Flawed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #6

by Ames, Jessica

“You are?”

  “Yeah, kid. If you need help, you call me or you call Dean. We’re always here.” I let out a breath, unsure what the fuck is coming out of my mouth. This isn’t me. I’m not the advice guy. I’m the ‘get drunk and dance on the pool table’ guy. “Let’s go get your sister, yeah?”

  He nods slowly. “Okay.”

  We step out of the police station’s main doors and into the cold night. I gulp down the chilled air, glad to be outside once more, breathing free. Jesse, I notice, does the same.

  “I didn’t think I was ever getting out,” he says after a moment, his head tipped back to look at the sky. It’s a little overcast, but there are some stars piercing the blanket of darkness.

  “I told you I’d fix it.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But what?”

  He shifts his shoulders, his hands digging into his pockets again. “People promise shit all the time, but they don’t stick to their word. I figured you’d be the same.”

  Jesus, fuck. I let out a breath. “Kid, if I ever tell you something, I’ll do it. I don’t break my word.”

  He stares at me a beat, trying to fathom if I’m telling the truth, then he says, “Okay.”

  All righty then…

  Progress? I’m not sure.

  I rub my hands together. It’s not frosty tonight, but there’s definitely a wintry feel to the air. No white Christmas in Kingsley this year, which seemed to dismay Piper earlier. Since her abduction, she’s embraced Christmas like it’s lifesaving driftwood. Honestly, I’m starting to think having the holiday to focus on is the only thing keeping her together after her shit show with Merrick. That bastard really did a number on her—although he didn’t live long enough to celebrate it.

  I’m glad it hasn’t snowed. I hate being confined to a cage. It’s still cold enough to freeze your arse off when riding, though, if you’re not properly attired, which Jesse is not. He’s wearing a sweater that finishes sooner than it should on his wrists, and jeans that look on the wrong side of threadbare. My irritation sparks, but I push it down. This isn’t the time or the place to have a meltdown about the state of the teen’s clothing.

  I have a spare hoodie in the saddlebag that I keep for when it’s cold and I need more layers. He can put that on. It won’t keep him as warm as a jacket would, but it’ll do in a pinch.

  As we approach my Harley, Jesse lets out a, “Whoa! We’re going on your bike?” His voice goes up an octave, making him sound prepubescent.

  “Unless you fancy walking across town.”

  He shakes his head and I see the excitement ripple across his face. This makes me grin. I feel that same thrill every time I get on my bike, but his enthusiasm stokes my own.

  “Do you like riding, Jesse?”

  “I’ve never done it before.” He stares at the bike in awe.

  She is a beauty. Dean customised her for me when I got my patch. I’ll save up some more and get a few extra jobs done on her when I can, but she rides like a dream as it is.

  “Seriously? You’ve never been on a bike at all?” Jesse has been with us for over half a year and he’s never ridden?

  This is criminal.

  “Nope.”

  I dig in the saddlebag and pull out the sweater, which I hand to him. “Put this on.”

  He slips it over his head and although it doesn’t drown him because he’s tall, it does hang off his skinny frame.

  I hand him the helmet. I only have one with me, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear it and leave him unprotected.

  “This too.”

  He pauses, twisting the helmet between his hands. “Do I have to?”

  “You want to get on my bike, then yeah, you have to.”

  I watch his drawn brow furrow as he places it on his head and fastens the strap under his chin. It’s also too big for him, but it’s better than nothing.

  “Okay, kid, instructions on how to be a good passenger. Listen carefully.”

  I run down the safety notices with him, making sure he understands everything he needs to do to keep him and me safe. When I’m sure he’s clear, I throw my leg over the bike.

  “Where’s your helmet?” he mutters, sounding like a bratty teen.

  “Just get on the fucking bike, Jess.”

  He grumbles, but climbs on how I told him. Once he’s securely sitting behind me, I start the bike up. It roars beneath us, rumbling and vibrating, which makes him let out a squeak of excitement.

  “Hold on,” I say over my shoulder.

  Jesse grips onto me so tightly I’m sure he’s leaving bruises along my clavicle, but I don’t say anything. The first time riding can be scary.

  I hit the throttle and we’re moving. He makes a noise again close to my ear that has me grinning. I’ve barely opened my girl up yet. Wait until we hit the open road.

  The streets are dead, even though it’s not that late in the evening. Most people are probably home, enjoying their post-Christmas food haze. It’s just as well because riding around without a helmet is probably not the smartest idea, but I didn’t consider I might have to give Jesse a lift. I thought I would bail him out and then go on my merry way. There’s no way I can leave now, though. I need to make sure him and his sister are safe. Maybe I can take both kids to Liv’s work. Sunshine is the assistant manager at a domestic violence shelter. I know it is a woman’s shelter, but I’m sure they’ll take in two teenagers.

  I pull the bike into the car park and into a space near the entrance of the hospital. I wait for Jesse to get off the back before I kick down the stand and climb off myself. Then I secure the helmet to the back of the bike.

  “Holy shit balls.” Jesse dances on the spot. “That was amazing.”

  “Yeah, there’s no other feeling like riding.”

  His grin fades. “You know, you don’t have to come with me, right?” Jesse tells me, raking his fingers through his messy scruff of hair. “I can find Chloe myself.”

  I ignore him. No way in hell am I leaving him to do this on his own, and I’m not letting two defenceless kids deal with a violent father.

  “Inside,” I order, jutting my chin in the direction of the hospital’s entrance.

  He puts his head down, grumbling about how stupid I’m being, but I ignore him. I might be an irresponsible ass in all aspects of my life, but I’m not that far removed that I can just walk away here.

  I glance around the foyer of Kingsley General, a weight settling in my gut. I’m starting to hate this bloody place. I feel like I’ve spent too much time here as it is. In fact, if I never saw the inside ever again, it would be too soon.

  Grabbing Jesse’s bicep, I tug him in the direction of the main reception desk. There’s a blonde woman maybe my age sitting behind it. She gives my kutte a glance before bringing her attention to my face. Her smile is forced when she asks how she can help us.

  I ignore her rudeness.

  “We’re looking for his sister. Chloe Allen.”

  She taps a few things on her screen and says, “She’s in our Accident and Emergency department.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter at her, before I turn Jesse away from the desk.

  It’s obvious how much time I’ve spent in this place lately, because I turn in the direction of A and E without having to use any of the signage.

  Jesse doesn’t say much as we navigate the maze of corridors, the sterile environment grating on my nerves, but then the kid rarely opens his mouth anyway. Today might be the longest conversation I’ve ever had with him.

  The Accident unit is on the far side of the hospital, so it takes us a little time to get over there. At the desk, I ask about Chloe Allen again and we’re told to take a seat in the waiting area.

  After a few moments, a nurse appears and takes us to one of the cubicles.

  When she pulls back the curtain, I expect to see a young girl around Jesse’s age sitting on the trolley. This is not what I see. Chloe Allen is not a teenage girl. For some reason, I figured Jesse’s sister
was younger than him. She’s not. She’s maybe twenty, twenty-one with flaming red hair and soft green eyes, one of which is swollen to half-mast. On her forehead, there’s an ugly-looking cut held together with steri-strips.

  I’ve been with a lot of women, and lusted after a lot more, but Chloe Allen is in another league entirely. Even with the bruising, she’s stunning.

  She nearly knocks me on my arse.

  I’m in trouble.

  Chapter Two

  I try not to stare at her, but even with a steadily swelling face and eye, it’s clear to see the beauty beneath. Her porcelain skin makes her copper coloured hair all the more vibrant and I want desperately to wrap my fist in it while I’m taking her from behind. She’s a picture of perfection, like an ethereal creature, sitting on the edge of the trolley, her feet dangling in the air.

  Fuck me.

  My cock is shifting in my jeans, pressing against the zip painfully. If it wouldn’t look completely creepy, I’d readjust, but I don’t want to look like a perv, not when she’s already been through hell.

  Instead, I scan an eye over her, taking in her injuries while communicating with my dick to cool its fucking jets. This is a bad idea for a different reason, because as soon as I stop thinking about my cock and where I want to put it, I realise how bad her bruises are and it pushes my anger to critical levels. That someone would lay a finger on a woman has my rage flaring.

  I watch as her eyes rise to take in her brother. The relief on her face is a hit to the gut. I wish I’d had someone to take care of me when I was his age. Her relief fades as her gaze slides to me. I expect to see fear, uncertainty there, but she merely seems… curious.

  Keeping my eyes locked on her as Jesse slips around the bed, she finally pulls her gaze with what seems like reluctance to glance at her brother.

  Her hands roam over his shoulders and face, wincing at his steadily appearing black eye.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asks.

  Her voice is exactly as I imagined—warm, soft, and feminine—and it makes my dick twitch.

  “Nah, I’m good.” Jesse peers at her bruised face, his expression darkening. “I’m gonna kill him for that.”

  “No, you’re not,” she tells him in a firm voice. “You’re going to leave well alone and let me handle it.”

  They’re both going to leave well alone, because I’m going to handle it. I don’t say anything, though. I just watch the two siblings reunite.

  It’s going to be an explosive one, by the looks of things. Jesse looks ready to pitch a fit and Chloe looks stubborn.

  I watch as his jaw clenches and his hands go into the pockets of the hoodie I gave him. “I don’t need you babying me, Chlo. I can take care of myself.”

  She lets out a frustrated breath, which I understand. I don’t have the patience either for this shit.

  “You’re sixteen, and I know you think that makes you a man, but you’re not. You’re still a child. Let me handle it.”

  “This is his problem too,” I interject. It’s the wrong thing to say, though, because her gaze snaps in my direction, anger firing in her eyes.

  “Would you stay out of this? This is between me and him. And who are you anyway?”

  “Don’t give him shit.” Jesse groans. “Weed got me out of jail and he’s technically one of my bosses. He works at the garage where I’m training.”

  Her eyes flare wide at him. “You called your bloody boss to tell him you were in jail?”

  Jesse shrugs. “I didn’t know what else to do. I needed to get out of there and make sure you were okay.”

  She drags her fingers through her hair, her body snapped straight. I find my eyes magnetised to her copper hair and how it shimmers in the light, changing colour as she moves.

  “It’s not your job to take care of me, Jess.”

  “I’m your brother,” is his only response, but it makes a sense of pride flare in my chest. He’s not one of us, but with an attitude like that, he’d make a hell of a Saxons.

  Chloe turns to me. “I’m sorry you got caught up in this, but let me assure you what happened tonight was not his fault, Weed. Please don’t let him go from the apprenticeship programme.” Her forehead wrinkles, as if realising what she’s just said. “Weed? That’s not your real name, is it?”

  I snort. “Fuck no.” My real name is Noah. I loathe it because it reminds me of a time in my life when I was weak and had no power. “Weed’s my road name—a kind of nickname in the Club.”

  Her eyes roll.

  “I dread to think why.”

  Jesse snickers.

  It’s exactly what she’s thinking. When I was younger, I smoked a lot of weed—I still do. I had to do something to keep the demons at bay, and marijuana was cheaper and easier to get hold of than any other drug. A lot of my pals smoked it, too, so we’d sit around all day and get high. If I was lucky, at the end of the night I’d get a sofa to sleep on, but more often than not the buzz kept me going while I bedded down in a doorway somewhere.

  When I first joined the Club, I used to tell my brothers the reason I had no brain to mouth filter was because of all the weed I smoked as a teen, but it was because I never had a single adult to teach me social cues. Weed stuck, though. It became my road name and it wasn’t going anywhere because I didn’t like it or want it, so I shrugged it off and embraced my new name. It was the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere—truly belonged somewhere.

  I don’t tell Chloe any of this, though. I keep my mouth closed and just fix her with a grin.

  “Well, thank you for helping him out, Weed. I was about to be discharged and was planning on heading down to the police station as soon as I was, but I feel better knowing there was someone with him. They wouldn’t let me leave until they scanned my bloody head.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her.

  She nibbles on her lip and I watch the scrape of her teeth over the plump surface, a little mesmerised by the movement.

  “I can’t believe you got caught up in our drama, and on Christmas Day no less. Your family must be annoyed with you having to come out like this.”

  “I don’t have any family. Just my Club brothers and their old ladies.”

  That’s not entirely true. My dad is still out there, serving time at her Majesty’s pleasure. I haven’t clapped eyes on him since I was a kid. I can barely remember anything about him, but my mum’s memory is seared into my brain. Age and time means it’s faded now, like an old photograph, and I’m not sure if the recollection I have matches how she actually looked.

  “Well, thank you anyway. I was worrying about what happened to him. Are they pressing charges?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “The Club’s brief sorted things.”

  “Oh God.” She grips the edge of the bed, her head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. “What a mess.”

  She can say that again.

  “What do we owe you for the legal aid?”

  “Nothing,” I tell her.

  She arches a brow. “Solicitors aren’t free. What do we owe you? I don’t have much, but—”

  “I said nothing.” Sensing this is going to get heated, I dig in my jeans pocket and pull out a five pound note, which I hand to Jesse. “Why don’t you go and see if you can get a drink from the machine in the waiting room?”

  He rolls his eyes. “If you want me out of the way, so you can talk to my sister, just say.”

  “Okay I want you out of the way so I can talk to your fucking sister. Get going.”

  Chloe’s nose wrinkles, whether at my tone or my words, I’m not sure. “Jesse, you don’t have to—”

  She breaks off as he takes the money and ducks around the curtain. Chloe glares at me. “You’re not his parent. Don’t tell him what to do. I don’t want him far from me with this crap going on.”

  “He’ll be fine.” I fold my arms over my chest and appraise her. “Do you want to tell me what happened tonight?”

  Chloe stares at me, as if tr
ying to decipher if I’m serious or not. She must gauge from my face I am, because she says, “I don’t know how that is your business. It’s a private family matter.”

  “Your brother works for the Club, which makes him, for all intents and purposes, family. No one fucks with our family—not without retribution.”

  The colour drains from her face a little, taking the natural flush from her cheeks. “You can’t touch him. Weed, promise me you won’t hurt my father.”

  “Well, that depends on what you tell me he did.” I jut my chin at her. “Did he give you that shiner?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I can’t promise he’s not going to get hurt in return.” And I can’t. I despise violence against women—no surprise, considering what my father did to my mother.

  Her scowl says more than words could, but she gives me those too. “I don’t need you to save the day. I’m perfectly capable of handling things.”

  I lean into her, bending at the waist, so I’m at her eye level. “So you just walked into his fist willingly, eh? Or did you give yourself that black eye? Because I’ve got to say, sweetheart, that doesn’t look like you handled shit.”

  Her chest rises and falls in sharp pants, but she doesn’t back away from me. I don’t like that I’m scaring her, so I step back and give her a little space.

  “We’re not your problem,” she tells me quietly.

  “As of right now, I’m the only problem you’ve got. Your father is a piece of shit, Chloe, and I’ve seen what happens when people think they can handle this type of thing. It never ends well. That means I’m not walking away and letting you or that kid handle this.” She stares at me, her eyes a little wide, but I don’t give her a chance to respond or find her words. “Men who resort to using their fists instead of their words can’t be changed, darlin’. That rage is embedded in them, that darkness can’t be rooted out. Your dad has tasted violence and that’s in him now forever.”

  “Weed…” Her voice cracks and I’m not sure if she’s imploring me to stop or begging me to spill more.

  It doesn’t matter. “Do you both have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”

  If not, they’re coming with me to the clubhouse. I don’t care whether Derek and Slade will pitch a fit. I can’t leave them.