Vars was breathing hard, and kept clenching his damaged hands again and again. “This isn’t good at all,” he said, as if that much wasn’t obvious already.
“Jake, help me carry him. There might still be some residue on Vars’s hands,” Beast said. He could have lifted Nick himself, but he didn’t want to risk hurting the boy further.
The party atmosphere from earlier had dispersed, replaced by the kind of silence that only accompanied serious loss. It reminded Beast of the mood during that first club meeting following King’s death, before everyone had found out what had really been going on behind the scenes. Nick wasn’t dead, but none of them could predict the consequences of this, and while the boy had hot-headedly attacked the branch, Beast hadn’t warned him what they were up against. He couldn’t have without revealing more dangerous truths about the club, but perhaps he should have made Nick beat someone up to prove his loyalty, after all. Anything but this.
Joker slowly backed the truck away from the tree, but the vehicle gained speed as soon as they reached the dirt road. Beast held Nick still to minimize the constant rattling in the bed of the pickup. No matter how much his body recoiled at the imaginary burn of acid, if whatever was left on Nick’s body hurt Beast, he’d earned it.
When he looked up, his gaze met Knight’s. Neither knew what to say.
At the other end of the bed, Jake kneeled next to Vars. The light on top of the driver’s cabin was directed ahead, but its glow was enough to show Jake slicing his arm open and offering Vars his blood to drink.
Beast had been told what it took for Vars to regenerate, but seeing him latch on to his lover’s forearm with the desperation of a man on the verge of dying from thirst was still disturbing. Beast focused on Nick, constantly checking his pulse or leaning down to listen to his faint, irregular breathing.
Nick was on the cusp of adulthood—just a boy, no matter how cocky, and now his life could be changed forever. He could still be at risk of dying, falling into a coma, or even being taken to the Other Side, for all they knew. And it was all Beast’s fault.
Others had expressed their doubts, but he was bullheaded enough to believe that if they simply pushed on with enough force, they could crush any enemy in their path. Nick was the one suffering, he’d been the one to fearlessly lead the charge, but it could have been either of them. At least, whatever splashed him hadn’t touched the face, so he wouldn’t be disfigured the way Beast had been.
If Nick survived this.
Beast felt sick when he thought back to the way they’d riled Nick up. The boy had been dying to prove himself. In a situation they knew so little about, they should have let him ask some questions, not teased him. After all, they knew Nick was no undercover cop, they knew his pedigree, and his willingness to be a part of their family. He should have never been made to feel like proving himself was a matter of life and death.
By the time they parked in front of the clubhouse, Doc was already there, but so were Rev, Fox, and Laurent. For the briefest moment, Beast wanted to excuse himself with some bullshit and leave the explaining to his VP, but he couldn’t do that. Nick was hurt on his watch, and he deserved all the abuse hurled his way.
He jumped off the truck and stopped Fox from going any farther with a gentle push to his chest. His vision narrowed to his friend’s face, to the eyes widening in panic.
“Nick had an accident,” he said softly, his voice sounding hollow and creating an echo in his head.
“Accident? What— You were supposed to cut fucking branches. How did he—?” Fox’s words died as he looked past Beast, to see his teenage son carried off the vehicle by Joker and Knight. Nick was still unconscious, and the wound that consumed the right part of his chest and neck? It was black as if it had been used for a fire pit.
He called out to Nick and pushed past Beast with a roar. The following minutes were a blur. The doc had Nick taken to one of the guest rooms, and then insisted that everyone else stay outside, which once more left Beast facing his own guilt and Fox.
“What am I gonna tell Violet? He’s still her little boy. She will skin me alive!” Fox yelled, pushing at Beast, and with Nick hurt, Beast felt too guilty to fight back.
“Nick wanted to go,” Jake mumbled, putting his hands into his pockets, his gaze blank.
Beast swallowed. “I’m sorry this happened. There wasn’t anything we could do.”