Flawed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #6

by Ames, Jessica

  A man who has no qualms about slugging both his kids with his fists.

  That thought makes my ire rise and I have to keep a tight hold on it. I need to control my temper, but when it comes to these two and anything touching them, I can’t seem to.

  I pay the cab fare, which Chloe rails against again, and tell the driver to keep the engine running.

  “We shouldn’t be long.”

  I hope those words are true. I don’t want to beat the living snot out of their father in front of them, but if he gives me shit, I will. And the way my anger is settling right now, I’m not sure I’d stop either.

  Straightening my kutte as I climb out and join the other two, I say to Chloe, “You’re waiting here. I’ll take Jesse inside.”

  She gawks at me and I see the irritation growing behind her eyes. “No way in hell am I waiting in the car, Weed.”

  My teeth grit. The stubbornness of this woman drives me insane. It’s also the thing I like most about her.

  “I can’t protect you and him, and since I need him to get what he needs, you’ve pulled the short straw,” I tell her, then order, “Stay here.”

  Her mouth opens then closes, her arms folding over her chest. “You don’t get to boss me about.”

  “Okay, but you’re still staying here.”

  Her exasperation would be adorable, if I wasn’t so pissed off at her bullheadedness right now. “Fine!”

  Grabbing Jesse’s shoulder, I steer him towards the house. I can feel the tension coming off the teen and it makes my blood boil. He’s frightened of being here, although he’s doing a good job of hiding the fact. He shouldn’t have to fear his father. No kid should and if I ever have kids, mine will never fear me.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I reassure him softly, as we make our way down the path to the front door.

  The front yard looks like it’s never seen a lawnmower and the flowers have gone wild, growing where they want. As I peer up at the house, I see all the curtains are closed at the front. I’m not exactly Mr Domestic, but if I had a child, I’d make the effort to create a good living space for him or her. This fucker isn’t even trying.

  Jesse’s Adam’s apple bobs a little as he swallows hard, pulling his gaze from the house. “I know you’ll keep me safe.”

  “Good. Just stay close to me, okay?”

  Jesse nods and seems a little more confident as we make the final few steps to the front door. He puts his key in the lock and twists. I don’t let him enter first. I step in front of him and push through the door and he follows on my heels, keeping close as I asked.

  As I get my first look around Jesse’s home, I feel like I might erupt. The house is a disaster. It’s dirty and there’s stuff everywhere. In all honesty, it looks like it’s been ransacked.

  Fuck me, was he living in this squalor?

  I’m glad his sister has taken him in, because no one should have to live in this shithole. Stepping through the mess, I check the downstairs rooms and find them empty.

  There’s no sign of their father.

  It’s probably just as well because right now, I might throttle him.

  “Where’s your stuff kept?” I ask, trying to keep control in my voice. Even I can hear it sounds rough like sandpaper.

  “Upstairs, in my wardrobe.”

  “Okay.” I move towards the stairs and lead him up them.

  I check the three rooms and once I’m sure they’re clear, I let him take me back into what I assume is his bedroom. It’s the only semi-tidy space in the whole place. It’s clear he’s tried to keep a semblance of order in his life, even if it is only in this small space.

  And his room is small. It’s a box, really. It must be six-foot by six-foot. He barely has space for a wardrobe and side table with the bed.

  Everything in it looks old and battered, drab and dreary as fuck.

  I grit my teeth. “Pack anything else you want, kid. You’re not coming back here.”

  He shifts a little. I’m not sure if he’s embarrassed by the fact this is his life or if he is uncomfortable being here. It doesn’t matter. I meant what I said—he’s not coming back here.

  Jesse’s gaze roams the room before he goes into the bottom of the wardrobe and grabs a tatty looking holdall. He then starts to shove stuff into it, including a cardboard shoe box that I assume holds his documents.

  It takes him less than a minute to collect together his meagre belongings. It makes me want to hurt his father more. How do you let your kid live like this?

  “Ready to roll?” I ask.

  He takes a final glance around the space, checking he has everything or saying goodbye to a life he’s leaving behind, I’m not sure which.

  “Yup,” Jesse says finally. “That’s everything.”

  I lead him back downstairs and wait while he locks the house up, although why he bothers, I don’t know. The place already looks like it’s been burglarised.

  Chloe is standing in the open back door of the taxi as we start down the path towards her, her expression an unreadable mask that doesn’t slip until her brother is within touching distance of her. Then she lets out a breath.

  “No sign of Dad?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “The house was clear.” I leave out the fact it was a disaster. I’m guessing Chloe is aware of the fact, considering she was here herself yesterday.

  Getting them both back in the taxi, I climb in the passenger seat myself. I’m glad their father didn’t turn up. What I have to say to him needs to be done in private.

  Why are you getting involved in something that isn’t your business?

  Because Jesse’s a Club employee and a kid.

  That’s reason enough, right?

  Wrong. It’s not my place nor my business, but for some reason I’m making it both.

  I shake my head, trying to clear and order my thoughts. I don’t have time nor the inclination to get involved in this shit. I did my bit—I made sure the kid is safe with his sister. That’s all I need to do.

  I’m nobody’s white knight.

  When the taxi pulls up outside their building, I’m edgy and wanting to run. I hate that feeling, because it makes me feel like a pussy who can’t face his own life, but the need to get out of this—whatever the fuck this is—is greater. It feels too close, too familial.

  “Thanks again, Weed,” Jesse says, making me feel even fucking worse for having these feelings.

  I mutter, “Don’t mention it, buddy.”

  He rubs at the back of his neck, as if sensing the fact my thoughts are in turmoil. “I guess I’ll see you back at work in the New Year.”

  “Yeah, you will.”

  Chloe hands him the keys to her flat. “Let yourself in. I just need a quick word with Weed.”

  She ruffles her brother’s hair which earns her a groan.

  “Easy on the merchandise, Chlo.”

  “You have him talking like you,” she says once he’s disappeared into the building.

  “Not my doing, but I’m pretty awesome, so I’m not surprised.” I grin at her, even though I don’t feel like joking. I’m putting on the mask I’ve worn for so long now, I don’t remember who the real Noah Williams is. It’s the mask that people are comfortable with, though—the joking, laughing version of me.

  Her eyes roll in her head. “Seriously, he doesn’t need any more encouraging.”

  She’s not wrong. Jesse is a sponge. Besides, the last thing anyone needs to do is emulate me. I’m no good for anyone.

  I hold up my hands in supplication. “Not my doing.”

  This makes her chuckle before she turns serious again.

  “I know I’ve said it like a thousand times already, but I really can’t thank you enough for taking care of Jesse and me.”

  Yeah, I really need to get back in the waiting cab and get the fuck out of there, but my feet don’t move and the words coming out of my mouth are not the words I should be saying.

  “You just make sure that boy has everythi
ng he needs.”

  She glances at the flat and sighs. “Believe me, if I’d known this was going on before now, he wouldn’t have set foot in that house ever again. Jesse’s good at hiding things.”

  I can understand that. I was a master of that myself.

  “Just… stay safe, okay? Give me your phone.”

  She blinks at the command. “What?”

  “I need to program my number in.”

  Hesitantly, she hands it over. As I tap in my number and store it in her contact list, I can’t believe I’m doing it. I don’t want to be involved in their domestic shit.

  But before I hand it back to her, I say, “You have any more problems, you call me. Any time, Chloe. Do you hear me?”

  Clutching her phone to her chest, she says, “Thanks.”

  I want to say more, to ask her if I can see her again, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not right for her. I’m not right for anyone. The blood in my veins is partly Wesley Williams, which means I’m capable of the shit he was. I won’t bring that to her door, to anyone’s door.

  So, I mutter, “See you later, Chloe.”

  Then I get back into the cab.

  “Where to pal?” the driver asks.

  I give him the address of the clubhouse and he pulls the car away from the kerb. The heavy feeling in my chest doesn’t dislodge until there’s distance between me and Chloe, but I still watch her in the side mirror. She doesn’t move from where I left her as we drive off and I don’t take my eyes from the mirror until she’s out of sight.

  Chapter Four

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Derek collars me the moment I step back inside the clubhouse. He’s sitting in the foyer on the beat-up sofa that’s been there as long as I’ve been with the Lost Saxons, absently picking at a loose thread, and he looks pissed.

  As the Club’s president, I’ll do whatever he asks of me, but he’s not my keeper. I don’t have to tell him shit about where I’ve been or why. It’s not his business.

  His tone irritates me for that reason, but I hold my tongue. Getting into it with Derek will only have one loser—me. Besides, the way he’s looking at me, I’m guessing he already knows where I’ve been.

  I’m not big on lying, mainly because I’m not apologetic for what I did, so I rub the back of my neck and admit, “I was at the police station.”

  Derek nods. “Do you want to tell me why?”

  I feel like a naughty kid caught sneaking back into the house after curfew. Derek probably had a call from Rawlinson, bitching about having to come out on Christmas Day. Fucking snitch.

  “If I say no are you going to lose your mind?”

  His eyes flash with anger. “Quit fucking around and just tell me.”

  I let out a breath.

  “The kid who works at Moor Street got himself into a bind. I went to bail him out, which I’m guessing you already know.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you pissed off I used the Club’s brief?”

  He shakes his head. “I couldn’t give a shit about that. I’m pissed off you didn’t talk to me before you used Rawlinson’s services.”

  He comes off the sofa and stalks towards me, a homicidal rage in his expression. The look on his face scares me a little, so I brace my feet, unsure what the hell is about to happen. I can take a punch with the best of them, but I’m not sure I can take a punch now without punching back. This would be a bad idea.

  When he’s inches from my face, he seizes the front of my kutte and drags me towards him. It takes everything I have to keep my hands fisted at my side.

  “Kid, let me clue you in here. This Club and everything in it—including you—belongs to me. If you need something, you ask. You don’t just take.”

  “I don’t belong to anyone, Derek,” I say quietly, and brace when he lets me go with a shove.

  I keep my feet barely, using the wall to steady myself, and watch as he paces the floor, tearing his hand through his hair. What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s not usually this handsy or angry.

  “You belong to the Club! That’s the fucking deal you made when you took that patch.” He pauses in his pacing to smack me roughly in the chest over the area where my club patch sits. “This means you don’t get to do whatever the fuck you want, dickhead.”

  I grit my teeth. I want to shove him back out of my face. In fact, the urge is so overwhelming, I have to fold my fingers into fists. I can’t deal with him being in my grill like this, but I know lifting a finger against him will make things worse for me, so I don’t move.

  Instead, I grind out, “I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

  “Well, that was your first mistake—not thinking. If you need to use Club resources again, you ask. I’m tired of everyone doing whatever the fuck they want lately.” He pokes a finger in my chest. “Listen and listen good—and you can tell everyone in the peanut gallery this as well—this isn’t a democracy, kid. You fuckers do what I say when I say it. The next brother who doesn’t stick to that is out the fucking door. Do you understand?”

  Lips pulled into a tight line, I mutter, “Yeah, Derek, I understand.”

  “Good.”

  He barges past me and I watch as he slams through the doors into the main part of the building, muttering to himself.

  What the fuck?

  I get the feeling that was about more than me using the Club’s solicitor. Given how things have been lately, I’m not sure I blame him. Everyone has been playing the Lone Ranger. Dean and Wade went behind everyone’s backs to investigate who sold out the Club. They didn’t take it to Derek, which has to irritate him. It would piss me off if I was in charge and my brothers were running around behind my back investigating other brothers.

  As a result of that little escapade Wade nearly got dead and Tap actually got dead, no thanks to Slade.

  Our vice president is a legitimate psychopath. What he did to Tap was sick. I’m all for dealing with traitors, but he didn’t give anyone the time to examine the evidence. Instead, he played judge, jury and executioner.

  Just as the dust was starting to settle from all that shit, Jem took off in search of Piper without running that shit past Derek.

  Now, I’m using Club resources without so much as a question if it’s okay.

  Yeah, I can see why Prez is pissed off with everyone’s antics lately, but I’m not sure why the fuck I’m getting the brunt of that rage.

  “You okay?”

  I turn as Dean strides through the doors behind me, carrying a pastel green bag over his shoulder that looks suspiciously baby-related. Don’t get me wrong, his kid is cute, but he’s just a baby. Everyone has lost their collective minds over Lawler Junior.

  Yeah, then why do you envy him so much, arsehole?

  Because I can never have what Dean has. I don’t trust myself. That same anger rages through me. I don’t let it out of the box often, but when I have, it’s scared the fuck out of me.

  Still, I ignore the pang of jealousy I feel every time I see that kid with his family. Danny will always know love and safety. He’ll always have two parents who will walk through hell for him. I never had that, and I’m not sure I can give it either.

  “I just got my arse reamed out by Derek,” I admit.

  His brows draw together. “What did you do?”

  My reputation as a troublemaker, it seems, precedes me.

  I shrug then say, “Bailed Jesse out of jail using the Club’s solicitor.” Considering he’s paid a set fee every month, it’s not like it cost extra, so Derek’s bitching is annoying. “Apparently, we’re not a ‘democracy’.”

  Dean ignores the last part. “Jesse got arrested?” His brows move into his hairline as he asks this.

  “Right, I should probably explain.” And I really should, given Dean manages the garage and is responsible for signing the kid’s work off as he goes through his apprenticeship. “His father slugged his sister in the face, so he walloped him. The pigs arrested Jesse and not the piece of shit father.”
/>
  I leave out the part where I want to screw Jesse’s sister senseless and that’s fucking with my head. I’m not sure that’s pertinent information right now.

  Dean takes this in without a word or expression. Finally, after a moment, he says, “Are they both safe?”

  “I stayed at the sister’s flat last night, just in case their father decided to exact a little retribution, but it was all quiet. I also helped Jesse clear out his remaining shit and move it to his sister’s flat, but her place isn’t exactly suited for the two of them.”

  Dean’s hand scrubs over his beard.

  “I’ll see what we can do about that.”

  I feel a little relieved to have someone on my side. I don’t like to play alone, not really. Having my brother at my back takes some pressure off me. It also means I can avoid Chloe Allen. Being in her presence is bad for both of us.

  “Was it a one-off?” Dean continues.

  “I don’t think so.” I lean back against the wall, one boot pressing against the plaster, the other flat to the floor. “It’s been going on for a while from what I can gather.”

  A troubled look crosses his face. “It explains a lot.”

  Yeah, it does. More than I’d like.

  “How’d we miss it, Weed?” Guilt drips from his voice, the same guilt I feel punching holes in my own gut.

  “Honestly? Kids get good at covering up when they’re being abused.”

  I know this from my own experience. I was a master at cloaking my bruises from the world and brushing off questions when they came my way. It was only when I couldn’t hide any longer, when my father took a life, that I was finally taken and put into foster care.

  That was a completely different level of hell.

  “It can’t continue,” Dean asserts, his mouth turning down at the corners. “Jesse’s Club now, and nothing touches Club property.”

  I’m grateful that Dean views this situation the same way I do. I expect Derek would too, if he wasn’t being an enormous arse. “I’m planning on paying their father a visit as soon as I’ve showered and eaten.”