Calder reached for the Blue Horsemen jacket, spreading it out to take the keys out of the pocket. “This is my jacket. As president of the Blue Horsemen and brother, I will always have your back.” Reaper took the second key handed to him. “This is the key to my motorcycle. It’s yours. Stud will put both bikes on a trailer and park them at The Last Riders’ clubhouse tomorrow.”
He recognized the third jacket when Calder put his hand in the pocket and pulled out another key.
“You don’t need me to tell you that this is Viper’s jacket or that The Last Riders will have your back; you already know that.” Calder placed the key in Reaper’s hand.
Reaper could only stare at the jackets and keys. Club presidents didn’t give up their jackets or their bikes.
“Viper said he’s been riding it for you, but that you need to ride your own bike. They want you to know that it’s time to come home.”
Going to his closet, he took out a plain black leather jacket and shrugged it on. He would never be the man who deserved to wear Viper’s jacket.
Clenching his jaw, he picked up the suitcase, leaving Viper to follow. When he’d been admitted to the treatment facility, he had barely weighed one hundred pounds. The doctors had told him it was a miracle his heart was still beating. Reaper didn’t think it was a miracle; he knew his heart no longer existed.
He didn’t look back at the room where he’d endured the agony of withdrawal from Butcher’s concoctions. It had taken him months to regain enough strength to leave on his own steam. Without, Calder and Killyama’s mother, he would have been wheeled out on a coroner’s gurney.
It had been a long, hard struggle to fight the addictive drugs he’d been poisoned with for years. Slate might not have given a fuck if he ate or drank every day, but he had made sure something was pumped into a vein to keep him under his control.
His saving grace was the determination to rebuild the body that Slate had done everything in his power to destroy. Each day he spent in rehab, after he’d been strong enough to start exercising again, was used to strengthen his muscles. Eating enough calories to fuel the workouts had been the hardest part. He hated to admit it, but taking small bites had worked. Gradually, he’d grown stronger until he was able to tolerate longer workouts, and the increase in calories was restoring his haggard appearance. He weighed more now than when he had been kidnapped, muscles defined and sculpted with the challenging workout he did twice a day. Peyton had brought four different sizes of clothes for him to wear during his stay. The shirt and jeans he was wearing now were already getting too tight, showing the body underneath was anything but frail.
Walking toward the sliding glass doors, it still felt as if one of his captors was waiting to snatch him back. He hadn’t talked to Viper about where he planned to live to rebuild his life. Each time Viper brought it up, Reaper shut it down. He had only one thing on his mind and until that was taken care of, there was no need to think of what was going to happen next.
Coming to a stop before the doors activated, he was about to ask Viper for his gun—he didn’t want to go out in the open without a weapon—when Killyama and Peyton came through the door.
As the women walked toward him, he thought about how, if they hadn’t claimed the relationship, he wouldn’t have believed they were mother and daughter. Killyama was twice the height of her mother; Peyton was petite. While both women were feminine, the mother would catch a man’s eye, and Killyama would knock his socks off. Their personalities were just as different. Peyton exuded caring and mothering, and neither of those traits applied to Killyama.
When Killyama visited him at the rehab center, he expected the same tenderness and kindness she had shown when she carried him out of the Road Demons’ clubhouse. That wasn’t what he’d gotten.
She was a smart-ass with a quick tongue that could shred a man to pieces with one word. Earning Killyama’s love, Train deserved another medal to go along with those he’d earned in the military that decorated his uniform.
Peyton gave him a misty smile as she grew closer. “You look fantastic.”
Bracing himself, he didn’t pull away when Peyton reached out to hug him. Uncomfortably hugging her back, he looked down at the small woman who helped him through the worst of his withdrawals. She and Calder had taken turns staying with him, giving him encouragement when he needed it, and giving the brutal truth that it was going to get a lot worse before it got better.