Nitro's Torment (Sydney Storm MC 2)

We sat like that for a long time. I wasn’t sure how long it had been when she sat up and said, “I-I need to go.” She stumbled over her words and gulped back a sob.

“Need to know if he—” Her hand flew to her mouth as her face crumpled. “Oh, God.”

Her long hair had fallen across her face so I tucked it behind her ear. “King will come to you when he has news. He knows where you are.”

She blinked a couple of times as she processed what I said. As she did that, her vacant stare seemed to shift and her awareness altered so that she actually saw me. “Who are you?”

“I’m Tatum. You?” I didn’t bother giving her any further details because I figured she was in no frame of mind to even want them. She surprised me, though.

“I’m Evie, Kick’s wife. Are you with one of the guys or a family member?”

“Neither.”

Her forehead crinkled. “Huh?”

“It’s a long story.”

She grimaced. “I have time.”

Yeah, I guessed she did and maybe I could help her pass it. I leaned my head back against the headboard and exhaled. “I’m here because Nitro’s under orders to keep me alive. Silver Hell want me dead, and Storm want me alive because of my ties to a guy they’re in business with.”

“Why do they want you dead?”

“One of their guys murdered my brother. I was involved in his death recently and they found out.” The words came out clinically as I stared straight ahead and concentrated on keeping my mind as blank as the wall I was looking at. Concentrated on keeping my sadness at bay.

She reached for my hand and held it. The gesture took me by surprise. Touch was something I’d denied myself for a long time. Well, except for sex, but that didn’t count anymore because that was purely physical. There were no emotions tied to it. Evie’s gesture was bound with emotions and I sucked in a sharp breath. Monroe was my person. My only fucking person. No one else was allowed to breach my walls. And yet, in the space of a few days it felt like my damn walls were being scaled all over the place.

I ripped my hand out of hers at the same time the door flung open. Nitro entered in a gust of caged energy, his eyes wild, his face covered in blood, his clothes torn and dirty. He came to a sudden stop when his eyes landed on us.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his chest rising and falling with hard thuds.

Evie bolted forward in the bed, scrambling in her haste to get to him. “Is Kick—” The words tore from her, cutting off abruptly as if she didn’t know which word to use next.

My soul twisted with an ache I’d never rid myself of at the pain I heard in her voice. That kind of agony would always touch me regardless of my efforts to maintain immunity.

Nitro faltered and his eyes came to mine. Searching. Needing. Unsure. He shoved his fingers through his hair as he shifted his gaze back to Evie. “He’s with the doc.”

I left the bed. Looking up at Nitro, I said, “Evie will be the first to know when there’s news, right?” I wanted him to reassure her of that and hoped he would.

He didn’t let me down. “Yeah.”

Evie, however, seemed anything but convinced. “No… I need to see him now.” She was confused. Disbelieving. Before either of us could stop her, she ran from the room.

“Christ!” Nitro turned to go after her, but I grabbed hold of his wrist to stop him.

“Let her go. She needs to see for herself.”

He frowned. “There’s nothing to see. The doctor is still working on him.”

I nodded. “Yes, and she needs to see and hear that from King.”

He moved past me to the bed, sitting on the end of it. His shoulders hunched and he lowered his chin to his chest. He remained silent until I closed the door behind me. Looking up, he said, “Thanks for looking out for Evie.”

I sat next to him. I wasn’t sure why except that for the first time since I’d met him, he seemed like he needed someone. Even if it was just to sit with him. I stole a glance at his face. It was hard to find skin under all the dried blood. “I take it the other guy lost.”

He held my gaze for a long time before answering me. God, how I wondered what thoughts ran through Nitro’s mind. It felt like he either ran from them or got lost in them, but I wasn’t convinced he was often comfortable with them. Something we had in common. “That depends on your definition of winning.”

I didn’t need him to spell it out for me. And I didn’t push him for more. Instead, I walked into the bathroom. Locating a clean washer in the drawer, I wet it and walked back out to him. Standing in between his legs, I began the task of cleaning up his face.