Forbidden Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #5

by Ames, Jessica

  I swallow down the guilt gnawing at my throat. I didn’t mean to make him worry, but logically, why wouldn’t he? It’s dark now, the dusk that had been in place when I ran from the hospital completely obliterated by the shadow of night. He had no idea where I was, just that I was out there.

  “Jem—”

  He holds up a hand, and I clamp my mouth shut.

  “Are you completely insane?”

  “I don’t think so—”

  “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls or messages? I was about a cunt’s hair away from calling the entire Club to go looking for you. Where the fuck have you been? It’s been over forty-five fucking minutes since you disappeared?”

  He paces the space in front of the sofa, twisting on his booted heel when he gets to the end of it, his hand tearing through his hair as he rants.

  I’m not sure if silence or explanations are my best course of action here, but he doesn’t give much opportunity to respond anyway. He’s too busy berating me, and I’m not entirely sure I don’t deserve it, given how worried he clearly is. I was feeling like the aggrieved party, but now, I’m feeling like the worst kind of brat.

  “I walked back…” I say when he pauses, clearly expecting a response.

  I should have kept my mouth shut because his head looks like it might explode.

  “You walked back from the hospital? It’s nearly eleven o’clock, Piper. Are you fucking deranged? The route back from the hospital takes you right past the fucking park—a park I know for a fact is used by people who are not so fucking nice.”

  The number of F-bombs he drops tells me how stressed he is. He turns from me, giving me his back and the full view of his kutte. I stare at the Lost Saxons insignia, getting lost for a moment in the macabre burning ember eyes in the skull as his hands drop to his hips.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  I bristle. “I could have got a taxi, but you blacklisted me, remember? I didn’t have a choice but to walk.”

  This is not the best thing to say because his head snaps back to me. “Don’t even go there. You did have a choice. I would have taken you home. You didn’t have to run after I tried to kiss you. Jesus fucking Christ, Piper. All you had to say was no. I’m not a scumbag. I don’t force women to do shit they don’t want to, but you running off like that was dangerous. You scared the shit out of me. I don’t know if this bears repeating, but when people go missing around here, it doesn’t usually herald good things.”

  I feel terrible.

  “I wasn’t missing,” I assure him.

  He crosses the room and I find all six-foot-three of him in my space suddenly. I let out a small gasp as I’m backed up against the wall near the door, his hand going to the wall next to my head as his face moves inches from mine. The seriousness of his expression frightens me a little, as does the tone of his voice.

  “You don’t ever do that again, Piper. I don’t give a fuck what happens. You don’t run off like that and you don’t ignore calls. I’ve been losing my mind over here thinking something happened to you.”

  My body relaxes at his words. “You were worried.”

  “Yeah, Piper, I was worried. Of course I was fucking worried. You took off and I couldn’t get in touch with you.”

  More ugliness creeps in as I realise how selfish my actions were.

  “I’m sorry. I know it was stupid. I just… I panicked.”

  He rubs his forehead. “Jesus. I’ve never tried to kiss a woman and their response be to panic. You’re not doing much for my self-esteem, angel.”

  I relax. He’s calling me angel again. This means he’s no longer angry with me, right?

  “Well, you could probably do with it knocking down a notch or two.”

  He lifts a lofty eyebrow at me. “And you’re the one to do that, are you?”

  “I don’t want to knock anything out of you, Jem.”

  He roves an eye over me and his voice gets soft when he says, “Too late. You’ve already knocked me for six.”

  I feel heat rising in my cheeks. Is he serious? I study his face, seeing no hint of humour in it. He’s not joking. I’ve knocked him for six? We barely know each other.

  How can I have affected him at all?

  “Jem—”

  He cuts me off before I can speak. “Why did you run?”

  “I told you.”

  “Yeah, you panicked, but Piper, I’m not an idiot. I like to think I can read people pretty well. And you’re not a mystery. I can read you like an open book. You were into that kiss. You wanted it. I wouldn’t have continued with it if you didn’t. Like I said, I’m not into unwilling participants. You wanted to kiss me back. You can’t deny you like me.”

  I can’t deny it. I don’t want to deny it. My chest heaves as I stare up at him and his head moves closer to mine. His body is nearly flush to mine, our chests practically touching. Electricity zings through my every synapse. What is he doing? This close, I can’t think straight. My brain is fog, my thoughts consumed by one thing and one thing only… him.

  “You wanted it, right?” Jem questions quietly.

  I lock onto his lips, the mix of dark and blond hair surrounding his mouth suddenly mesmerising. I should tell him no. I should do a billion things that all start and end with the word no, but I can’t and don’t because I do want him. Wanting him is not the problem.

  “Yes, Jem, I wanted it,” I tell him, my voice breathy, “but that’s not the point.”

  He grins as if he’s just won a crowning victory. “Then I’m sorry, angel.”

  His words confuse me.

  “For… for what?”

  “Because I am going to kiss you, and this time you’re going to let me.”

  At his words, my world stops.

  He’s going to kiss me, and I’m going to let him…

  Then, his mouth crashes down on mine. His fingers thread through my hair and his hands come to rest at the nape of my neck as he pulls me closer.

  I stiffen at first, taken completely by surprise. I should push him away, but I don’t. I can’t. My legs wobble beneath me, and I suspect if he wasn’t holding me, I would be a puddle of goo on the floor. Even so, I cling to his biceps, needing the support as he presses against me, ravaging my tongue as he seeks deeper inside my mouth. In my entire life, I’ve never been kissed like this. It’s the kiss of a man, who has proven his worth. It’s the kiss of a man who has conquered in the bedroom. Jem Harlow looks like a sex god because clearly he is.

  His fingers move to my hip, steadying me before sliding up to my breast. I let out a moan as he cups it, then slides both hands under my sweater. In the back of my head somewhere, a voice is urging me to stop, that what we’re doing is a bad idea, but I shut it down. I can no more stop what is happening here than I can prevent the sun rising in the morning.

  I rub my thighs together to create friction to alleviate the tension growing down there, wishing his hands were also down there.

  I’m dizzied and my underwear is uncomfortably damp already. My chest feels tight as air sits trapped while he plunders my mouth. There is no other word for what he is doing. He is plundering me. I try to rub against him, needing more, but he doesn’t give it.

  Instead, he recoils as if I’ve burnt him, sucking back his own breaths. His pupils, I notice, are blown black. His hands rake through his hair, as I’m left panting against the wall, barely able to focus on anything but dragging oxygen into my heaving lungs.

  I watch as his eyes squeeze shut and I can see him struggling to gain control. I don’t blame him. I’m struggling myself. I tug my top back into place as he tries to ground himself, unsure what is running through his head.

  After a moment, he stops tearing at his hair and turns his gaze to me, and for a moment I see beneath the wall, beneath the bravado as he says, “Fuck, angel. You’re killing me.”

  He sounds ravaged, but he’s not the only one. My brain is whirling at a thousand miles a minute. Jem just kissed me, and he really kissed me.
It wasn’t just a peck or a normal kiss. He kissed me like I was his lifeline. But kissing him, as good as it was—and it was good—is not something that can happen again.

  “I can’t get you out of my fucking head. And now that I’ve tasted you…” He closes his eyes, as if he’s remembering it. “Kissing you was everything I thought it would be.”

  My breath catches as my own memory stirs. I raise my fingers to my lips, which feel bruised, puffy from his assault of them. I can still taste him on my tongue. My body tightens in recognition, in remembrance, begging, wanting, needing, demanding him.

  He wants me, I can see it in his eyes, but Jem doesn’t strike me as a guy who sticks around after he gets what he wants. Even if I’ve misjudged him, and he will be the perfect partner, we can never be. We exist in different worlds. Our lives will never mesh. His Club is dangerous, his life is dangerous. I don’t even want to be a part of it for my brother, but I have to. I won’t be like Beth or Liv or any of these women. I won’t be an old lady to an outlaw biker.

  So, I push aside anything I feel for Jem, bury it.

  He can’t be mine, even if I want him. He’s the ultimate forbidden fruit, and I don’t dare take another bite because he’s so tempting I won’t be able to resist more.

  Regret floods me as I whisper, “We can’t do that again.”

  His mouth pulls into a tight line even as his eyes go distant. Then he mutters a “Fuck” before blowing past me and out of the flat, leaving me wondering what the hell happens next.

  Chapter Twelve

  The last Saturday in July is the Lost Saxons’ monthly ‘family day’. The entire Club comes together to hang out, catch up and have a rip-roaring good time. It spans through the day and then into the evening, with the common room bar open until the early hours. Only family is invited—no outsiders. At least this is what I’m told when Sofia extends the invitation to me. I’m both touched and slightly perturbed by this. I’ve been told repeatedly I’m part of the family because of my ties to Josh, but getting asked directly to join a day specifically aimed at family unsettles me in how much I’m not unsettled by it. Five weeks ago, I would have freaked out and run for the hills screaming. I didn’t want to be embroiled in a criminal gang. Now, I’m becoming friends with half the women in the Club and I’m falling for a member—and I am falling for him, as much as I try to deny it. Jem is in my thoughts more than he should be, more than he has any right to be. Since he kissed me a week ago, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head, and why would I? That kiss is emblazoned in my memory like a brand. I can still feel it now, a week after the fact, on my lips.

  It’s lucky my memory is so good.

  I haven’t seen the man himself since he took off that night after kissing me senseless. At first, I counted it as a blessing when Weed showed up the following morning to take me to the hospital, rather than Jem. I was grateful I didn’t have to address the humongous elephant in the room. What could I say to Jem anyway? Thanks for the leg-shaking, mind-blowing, pussy-quivering, tongue-melting kiss? Let’s never repeat it, even though I would happily sell my soul for round two. If that was the preview, I can only imagine what the full show would be like. However, imagining sex with Jem is a bad idea, but unfortunately, he has been the starring role in a number of my fantasies over the past week.

  But when Charlie was waiting to take me home after visiting hours ended, I felt irritation gnawing at my guts. I realise people in glasshouses should not throw stones, given I ran out of the hospital like my feet were on fire, but his avoidance of me is maddening.

  We’re both adults. We should handle this like adults, right?

  Apparently not.

  When he didn’t show the following day, my anger turned to something else. Rejection burnt a path through me as the days continued to pass and Jem stayed away. Logically, I know we can’t go there together, but ignoring me as if I did something wrong hurts.

  As angry as I am, I’m nervous the morning of the family day party. He’ll be there undoubtedly. Everyone will be there—apart from Josh who is still in the hospital. I have no idea if I should give Jem a piece of my mind or just ignore him, as he has been content to do with me.

  This decision is taken out of my hands after I get out of the shower. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around me, when my phone beeps. Reaching for it, I groan when I see it’s a message from my mother.

  MUM: Come to the house for two o’clock.

  I stare at the text and grit my teeth. This is typically my mother. No question of whether or not I’m busy, no asking if I want to come, just be there. As much as I’m not over the moon about seeing Jem today, part of me is looking forward to this party. I like the girls, and spending time with them is preferable to my mother.

  ME: I’m busy today. Can we reschedule?

  My leg jiggles, my fingers tugging at my lip as I wait for a response. I know what the answer will be before it comes. My mother only contacts me when she needs something. If she wants to see me it’s not because she’s missed me—although it has been a while since we last met up. I’ve been in Kingsley five weeks already, and it was at least three weeks before that since I saw Mum. I wonder what the problem is now.

  The handset vibrates in my hand and the message icon flashes across the screen.

  MUM: Darling, are you honestly too busy for your own mother?

  I groan as I read it. She’s a travel agent for guilt trips. I tip my head back to stare at the ceiling.

  Bugger.

  ME: Of course not, but I need a little more notice than a couple of hours. I have things to do today.

  MUM: If you can’t come to the house, I’ll drop in to see you.

  My heart flips as I read the only words guaranteed to get me to the house without argument. She cannot come to the loft—mainly because I’m not there.

  ME: I’m not there.

  MUM: Well, where are you?

  Bugger…

  ME: I told you. I’m busy.

  MUM: Well, this won’t take a moment, Piper, and it really is important we talk. I’ll be at your place this afternoon.

  And she will. She’ll camp out there until I turn up. I don’t want to put Cami in a position where she has to fend her off, so I text back my response.

  ME: I’ll come to your house.

  MUM: I knew you’d see sense. I’ll see you later, darling.

  “I guess I’m going back to bloody Manchester then,” I mutter.

  I fire off a text to Sofia to tell her I’m not going to make it to the party today, that I’ve had to go home to deal with a family issue. As I expect, she asks if I need help, which makes me feel even worse about missing today.

  I tell her I’m fine, then I drop a message to Cami to let her know the situation and get packed up.

  Thankfully, it’s not a long journey between Kingsley and Manchester by train, so I manage to get back to the city centre with plenty of time to spare. This means I head home first. As I leave the train station, I can’t help but notice the Devil’s Dogs clubhouse. It’s funny. I’ve walked past it a hundred times on my way to work, but I’ve never paid it much heed, other than in angry thoughts about how much I hate motorcycle clubs for taking my brother from me. This time, I slow my walk, taking a moment to appreciate the bikes lining the street outside the building and the large banner over the front door. Weirdly, I find myself missing Kingsley, yearning already to be back there. The fast pace of Manchester holds none of the appeal it used to. I find myself missing the rundown high street in Kingsley, the few small bespoke shops that cater to everyone but no one. It’s a strange, sad place, but comforting in its uniqueness.

  Even so, I have missed my best friend, and as I near home, my feet move at a faster pace. Cami and I live in an old converted cotton mill in the Northern Quarter. I don’t know much about architecture, but I adore our loft apartment. It’s fabulous. It’s got huge windows that look out over the city centre and let in a ton of light. It’s one of the things that r
eally drew us to the building in the first place. The red brick stands out against the modern architecture surrounding it, and the wrought iron railings around the perimeter gives the illusion of security. In reality, it’s not a deterrent. Cami’s shimmied over that fence more times than I can count when she’s lost her keys and come through the back entrance.

  It sits on the sixth floor and towards the back of the building with a view to the canal—at least the slither visible between the squeeze of concrete surrounding us. It also costs an arm and a leg, and was paid for outright by Cami with money from her Trust Fund, which she gained access to the moment she turned eighteen—although her parents tried everything to stop that from happening. They didn’t think their rebellious daughter could be trusted to manage her own finances; a Judge thought differently. That was more or less the beginning of the end for their relationship.

  I barely manage to get the key into the front door before I’m accosted by my best friend. She may only be five-foot-five, but she’s strong, and when she throws her weight at me, I go back on a foot. Somehow, I manage to keep hold of her and not go down as I hug her close.

  “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re back!”

  “I missed you, too, Cam,” I tell her through a smile.

  She drags me inside, and I barely manage to kick the front door shut behind us. I can’t help but take in everything as we move into the loft. It looks the same but different at the same time. The open space is as I remember. The dark wooden floors, the open plan kitchen with black cupboards and oak tops, the large sectional sofa that me and Cami love to curl up on to watch horror movies on the weekends, the open metal staircase that goes to the bedrooms and the cast iron supports that run through the building, giving it that industrial feel. There’s exposed brickwork on the walls and everything feels urban and raw. I love it. So did Cami. It’s why she bought the place when we saw it.