“It wasn’t me who got shot at, Jem. I’m not the one in danger.”
He stares at me as if I have two heads. “No, but you’ve been seen with the Club.”
My brows arch into my hairline at his words. “So, my coming here put a target on my back? That’s phenomenal.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Actually,” I push up from the bench, snatching my bag and jacket before I start towards the entrance, “that’s exactly what you said. I knew it was a mistake to come here.”
He lets me take two paces before he snags my arm and stops me in my tracks. His touch is like fire radiating through my entire body, and I feel him everywhere.
“Jesus Christ, I didn’t say someone was going to take pot-shots at you from the fucking shrubberies, Piper, but things aren’t exactly level around here still. The last thing I want is for the first thing Wade hears when he wakes up is that his sister’s in a bed next to him.”
His words send a chill racing through me.
I tear my arm free from Jem, and scorch him with a look. My chest is heaving, and not entirely from fear. The man is huge, and he is scary, but he’s also annoyingly attractive. I’m not immune to the fact that he looks like he stepped off the pages of a sexy bad boy calendar, but right now, my fury overtakes the tingles working through my pelvis.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to handle me every time we have a conversation.”
“And I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop acting like such a bitch when all I’m trying to do is keep you safe! This isn’t a joke, Piper. This shit’s dangerous. People nearly died—your brother among them.”
His words annoy me. I roll to my toes, getting into his face, which might not be the smartest thing to do, but God, he’s an arse!
“I don’t need you to keep me safe. I don’t want you to keep me safe either. I don’t want anything from you or your Club. All I want is to see my brother, make sure he’s well and get back to my life.”
He dips his head closer to mine. “Believe me, princess, I’d like nothing more than for you to get back to your life, too.”
I open my mouth to respond, bitter words sitting on my tongue, ready to spit out, when a male voice interrupts us.
“Is this man bothering you, Miss?”
I snap my head to the side in the direction it comes from, ignoring the muttered curse from under Jem’s breath. A chill runs through me as I take in the man standing next to us, watching our argument take place.
He’s around Jem’s age and wearing a black suit that is without a doubt tailored to fit him and not off the rack. I suspect this is to do with his size, rather than out of any desire or status because his shoes are not new nor expensive.
His hair is a messy brown thatch that isn’t wild, but it certainly doesn’t look like he’s styled it to look this way.
He also carries himself with an air of authority that suggests he’s a man used to being complied with.
I don’t know why, but something tells me to tread carefully here. This is compounded when Jem stiffens, and the air goes heavy with tension as the man takes me in with one glance. It’s not salacious, merely curious. It’s a look that sees too much in one sweep, that makes me feel undressed, although not sexually. I feel as if this man unveils all my secrets with a glance. It’s unnerving.
Particularly since I have no idea who he is.
Without meaning to, I move closer to Jem. Seeking comfort, assurance, protection—I’m not sure which—but considering his earlier words, I can’t help but sidle nearer in case this stranger means me harm. Jem obliges, tucking me behind him, and the man’s shrewd eyes narrow as he takes this in.
“Don’t you have things to do, Morgan?” Jem demands, sounding irritated. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing that Jem knows him or not. “I’m sure there are grannies out there that need help crossing the road, babies that have candy to be found…”
The man—Morgan—ignores him, his eyes gliding towards me.
“Is he bothering you?” he asks me again.
I say asks in the loosest sense of the word. It’s a demand, one that I’ve heard before from the mouths of big business men—CEOs and heads of government departments.
Who is this guy?
I tip my head up to look at Jem, who meets my gaze but doesn’t say anything. He keeps his face impassive, waiting to see what I’ll do, what I’ll say. This is a test of sorts, although I’m not sure what I’m being tested on. All I know is better the devil you know, right?
“No,” I say finally. “He’s not.”
My answer doesn’t seem to please Morgan, but Jem beams.
“There you have it,” Jem says. “You’ve done your civic duty, protected yet another damsel. You can be on your merry way now.” I resent being referred to as a damsel, but I surmise it’s better to keep this to myself, particularly when Jem bends at the waist and leans towards Morgan, retorting, “In other words, fuck off.”
Morgan sniffs, his lip curling at Jem. “I’m here to talk to Mr Wade about what happened in the parking garage.”
At these words, my own spine snaps straight. I have no idea where it comes from, but the urge to protect my brother rises in me like a tidal wave.
“Absolutely not,” I tell him.
His eyes cut to me. “And you are?”
“His sister.” I bristle at his tone.
“I wasn’t aware he had one. Your name?”
His tone rubs me the wrong way. Who is this obnoxious arse?
“And who are you? Why do you need or want to speak to him?”
“Detective Chief Inspector Alexander Morgan. Kingsley Police.”
He flips out an identification badge, as if this is supposed to impress me. It doesn’t, although it does send a slight tendril of anxiety through me. I’ve never been in trouble before, so having a police officer in my space is a little concerning.
Jem doesn’t seem to have this same problem.
“You don’t have to tell this fucker anything,” Jem says to me, his hand on my arm gently squeezing—reassuring me or warning me to guard my words, I’m not sure which.
Morgan narrows his eyes.
“Why wouldn’t you want to talk to me about what happened? You want to catch who shot Mr Wade, right?”
“I make it a habit not to talk to the police,” Jem responds, sounding bored. “You never know what may be used against you in a court of law.”
Morgan shakes his head. “There’s been a run of bad luck going around your club in the past few weeks, Mr Harlow. People seem to be getting shot or beaten all over the place.”
“It certainly does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Jem’s words are clipped, his smile practised, although forced. “Shouldn’t you be out there catching the bad guys, rather than talking shit at me? I’m surprised you haven’t caught who did it yet, given it happened in a public place. Did it need to happen in the middle of the police station? Would that have helped?”
My eyes flare at his words before flicking back to Morgan. He doesn’t seem remotely perturbed, but he doesn’t back down either from Jem.
“It’s funny how all this shit swirling around my town seems to be centred around you and your club.”
“Our town,” Jem corrects. “Kingsley’s not your town, Morgan. That’s your first mistake. This is Saxons territory and it’ll always be Saxons territory.”
“Not for much longer.” The threat in his words lingers in the air.
Jem just shrugs. “Bigger pricks than you have tried and failed to take us down. Come at us if you want. We’ll enjoy the ride.”
“Don’t worry, I fully intend to come at you and unlike my predecessors, I have no intention of missing my target.”
I have the distinct impression I’ve stepped into the middle of something bigger than I understand, but I do know one thing. This man wants to bring harm to the Club, and my brother is in that Club—at least for now. Until I can untangle him from there, I’ll do what I have to in
order to protect him, even if that means keeping him safe from the police.
“Your brother, Miss Wade, will need to give a statement.”
I don’t correct him on the fact I’m not a Wade, but an Ellis. It’s probably not a good idea to have my name out there, given it could get back to Grant.
“You’re not talking to him,” I tell him. “Not like this. He’s been through enough without you treating him badly.”
“You don’t have a choice. This is an active investigation. I need to know what he knows.”
“Well, unless you can communicate with him while he’s unconscious, you’ll have a hard job. You can speak to him when his doctors say he’s fit and able and not a second before. And when you do finally talk to him, DCI Morgan, you might want to keep in mind that my brother is the victim here and treat him accordingly, do you understand?”
He stares at me for a long moment, taking me in, then says, “You’re not local.”
Unease ripples through me. I should abort this conversation immediately. The last thing I need is for it to get back to Grant that I’m here, but DCI Morgan isn’t going to be easily deterred.
“No, I’m not.”
“Where’re you from?”
“None of your business. Just do your job. I’d hate to have to seek legal counsel for harassment.” I don’t have a legal team, but I’ll call Cami and sort one if need be; I’m sure she knows solicitors. I won’t be bullied. I turn to Jem. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”
Jem grins at Morgan. “Catch you later, DCI Dickhead.”
I snag his arm and tug him away, worried we might get arrested if he continues being obnoxious.
Once we’re out of earshot, Jem says, “Legal counsel?”
I wince, biting my lip. “He pissed me off. I just said the first thing that came into my head.”
His brow arches. “Do you have a legal team?”
“No, but I’ll get one.”
He looks at me, and for the first time since I met him, his eyes go soft. “You don’t need to worry about legal shit, Piper. The Club’s got that stuff covered, but it was good seeing you stick up for your brother.”
Of course they have legal stuff covered. They probably have a whole legal team on retainer for all the law breaking they do.
“Obviously I stuck up for Josh,” I say quietly. “Despite what you think, I care about him.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see that.” He pushes his hair out of his face. “You handled DCI Dickhead like a pro. I’m guessing that wasn’t your first run in with the police.”
Offended, I say, “That absolutely was my first run in with police. Unlike you, I’m not a delinquent.”
“Really?” His brows climb up his forehead. “Okay, I’m surprised, and maybe a little turned on—”
I turn fully to him. “Do not finish that sentence!”
He grins. “It was a little hot.”
“It was not.” I glance at my hands, which are trembling. “That man is horrible.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t like us much.”
“Well, if he’s dealt with you, I can understand why.”
Jem folds his arms over his chest. “You really know how to strike a cutting blow.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ll survive.”
“Barely. You might need to kiss my wounds better.”
My nose wrinkles. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less.” This is a lie. Jem is easy on the eyes and kissing him wouldn’t be a chore, as long as he didn’t speak. “I don’t care about your pissing contest with the police, Jem. That’s not why I did it. I’m just looking out for Josh, that’s all.”
He stares at me and then says, “That’s all we’re doing—taking care of Wade. You open your eyes, Piper, you’ll see that.”
Chapter Five
It’s around the fifty-three-hour mark when Josh shows the first sign of waking. In fact, he scares me half to death. He opens his eyes for about a few seconds, staring at me from across the room before he goes back out. I nearly bolt out of my chair.
For the next few hours, he fights the drugs, but doesn’t manage to come-to fully or coherently. Clara and Sofia urge me to go to the hotel and sleep, but I refuse. I doze in the chair at the side of his hospital bed instead. I want to be here when he wakes properly. It’ll be soon, I know it.
The nursing staff try to get me to leave. I refuse them as well, and the Club comes in useful. They don’t let them kick me out. I don’t know what the heck Ghost says to them or the security staff who are sent to remove me, but I’m left in peace.
“Piper…”
I jolt at the sound of my name, and expect to see Clara or one of the guys. The room’s empty.
My gaze snaps to the bed. Josh’s eyes are open and they’re locked on me. He’s awake, and he looks more alert than he has any other time.
I scramble off the chair, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste, my heart pounding.
“Josh? Oh my God, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
He grimaces, and that small act looks as if it costs him his last reserves of energy.
“Sore.”
I can see the question in his eyes, the question he’s dying to ask: why am I here? I want to explain, to tell him I’m sorry for how we left things, but now isn’t the time for that. He needs a doctor and he needs to be taken care of.
I reach for the call button over the head of the bed.
“What’re you doing?” he questions, and I don’t miss the way his voice cracks.
“Calling for the doctor. You just woke up from major surgery. You need to be looked at.”
He ignores this, or maybe he doesn’t want to hear it yet, and instead asks, “How long was I out?”
I consider lying to him. I don’t want to stress him out when he’s just come around, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to start our first meeting on a lie.
“About sixty hours, give or take. You’ve woken up a few times since you came back from theatre, but you haven’t been particularly coherent until now.”
I see the ripple of shock cross his face, and I wish I’d withheld the truth. A number of other emotions play across his face that I can’t read, that maybe I would be able to read if I knew him better. The fact is I don’t. He’s as much a stranger to me as the men outside the room are.
The doctor breezes in and I step back to give him space to work, watching as he examines Josh, checking his vitals and that the pain relief is working. Josh seems with it, although tired, asking him questions about his condition, about his long-term prognosis.
His eyes flicker in my direction now and again as he talks to the doctor and I wonder what is going through his mind. I wonder if this is the end of the road for us. Am I about to be asked to leave?
I knew there was a possibility Josh might demand I go the moment he clapped eyes on me. I’m not surprised this could be on the cards.
Disappointed? Yes, but certainly it wouldn’t be unexpected.
I came and did what I intended to do, which was make sure he was okay. Would I like to rebuild bridges? Sure. But his loyalty will always be first and foremost to the Club, and while that is the case, I don’t see how we can rebuild anything. I can never be involved with that lifestyle.
“What about riding?” I hear him demand. “When can I ride again?”
I can’t help it. I scoff at this remark. He’s lying in a hospital bed after being unconscious for nigh on sixty hours and all he can think about is his stupid motorcycle club?
“Mr Wade, there was a lot of internal damage you’re not going to bounce right back from.” The doctor sounds irritated as he says this, and I don’t blame him. Him and his team spent hours upon hours saving Josh’s life just for him to be this obtuse.
“But I will bounce back, right?” Josh pushes.
My stubborn idiotic brother…
“I can’t say for sure, Mr Wade.”
“But you can guess.”
“I—”
; “I just need to know what to expect.”
The doctor glances down as his hands go into the pockets of his lab coat. “This is highly unethical.”
Not to mention ludicrous. This doctor has more patience than me. I want to wring my brother’s neck right now. What does riding matter? What does his Club matter? He nearly died.
“Then be unethical.”
His mouth turns down. “Providing things continue as they are and you rest up the required amount of time needed to heal successfully, then I don’t see why not. Additional surgery will complicate matters, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Josh drops his head back against the pillows and closes his eyes. The relief in the gesture and his next words hits me squarely in the chest. “Thank fuck.”
I knew the Club meant a lot to him, but hearing him say it like that makes my guts twist unpleasantly. It’s the realisation that I can never compete with that level of commitment. I’ll never mean that much to him. I knew that anyway, I knew it by the way he left me behind years ago, but seeing his reaction right now is painful.
I wait for the doctor to finish up, ignoring their conversation as my thoughts turn dark.
Coming here was a mistake.
Watching the doctor leave the room, I consider following him, but my irritation gets the better of me. The good old Wade temper flares. I wait for the door to close before I turn to the bed.
“You’re lying in a hospital bed with a hole in your abdomen and your back, and all you care about is that bloody motorcycle?”
“I can’t be in the Club if I can’t ride.” His response annoys the hell out of me, and a bitchy remark sits on the tip of my tongue, until I see how heavy his eyes are. He’s struggling to stay awake. Even if he wasn’t, what would be the point of blasting him? The Lost Saxons have always meant more to him than his own flesh and blood. I’ve never mattered to him. No amount of screaming and shouting will change that.
All the fight leaves me.
“What’re you doing here, Piper?”
His tone pisses me off and I scowl, crossing my arms over my chest.
Forbidden Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #5 Page 7
