Chapter Three

Cars moved along at a crawl on the main road through Seaglass Cove. Dio veered to the left, riding the middle line, passing the vehicles at a standstill. There was no accident or stalled car holding them back. It was tourists, gawking at all the shops and galleries offered in the coastal town. They all tried to decide where to go while in their car going ten miles per hour.

A driver blasted his horn as Dio passed. He held up his middle finger. Time was a thief. He wouldn't waste the next ten minutes walking his Harley up the street. He took the next right onto the back street where the Havlin Motorcycle Club Parts Shop was located.

The lights were already out. He rode down the alley to the back of the building, where the members parked and could enter the clubhouse.

The number two crew was already back from the security run at the pot shops south of Seaglass Cove. He looked at the line of motorcycles before backing his rear tire to the wall. It appeared he was the first one back from the number one crew who dealt with the cannabis stores going north on Highway 101. They'd all left at different times to avoid drawing any attention.

Jagger pushed out the back door, gazed around, and focused on Dio. His president's arm went up in the air, and he motioned for him.

He threw his leg over the motorcycle, and instead of his boot hitting the ground, his leg buckled, and a sharp pain traveled from his lower back, down his hip, into his thigh.

"Jesus." He caught himself on his Harley and groaned when his muscles spasmed.

He took a step and stretched his back. There was a weakness right above his ass that hadn't been there earlier.

He limped, holding his lower back, and met Jagger at the door.

"You hurt?" Jagger frowned.

"Fucked my back up."

"How?" asked Jagger.

"Getting off the damn bike." He followed Jagger inside and took a chair at the table, slowly lowering himself to the seat. "God damnit, it feels like I'm gonna break in two."

He pushed to his feet. Sitting hurt too much.

"You're getting old." Jagger gave him a pointed look. "Wearing down."

"Still younger than you, Prez." He grunted, trying to work out the spasm.

Jagger scoffed. "Bane's coming with everyone's money for the month. Can you stick around, or do you want to get home and ice your back?"

He wasn't going to jump on his motorcycle without his muscles loosening first. "I'll wait around."

He walked the length of the table, trying to ease the pain.

Brett came inside, followed by Cord and Rush. The rest of his crew had arrived.

Cord slapped Dio on the shoulder. He groaned, catching himself on the back of the chair before his leg buckled.

"What the hell happened to you?" Cord grabbed Dio by the upper arms and helped him straighten. "Did you plant your bike down?"

"Hell no." He grimaced. "I don't know what I did. My lower back all of a sudden feels weak and I have shooting pain down my leg."

"Sciatica." Cord laid his hand on Dio's back and prodded around. "That hurt?"

"No."

Cord was the closest thing to a doctor the Havlin members had. An ex-military paramedic, Cord had doctored them all at one time or another.

"Nothing I can do for you." Cord straightened. "If I were you, I'd call up Maverick's girl and pay her for a massage. Your muscles are seized up, probably pressing on your sciatic nerve."

"What caused that?" He pressed his hand against his back.

"Too many hours sitting your ass on the seat of your Harley."

"Bullshit." He stepped away. "How do I fix it?"

"Stay off your bike." Cord took the band out of his hair and shook his hair loose. "Don't sit down."

"Nothing is going to keep me off my bike," he muttered.

Bane walked out of the hallway, carrying a box. Dio tried to ignore the discomfort and paced the area. As long as he kept moving, the pain down his thigh eased.

"Dio?" said Bane.

"Yeah. Here." He limped over to the head of the table and picked up his stack of money. "Thanks."

"Go home and take care of yourself," ordered Jagger.

He walked off, determined to get home. As it was, he felt weak. Hell, maybe Jagger was right. He was getting old.

The door opened before he reached it. Maverick walked in, took one look at Dio, and frowned.

"Don't ask." Dio continued his hobble toward the door.

"What happened?"

"Told you not to ask." He stopped. "Cord thinks it's my sciatic nerve or some shit."

"Damn, brother." Maverick held the door open. "I feel you. It happened to me six months ago."

"How did you fix it?"

"Skye." Maverick's gaze softened. "Her hands are magic. She had me up and riding in two days without any pain."

Right now, he and Skye needed space. Maybe then, she'd forget what she saw the other night.

"Speaking of Skye, did you talk with her?" asked Maverick.

"Yeah. We're good."

Maverick dipped his chin. "Appreciate it."

He stepped away. It'd been a long day, made worse by hurting his back. All he wanted to do was go home and crash.

He lifted his foot off the ground at his bike and almost fell. Depending on his Harley to hold him up, he leaned his upper body on the handlebars and inched his leg up. His boot stuck on the seat. He reached down, grabbed his jeans, and dragged his leg over.

Once seated, he caught his breath. Damn. It felt as if he'd run a mile. The most normal thing—something he had done multiple times throughout the day since he was eighteen years old, now threatened to take him out.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how to get his kickstand up without relying on his right leg to hold the Harley. Luckily, once he got the bike going and his foot on the peg, he could shift without discomfort.

On the way home, he seriously thought about continuing to ride because he felt no pain while in the seat. When he pulled into the driveway, he'd convinced himself that whatever bothered him earlier was gone. He wasn't feeling any discomfort.

He parked in front of the single-story house he'd bought over ten years ago. His hope that whatever was wrong with his back had fixed itself died a swift death as he fell off his Harley and had to drag his ass into the house. Throwing his duffle down, he hobbled to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey.

He was scheduled to ride out on the second shift tomorrow. He wouldn't be able to do shit with the amount of pain he was in.

An hour later, when the whiskey failed to fix him, he called Skye to come over and work her magic on him.