “When she has these dreams, you’re never fucking okay, Smokey. And I get it. We all get it. Which is why I’m tellingyou to smoke. You need to calm down, and honestly, our girl needs it, too.”
I looked up when a shadow loomed over me, my hand in my pocket, trying to fish out my lighter. Hawke was holding April in his arms, and his intentions were clear. He was deciding to help both of us; he was going to give her to me to hold. She would be held and get to smoke, and I would get to feel like I was keeping her safe while I relaxed as well.
I quickly pulled my lighter out, lit up, and then patted my lap. Hawke gently set April on my legs, and I placed the blunt between her lips. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, still glassy with unshed tears. My heart splintered, and my fingers spasmed with the urge to do something—anything—to get rid of the uncontrolled sensations thrumming through me.
I couldn’t do a goddamn thing to help her.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head. “You saved him, baby,” I quietly told her.
She sniffled and slowly blew smoke from her lungs, but I could tell my words helped her. That—those three words—were what she needed to hear.
Capone dragged a chair closer and slid his hand over her thigh, and his fingertips brushed my thigh as well, comforting both of us. Our eyes met for a moment, and he nodded once at me before focusing on our woman. “Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me your dream. Every bit of it you can recall.”
She drew in a deep breath. I grabbed one of her hands in mine, and Capone took the other with his free hand, both of us working together to keep her grounded. Tank settled his hand on myshoulder, standing over all three of us, his massive body casting a shadow over the three of us.
“Malorie made a phone call from behind the clubhouse after she told Tank she needed air,” she said quietly. I placed the blunt between her lips, forcing her to take a drag before she continued. Once she blew out the smoke, she rasped, “I could only hear her side of the conversation, but she was telling someone your entire plan. Calling them baby and saying they were falling right into his trap. I don’t know whoheis.”
Capone brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You’re doing so good, baby girl,” he praised. She was. She was being so fucking brave for reliving that horrible dream. For reliving what could have come true had she not woken up in time to warn Capone.
I took another hit from the blunt before forcing her to as well. Capone shot me a thankful look, which eased some of my discomfort that the weed couldn’t melt away on its own. “My dream suddenly flashed to you. You were easing along a motel wall. The place was a dingy yellow with peeling, dark green doors, and the lot had weeds growing in the cracks of the asphalt.” Capone’s face tightened, and that was all the confirmation I needed to know that was the exact place he’d just been at.
I swallowed vomit.
“Hawke and Brewer—I don’t know where they were. You were alone. I think you heard something. I was screaming at you to stop, but you couldn’t hear me.” Her breath hitched, and a tear ran down her cheek. Capone tightened his hand on her thigh just as I squeezed her hand. “You opened the door and stepped inside the room with your gun drawn, but it didn’t matter.”
Fuck. My leg began to bounce. Rider moved closer and clamped his hand on my knee, his fingertips biting into my flesh. It soothed me a little, the pain giving me something else to focus on besides the turmoil raging inside of me.
“They hit you with the door, surprising you, and you stumbled. Then, someone wearing a mask rushed out from behind the door with a knife.” Tears leaked down her cheeks, but she wasn’t panicking this time, which meant the weed was doing its job. “I don’t know what happened after that. I woke up.”
Everyone was on edge after hearing what she had to say, and it made me sick to my stomach. We all could have lost Capone today. Fuck, we could’ve lost Hawke and Brewer, too, and it made me feel violently ill. My hands shook. I sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing my eyes shut.
I felt useless. Twisted inside out. I could have lost three men that I desperately needed in my life.
Capone quickly grabbed April, tucking her head into the curve of his neck, and then Tank was yanking me up from my chair and holding me tight in his arms. “Breathe,” he quietly ordered. He cradled the back of my head, massaging my scalp. “Breathe, boy.”
I drew in a shaky breath, my chest fucking hurting. Someone took my blunt from my fingers, and I curled my hands into Tank’s shirt, using him to ground myself. I was panicking; I knew that. Unfortunately, these fucking attacks just had to run their course. My breathing was ragged, and every breath fuckinghurt.
My body trembled, my teeth chattering. Tears streaked down my cheeks. For what felt like forever, I thought I was fucking dying.
“Fuck,” I croaked once my breathing had regulated and I didn’t feel like someone was stabbing my lungs with a fucking knife. But now I was exhausted, my mind sluggish and my body tired. My eyelids drooped a little, and my body felt weak.
Tank buried his face in my hair, holding me even tighter, somehow knowing I needed his physical support as much as I did his emotional. “They’re safe, Smokey,” he promised. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “They’re fucking safe.”
Tell that to my nightmares tonight.
