Flawed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #6

by Ames, Jessica

  On silent feet, I move around the side of the building, straightening my kutte as I go.

  Nothing stirs out here, and normally, I would relish the quiet, but tonight it feels like a vast empty space inside me. Something is missing—or rather someone.

  I’m tired of being alone. I want what my brothers have. I want that, but how can I get that when I’m too busy self-destructing? What woman in her right mind would see me as a decent catch? I’m a fucked up, burnt out mess.

  As I round the building, the security hut and main gate come into view. Charlie is out of the booth, talking to two figures—two figures I recognise instantly.

  Chloe and Jesse.

  What the hell are they doing here?

  Digging my hands into my jeans pocket, I stride towards them, my mind reeling. Has something happened? They look whole, unhurt, but my heart is still in my throat as I approach.

  Jesse notices me first, and gives me a chin lift. Chloe was right when she said he’s learning from me. I’m not sure how that makes me feel either. I don’t need to be anyone’s mentor. I’m not exactly a good influence.

  She takes a second longer to notice me, and when she does, her eyes go a little softer and under the lights of the security hut, I see her cheeks flush.

  “Hey, Weed.”

  I find myself wondering what it would be like to take her now, in the security hut, on the ground—anywhere. Staring at her, all I can think about is my cock buried deep in her while she moans my name, and fuck me if that isn’t a dangerous thing.

  Thoughts are far more dangerous than actions, because they represent the things we really, truly want. And what I want is her. I devour her with my gaze, and my fingers twitch with the need, the urge, the desire to touch her. I don’t. I won’t either. She’s not mine, despite what fantasies play on repeat in my brain.

  Jesse breaks through the moment with a “Happy New Year.”

  I slide my gaze to him before bringing my attention back to Chloe, and my anger flares. I can’t have her here, in my space, muddling things. I don’t want to feel anything for anyone and she’s making me feel everything.

  This means my response is not so welcoming.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  I watch as her eyes widen and I wish I could take back the words, but it’s too late—they’re out there now.

  Jesse glances down, scuffing the ground with the tip of his shoe, which makes me feel even worse. He lived in hell for God knows how long. He doesn’t need me snapping.

  Chloe is glaring at me like she wants to murder me. I wouldn’t blame her. I’m being a first-class bastard.

  “What’s got your underwear knotted up?” Chloe grinds out.

  I don’t know why, but I like that she doesn’t take my anger lying down, that she challenges me.

  “We were invited.”

  A thousand knives stab at my chest hearing this. Who invited her? It sure as fuck wasn’t me. Has one of my brothers taken an interest in her? I wouldn’t blame them. Chloe is the kind of woman you fight over.

  “Who?” My words are sharp and much terser than I intend.

  “Dean, if you must know.” I relax. Dean would never do the dirty on Liv—not even if it was offered to him. “I was set to decline, but he didn’t really give me the opportunity to.”

  “And we’ve got nothin’ else to do tonight,” Jesse pipes in.

  “Yeah, thanks, Jess. Like I don’t already feel like a sad loser.”

  She’s not a sad anything, but I don’t voice this, mostly because my throat feels like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. Seeing her, having her in my space is doing something to me, something I’m not sure I can deal with.

  Charlie gives me a questioning look, asking without words if he needs to toss them out, but I give a minute shake of my head. No way in hell am I putting her out into the night.

  I scan beyond the gate. I don’t see a vehicle.

  “How’d you get here?”

  “What’s that matter?” she demands, sounding exasperated.

  I don’t blame her. My yo-yoing emotions are giving me whiplash. Fuck knows what they’re doing to her.

  “How, Chloe?”

  “We took a taxi.”

  I relax slightly. Dylan is still out there and while Chloe is probably not on his radar, I’d rather it stayed that way.

  “Inside. Now. Both of you.”

  I give Charlie a lift of my chin in thanks, then usher the pair of them inside the building and out of the cold.

  As soon as we enter the foyer, the heat greets us. Chloe rubs her hands together and blows on them. Why in the fuck doesn’t she have gloves? At least she’s wearing a coat, although it doesn’t look especially warm. It’s one of those fashion type jackets that finishes high on her waist and is skimpy as fuck.

  This makes my jaw clamp.

  Why in the hell do I care?

  I have no idea, but I do. I care more than I want to admit.

  “Is it going to be… rowdy tonight?” she asks, her eyes sliding towards Jesse.

  By rowdy, I guess she means will it be suitable for a sixteen-year-old kid.

  “It’s family only tonight. It’ll be a quiet one,” I assure her.

  I should have been the one to ask her here, not Dean.

  And I have no idea why I think this. It’s not like we’re together. It’s not like I have any claim to her. In fact, half the time, I’m not convinced she’s not plotting my murder.

  Chloe peers up the corridor in the direction of the common room. There’s a low buzz of noise coming from the room, but it definitely sounds a lot lower key than our usual parties.

  “Come on,” I mutter, and lead them into the room.

  Fuck me, this is going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eight

  Chloe spends the evening tucked between Mackenzie and Liv, cooing over baby Danny, while Jesse is over at the pool table getting lessons from some of the guys. I want to be pissed at the fact they’ve turned the clubhouse into some kind of day care centre, but I can’t. This, right here, is family. My family. And it looks like Dean is intent on making the Allens a part of that.

  To be honest, I’m not sure I’m unhappy about this.

  I sip my drink, watching Chloe like a Grade A creeper. She looks great tonight. Her mass of copper hair is in loose waves and her makeup is heavier than usual, making her green eyes really pop. I want to climb her like a tree. My cock has been hard from the moment she took her coat off and revealed her practically painted on jeans and her off the shoulder sequined top. She looks party ready, but somehow full biker babe while retaining her innocence too. It’s making my cock ache. I should go upstairs, have a little right-hand loving of my own and get her out of my system, but I doubt it would help. If anything, it would make things worse.

  When she gets up and heads towards the bathroom, the urge to follow her, to talk to her without an audience is like no feeling I’ve ever had, and even though I know I should keep my distance, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to with a skinful of booze in me.

  I take another sip of my drink, the burn in my throat reminding me I’m still capable of feeling. My gaze slides back to the common room after a minute or so. Logan and Beth are standing near the bar, talking with Liv, Dean and Paige. Wade is in what looks like a fairly intense conversation with Piper, while Adam is in a corner with Cami. From the way he’s looking at her, I have to wonder if something is going on there. Jem is playing pool with Jamie, Sammy and Ghost, while Clara and Slade seem to be having what I’m sure is an argument. They seem to be arguing a fuck ton lately.

  There’s no sign of Chloe, though. She still hasn’t returned, and as the seconds tick by, I start getting twitchy.

  Where the fuck is she?

  How long does it take to have a piss?

  I know women take three hundred years in the bathroom, but this is taking too long.

  I push up and head for the doors, my stomach churning a little. Has something happe
ned to her? Is she okay?

  As soon as I step into the corridor, my blood starts to boil. I see Chloe just outside the bathroom, penned in by Lucas, one of our prospects. The guy is lean, lanky and a total arsehole. He’s also taller than her.

  He’s standing with his hand pressed to the wall near to her head, stopping her from moving, and Chloe seems like she wants to move.

  I thought the phrase seeing red was just that—a phrase—but when she tries to duck under his arm and he moves it lower so she can’t, it’s the colour that floods my vision.

  I’m moving before I even consider what I’m going to do. As soon as I reach him, my hands fist into the back of his kutte—a kutte that is missing the three-piece patch on the back and if I have anything to do with it, will never have it.

  I drag him back hard enough to make him stumble over his own boots and shove him with more force than is necessary.

  As I step towards him, intending to pummel his face, a small hand grabs my bicep.

  Chloe.

  “Weed, stop!”

  “Are you crazy?” Lucas snaps out, readjusting his kutte.

  “Crazy enough to kick your arse, so shut your fucking mouth.”

  “Weed!” Chloe’s exclamation has me turning back to her.

  Lucas brushes his hair back, which is now a little ruffled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I step on your toes?” I growl at him.

  “Why you being such a dick?”

  “I didn’t like what I saw.”

  “Us talking?” he demands, brushing his hands down his kutte.

  “No, you stopping her from leaving.”

  “That wasn’t what happened,” Chloe speaks quietly, her hand tightening on my bicep. I ignore her touch, ignore how it flames through me.

  “I saw it,” I grind out, unsure why she’s defending this little turd.

  Her eyes roll. “I was handling it. I didn’t need you to ride in and save me.”

  I bend a little at the waist, so I’m at her eye level, and say, “You shouldn’t have to handle it. He should back off when you’re giving signals you’re not interested.”

  “She didn’t say shit to me,” Lucas defends, which just makes my rage grow.

  “Her actions said it, fuck nuts,” I fire over my shoulder. Then add, “Why in the fuck are you still here?”

  He digs his hands into his jeans pockets and mutters something under his breath about me being a prick before starting back up the corridor.

  Little bastard.

  Chloe’s hand on my bicep stop me from going after him and lamping him in the chops. God knows why he’s still here. He’s fucking useless.

  “Let it go, Weed. I’m okay.”

  I turn back to her and rake my fingers through the short length of my hair. “I want to kill him.”

  “Why? He didn’t do anything.”

  “He stopped you from leaving.”

  “Yeah, but if you hadn’t rode in like a maniac, I would have told him to move.” She gives me a chastising look. “He’s buzzed and a little slow to get the message, but you overreacted.”

  I don’t think my reaction was proportional enough, but I keep this to myself.

  “You’re standing here with a healing black eye. I’m not letting shit touch you again, Chloe.”

  Her face softens a little, although I see the look of confusion in her expression. I don’t blame her. I’m confused why I’m going all out myself. I’m swinging from wanting to protect her to wanting nothing to do with her. This emotional rollercoaster is not a fun ride for either of us.

  Quietly, she says, “It’s not up to you to save me, Weed. I don’t need it and I don’t want it. I can take care of myself.”

  “No, it’s not up to me, but I’ll keep doing it anyway.”

  I stare at her, my heart pounding in my chest. It would be so easy to just lean down and take her mouth. So easy. Just one dip of my head and she’d be mine. This can’t happen, though. What good am I to a woman like her? No good, that’s what.

  I push away from the wall, realising I’ve bracketed her in the same way Lucas had. Fuck. This time, she doesn’t look disinterested, though, or like she wants me to back off. She looks far too attentive, in fact. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her mouth is slightly parted, showing a hint of white teeth beneath. White teeth that I imagine scraping over the tip of my dick.

  My fingers scrub through my hair as I try and fail to regain my control. Wanting her is bad for us both. I can’t give her the things she deserves, and she can’t give me what I need. Neither of us will play nicely with the other.

  I swallow hard and repeatedly, trying to calm my racing heart as I stare at her.

  “You’re a temptation too far,” I tell her.

  Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you need to forget about me, Chloe. I’m not the one for you. I’m not the one for anyone. I’m a fucked-up mess, and the sooner you realise that, the better for both of us.”

  “Weed, you’re not a mess.”

  I lean down and sniff up the column of her throat, which silences her. I don’t know why, but I need to have one good memory of her. Her perfume is sweet, flora scented and heady. I stay still, scared to move, scared of what I’ll do, scared that I might just take what I want without thought of the consequences.

  With monumental effort, I push back from her. It takes all my strength—more strength than I thought I possessed, but I manage it.

  I meet her gaze, her heavy molten green gaze, and will myself to move back another step. I wobble backwards and then I say, “You’re too good for someone like me. I’ll use you until I’ve had my fill and then I’ll discard you. It’s what I always do. Find someone who will love you as you deserve to be loved, Chloe. That someone isn’t me.”

  And with that parting blow, I turn and walk away from her.

  Chapter Nine

  The rest of the Christmas holiday and New Year passes without note. Getting back to work in the New Year is almost a blessing. I need to be busy. I hate having too much time to think about stuff and most of what I’ve been thinking about is my near miss with Chloe. Walking away, clamping down on any ideas she might have about us was a kindness. I can’t be the man she wants, the kind of man she deserves and seeing the hope in her eyes… it would have been cruel to let her think there could ever be more between us, even if I want to have everything with her.

  I am my father’s son, after all. That rage burns in me. I’m tarred with it.

  I refuse to let it out on anyone else, least of all Chloe.

  I get to the garage early enough to open up and head straight for the reception area to see what jobs we have coming in today.

  Moor Street Garage is just one of the legitimate businesses owned by the Club. We also have a few bars and a construction business. Prez recently acquired a strip club that we ‘liberated’ from the owner. The owner probably doesn’t see it that way, but losing his business was better than the alternative, which was a more permanent solution. Wade was given control of it originally, but Paige is overseeing most of the management these days, leaving Wade to regain control of Venom, our other bar, and freeing Jem to do whatever the fuck Jem does.

  Most of my time is split between fixing engines and going on Club runs. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and I’ll do whatever the Club requires, but I’d rather spend my time worrying about car parts than if the police are going to come knocking. We’ve lost a lot of brothers over the years to our not-so-legal businesses. There’s at least six active members locked up, including Dean’s old man—although he’s not doing time for distributing, but for killing two police officers who raped and murdered his old lady. He’ll never breathe free air again. Killing a copper is pretty much a one-way ticket to jail and I’m sure the screws make him pay for it.

  I have little to do with the construction business nor the bars, aside from drinking in them, although I help out where I’m told. Most of my time is spent between the t
wo garages we own—and mostly the Moor Street Garage. It’s my home away from home.

  Usually, it’s just me and Dean, but recently we took on Jeanne to do the administration until we can find someone more permanent and a couple of kids right out of school: Jesse and a slightly older kid, Miles.

  Dean employed both boys as part of an apprenticeship scheme run by the local college. We get money in exchange for training them, but that’s not why he did it. Being part of the community, showing the good folk of Kingsley we’re not psychopaths in leather and denim, goes a long way when the police are up in our business. Loyalty breeds loyalty, so we do our part to keep the locals sweet—like taking on these two lads, raising money for Liv’s women’s shelter, or keeping the town safe from rival gangs. These things are vital to our survival in this town and for the most part it works. Sure, there are still residents who want us gone, but for the most part the good folk of Kingsley see us as a good thing for the town.

  I head to the back room to change into my coveralls and steel-toed boots I use for working.

  I’ve barely got dressed when I hear one of the internal doors open. Who the fuck is here? It’s not even eight-thirty yet.

  I head out to the main floor, tucking my mobile phone into my pocket and see Jesse standing by the counter on the far side of the room.

  “I must be seeing shit,” I mutter, which gets his attention. He turns to glance over his shoulder at me. “Did you finally figure out how to use an alarm clock?”

  The entire time this kid has been with us, he’s never been on time.

  He rolls his eyes, brushing his hair out of his face. “No. I don’t need an alarm clock. I’ve got Chloe. She was up my ass about being on time. She practically dragged me to the bus stop this morning.”

  I ignore the way her name makes my body jolt, but I can’t help from prying.

  “You and your sister doing okay?”

  “I guess so.”

  My brow cocks. “You guess so? Kid, I’m going to need a little more than that here.”