I rolled that information around in my brain. “And you came to this town to seek their security?”

He shut his eyes tight, as if regretting this conversation. Maybe even regretting meeting me. “Something like that.”

“Goddamn it, why do I have to play guessing games with you?”

“Because I don’t want your life to be in danger,” he bit out. “Simply from associating with me.”

“It’s too late, I’m already involved,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Are you saying your stepfather will come here looking for you?”

“I haven’t seen him in years,” he said. “The club thinks it’s unlikely.”

If the Disciples didn’t think so then why was he under their protection? Unless they were covering their bases—just in case.

“But I know that bloody bastard. I lived with him . . . was forced to do his . . .” He bolted up to his full height, his breath shooting out in hard gasps. “I’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

“We haven’t even finished your tattoo,” I said, alarm rising in my chest.

He stopped in the middle of the room, with his shirt dangling from his fingers.

“At least let me bandage you up,” I said in a soothing tone, trying like hell to help him calm down. I knew there was no use pushing him any further. We were done.

Probably for good.

Sadness sat like an enormous burden on my chest—for Jude, for us, for what he’d had to endure in his life. So much so that he was constantly running and in fear for his life.

As soon as the wrap was applied, he tugged on his shirt, and left without a backward glance.

Chapter Twenty-two

When Jude fled the tattoo parlor the other day, I had a reality check. I’d decided to take a step back and truly consider the enormity of the situation. Jude was in danger, had been for years, and he was hiding out here, under the protection of the Disciples.

What did I really think was going to happen with this guy anyway? Relationships were tough enough without having to constantly look over your shoulder.

Jude was so hot and cold with me anyway. It would be one thing if he was asking me to stick around and work through something, but at every turn he was pushing me away. And maybe that was part of the allure. The fact that he was so mysterious and unavailable.

But given what he’d recently told me about his stepfather, it seemed his physical scars had definitely brought about some emotional cargo as well. How could they not? Maybe that had everything to do with why he continually broke away when we got too close.

I had gotten off early, so I decided to get my head on straight by going for a long ride on my bike. I hadn’t done so in weeks, maybe even months, and it was something I’d always enjoyed. I snapped on my helmet and motored onto the street. I turned left at the light, knowing I needed to ride the length of Clifton Street to get to the freeway entrance.

The heaviness in my chest was already lifting as I drove closer to the marina. Just two more lights and I’d be on the expressway. My foot faltered on the break when I spotted Jude standing at the crosswalk with his backpack and tackle box. In a split second, I decided only to acknowledge him with a tip of my chin and then keep on cruising.

To my surprise, his lips tilted in a smile like he was happy to see me, relieved even. I lifted my hand in a low wave and as I motored past him his forehead grooved in disappointment. In my side view I saw him motion to me, so I pulled into the second driveway of the marina to circle back around.

I pulled alongside him on the curb. “What’s up?”

“I just . . . I haven’t seen you around.”

He noticed that I was staying away. I hated that it brought me comfort and relief.

I shrugged. “You ran out on me, so . . .”

He looked so conflicted that I actually felt bad that I wasn’t being friendlier.

“I’m sorry about that, Cory,” he said. “I’ve never shared any of that with anybody before. I don’t like when you . . .”

“When I pry too much?” I said, unable to hold back my sarcastic tone. “Guess you still think I didn’t have the right to know.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” he said, frustration etched across his forehead. “I was going to say that I don’t like when you’re angry with me.”

That completely threw me for a loop. My fingers squeezed the handlebar until my knuckles was colorless. In his own way, Jude was telling me that he cared. He had already given pieces of himself to me and I wanted to keep them safe. Keep him safe. But he wasn’t allowing me to do that, and that left me unsettled and confused.

I stared at him, unsure of what to say at this point. I didn’t even know where we stood.

“Am I holding you up?” he asked, motioning to the road. “Where are you off to?”

“I was just going for a long ride. To try and clear my head.”

“Want some company?” he asked, his eyes soft and hopeful.

He was reaching out to me and that gesture was hard to resist. “Sure.”

He breathed out in relief. “Give me a few minutes to drop these home, wash up, and pull out my bike.”

“I’ll give you a ten-minute head start.”

I watched him walk across the street to head toward home. Then I parked my bike near the kayak launch and strolled toward the water. I heard a motorcycle engine in the distance and looked up, wondering where it was coming from.