Fragmented

by Stephanie Tyler

  And she was most definitely an outsider. Again. She’d been one when she first started high school, at least until Danny had taken her under his wing. But even then, she hadn’t been a part of his family, which only consisted of Danny and his father, and definitely not a part of the larger MC culture that constantly surrounded his house. She was a definite fixture, treated with respect in those days, but always just slightly apart. And maybe that had even been of her own choosing. Perhaps subconsciously she’d realized that becoming a part of a biker gang wasn’t the smartest thing for a girl who wanted to become a doctor. For a girl who’d just wanted to escape.

  Now she found herself in the exact same position. She was with Jem because he was protecting her. The others were together because they were family, because they’d chosen to work together.

  Because, through life and circumstance, they were so entwined, so in love, in cases, that Section 8 was a team that fit together in a perfect circle. She was the odd puzzle piece out.

  But she had fit with Carolina. Carolina told her that she could come back anytime, stay with her indefinitely. Forever, Carolina had intimated and then said so outright. And Drea almost wanted that, wanted the mother/sister/best friend she’d never had, and she’d found all that in Carolina. Thankfully, she was allowed to make phone calls to the woman, because Drea was positive it would be the only thing to put her anxiety at ease today.

  The only thing, except for Jem. She couldn’t deny that his presence was like a warm blanket on a cold day. Sun through the rain. Laughter when she was sad.

  “It’ll get better,” Carolina had always promised, and she reiterated that now over the phone. “Drea, I’ve known people like Section 8 my whole life. If they didn’t want you around, you would not be there.”

  “That’s not true. They all feel guilty, remember?” she reminded Carolina.

  “Honey, guilt only gets you so far. It doesn’t make people want to be around you. It doesn’t make people care about you. And it doesn’t make men look at you the way Jem looks at you. There’s no guilt or pity there. That’s pure lust, in case it’s been so long for you that you’ve forgotten.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair. It’s not like you had a train of men coming to your house for me to be with.”

  “If I thought that’s what it would’ve taken …”

  “Speaking of men, how is Aiden?”

  “Nice change of topic.” Carolina’s voice was approving. “He’s a grumpy old bastard.”

  Drea heard a cough on the other end of the phone. “Carolina, is he sitting right there?”

  “Of course. I tell him that right to his face.”

  But there was something in Carolina’s voice that made Drea realize that grumpy old bastards were exactly the kind of men she liked. Or at least, that one in particular. “You’re taking your medicine. And you feel good?”

  “You love that you get to mother me, don’t you?”

  “Turnabout is fair play.” She looked up and saw that Jem had come into the room. They’d gone on a run a bit earlier, and she’d come up to shower. “I think I’m being called on.”

  “Tell Jeremiah I said hello. And to remember what I told him.”

  They said their good-byes. She hung up and handed Jem his phone back. “I really have to buy one of my own.”

  “Yeah, that’s going to happen as soon as we figure out your new identity. For now, it’s better that you’re completely buried.”

  She understood that, but really, being erased was a pretty horrible feeling. It felt like she’d been faded away, rubbed out so to speak. Invisible even though she was still right there. “So, what did Carolina tell you?”

  “Is that the way a former spy taught you to dig for information?”

  “Actually, Carolina refused to teach me any of that. She said I had a natural ability and a sweetness.”

  She’d expected Jem to laugh or at least smirk, but instead he moved closer to her, put a hand on her cheek and gently ran his thumb under her chin. “That you do. You never want to lose that. I never want you to lose that.”

  “Is that what you’re worrying about—that it’ll all change because of something that’s going to happen on one of these missions?” She paused. “Because I’m thinking something already happened, and I’m okay.”

  “Okay?” Jem echoed. “You have no memories of spending time with me or with any of Section 8. How is that okay, that I’ve taken away a chunk of your life?”

  He broke the touch, turned away, his shoulders squared. He bowed his head and the pit of dread balled in her stomach again. She would always represent guilt to him, a constant reminder of a mission gone wrong, of his failings.

  But he hadn’t failed. Things happened beyond anyone’s control, she realized now. But Jem was a force of nature and she couldn’t fight that. Not alone, anyway.

  She was about to say something, anything, when Key’s drawl broke in. “Way to take on the weight of the world, bro.”

  Jem jerked his head around and pointed. “You do not even get to start with that shit.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely my turn to start.” Key moved closer to Drea, put a soothing hand on her shoulder, a brotherly, buddylike touch. “What the fuck are you doing, man? Look at her. Really look at her, because she’s here, with you. She doesn’t have to be. Or at least, doesn’t have to be as cooperative. Just have to look at the way she looks at you. And you’re missing it or ignoring it or putting on your goddamn hair shirt and pretending you’re not worthy of it, and for what?”

  “You know for what as well as I do.”

  Drea wondered if maybe she should step out, but Key kept a firm hand on her shoulder. He squeezed gently, glanced at her as if to say, I’ve got this, and then he continued. “Say your piece and be done. But this back-and-forth, keeping her balanced in no-man’s land isn’t good for her or for you. If Grace and Dare can get through it … If Gunner and Avery can …” Key held up his hands as he trailed off.

  “It’s not that simple,” Jem said through gritted teeth.

  Key nodded in her direction, calling out over his shoulder, “Brother, it never is,” as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Drea had to agree. For the first time in her life she also realized that simple was probably—no, definitely—overrated. “Jem, look—”

  “No, you look. It’s easy for Key to say that. But I started this.” He paced, running his hands through his hair, then stopped right in front of her. “I kidnapped you, because I needed someone to take care of Avery. She was dying and we couldn’t have the complication of the hospital.”

  “Did I help her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you hurt me when you kidnapped me?”

  “Yes, indirectly, goddammit. Your MC people were keeping an eye on you. I made shit worse.”

  “That was already bad to begin with.”

  “You should be so fucking angry with me. You will be.” His eyes looked haunted. “You asked me to take you with us, instead of letting you go back to the hospital—you wanted to come with us. You didn’t say why, but I should’ve known there was trouble. And I told you not to do it and you didn’t listen and it’s our fault.”

  “Why is it your fault?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to get in trouble. They didn’t want you hurt. We knew better. We accept danger—we’re supposed to protect innocents.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “I’m considered an innocent?”

  “Don’t be fucking nice to me, Drea—don’t you fucking dare.” He pointed at her.

  “Never,” she deadpanned, and then she stopped, tilted her head and stared at him.

  “What is it? Are you remembering something?”

  “I think so. Yes, this.” She motioned between them. “This was always the way we interacted, right?”

  “Yeah. Most of the time.”

  “When didn’t we?”

  “When we were kissing,” he said, and she had a sudden jolt through her body,
a heat as a memory of her, semiwrapped around him, her legs bare, wishing he wouldn’t pull away. “Why won’t you stay with me?”

  “I’m prepping for a mission,” he said, but no, he was using that as an excuse. For some reason, Jem couldn’t lie to her … at least not well, and he knew it, because then he added, “Because I can’t control myself around you.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “I have to. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “It would be like you were fucking a stranger,” he told her.

  “But you’re not a stranger. Just because I don’t remember how we met doesn’t mean you’re a stranger. And even if you are, you’re a stranger I obviously like. I want you, Jem. Okay? Don’t make me beg for that.”

  *

  Jem hadn’t answered her. Instead he’d looked at her with a pained expression, and then he’d left the room, muttering to himself.

  The reality for her was that Jem brought her here to the other S8 members. He said it was because she’d have more eyes on her, that it’d be safer. But really, he was doing it so he could avoid her.

  After she’d showered, there was a knock on the door. It was Grace, who handed her fresh towels, although it was too late for that.

  “Sorry. Figured I’d catch you before you went in.”

  “Actually, the timing’s good.” Drea grabbed a dry towel and began to rub the water out of her thick hair. She rarely used blow dryers if she could help it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Furthest thing from it,” Drea muttered. “Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  Grace chuckled. “I’d have known it anyway.”

  “Because you’re psychic?”

  “Because it’s plainly written on your face. And Jem’s too. It’s just pure women’s intuition, from someone who’s been there.”

  “He’s feeling guilty,” Drea confided.

  “Agreed.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Force him not to avoid you,” Grace said simply and Drea merely harrumphed at her. “Really. It’s that easy.”

  And, in fact, it was going to be. Drea actually went into Grace’s room, allowing Jem to go and shower, thinking he was alone. In the meantime, Drea went back into the room and closed the door behind her.

  And she waited, paging through the pictures of S8 while she did so.

  She was sitting on the bed when he came out of the shower. He held the towel at his waist loosely, but he was still basically soaking wet. “What the hell?”

  Granted, she wasn’t lying there naked or anything, but still, she’d hoped the sight of her on his bed would elicit a better reaction. A warmer one, anyway.

  She wasn’t good at begging. “Hey,” she said, then continued to page through the album, because she didn’t want to see if there was any rejection in his eyes. She didn’t think there’d be any, but still.

  When she came down to dinner that first night, she’d finally met Key in person. He’d greeted her warmly. In looks, he was the polar opposite of his brother—blond and blue-eyed to Jem’s darkness, he was also more the strong, silent type as opposed to Jem’s strong, decidedly never silent type.

  When Jem was thinking something, you knew it immediately. Whether he spoke or let the expressions or gestures do the talking for him, you knew. She simply felt Jem’s emotions. They ran through her like a river. It was no wonder she’d gone with him quietly, kidnapping or not. He was magnetic … and she’d obviously been unable or unwilling to break the pull.

  “What are you thinking about, Andrea?” he said gruffly.

  She glanced up at him, where he stood, unmoving, and still holding the towel loosely. She really hoped he’d just drop it and come over to her. “What’s with the name? Only people I’m not friends with call me that.”

  “First night we met, you informed me of that and told me to call you Andrea.”

  “I get bitchy when I’m kidnapped.” She looked down again at the now familiar pictures of the men and women of Section 8. She’d spent months with these people and she couldn’t recognize any of them. The pictures were grainy and she was supposed to have deleted them months earlier, but so far she’d been unable to. The pictures were her only, somewhat tenuous grasps of a piece of her past that continued to elude her.

  But so far, after meeting Key and Gunner, she was more frustrated than ever. All three of the men who surrounded her now were larger than life—they were goddamned memorable.

  “You’re with all these people. Why look at their pictures?” he asked.

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Planning on sharing?”

  “Nope.”

  “Planning on telling me why you’re in my bed?”

  “If you have to ask that question, either you’re out of practice or you haven’t been laid in a while,” she said seriously.

  A range of emotions crossed Jem’s face, the last being amusement. “Checking on my sex life?”

  “Do you have one?”

  “Do you?”

  Her throat tightened. “I want one. With you.” There. She’d said it. The warm rush of emotions made her cheeks flush hot, and she forced herself to keep eye contact with him. “Are you avoiding me because I’m bad luck?”

  He raised his brows. “You? Honey, I’m the one dragging you all over God’s green earth. And the last thing you need is a relationship mess.”

  “Maybe everyone could stop telling me what I want,” she said through gritted teeth, and he knew enough to back up from the angry woman.

  He held up his hands in silent surrender. “I’m fucked up, okay? I’ve spent a lot of time trying to make up for shit I did and didn’t do, and it’s never going to be enough. And just when I make things better in one area, it gets worse in another. I can never get enough balance.”

  He sat back, looking relaxed, but his eyes … all the pain of a lifetime was in those eyes. Now that he was stripped down, she could see the scars along his chest and back—far fewer than she’d actually expected. But one, close to his hipbone … she’d seen enough abuse cases in her time to know it was made by a belt buckle with a great deal of force behind it.

  He noticed her staring at it. “I’m all right, Drea. Happened a long time ago.”

  She put her hand over it. “A lot of scars never go away.”

  “But we manage them.”

  How had he ended up reassuring her? She leaned forward and kissed the scar gently. He shuddered a little as she spent a moment with his cool skin, still wet from the shower, on her lips. He tasted good. Like a man. Like … Jem.

  His hand twisted in her hair. She looked up at him. “Take your towel off.”

  “And then what?”

  “If you have to ask that, you really are out of practice.”

  “So are you,” he growled. “At least you’d better be.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, warming to the jealous tone of his voice. “But that’s not why I’m in here. I’m not just looking for practice.”

  “What are you looking for, Drea?”

  “I’m looking at him.”

  He shook his head like he had no other answer for her. He was fighting this so hard, but she was winning. The towel didn’t lie, couldn’t cover his arousal. He swallowed hard and then simultaneously dropped the towel and pushed her back on the bed. He hovered over her, staring down at her, his body surrounding her but not actually touching her.

  She wrapped a leg around his waist in an attempt to bring him close. She cradled a hand first behind his neck, then skimmed her palm along his jawline before running it down his chest and he relented and put his weight mostly on hers.

  Having him bare against her clothed body was strangely erotic. She thrust her hips up so his hardness rubbed between her legs, and that’s when he kissed her, his mouth capturing her moan perfectly.

  She fisted her hands in his hair, keeping him so close. Wrapped a second leg around his waist.

  Jem lifted his
head. “I want to feel you on me.”

  “I’m not arguing.”

  Jem only hesitated for a second before reaching to tug her shirt up and off over her head. Before she could bring her arms down, he’d captured a nipple in his mouth and yes, this was going to happen. She’d been thinking about this since Jem visited her for the first time at Carolina’s, wanting his mouth on her breasts, belly, between her legs.

  She dug her fingers into his biceps as he sucked hard. His hands went to her sweats, yanking them down. As she attempted to work them off her calves, Jem’s fingers stroked her between her legs and she didn’t care what else happened.

  She didn’t remember things, but she would’ve remembered if they’d done this—she was sure of it. Jem’s touches were like electric sparks traveling her skin and she heard herself whimper. Everything after that was boiled down to simple sensation—Jem’s big, rough fingers bringing her to a blessedly quick, much-needed orgasm.

  “Jem,” she moaned.

  “Yeah, my baby needed that.”

  “Need you. Inside me.”

  “You have no fucking idea how badly I want that, Drea, but only when your memory comes back. You have to give me that.” His dark eyes were serious.

  It was obvious how strongly he felt. There would be no changing his mind, but she was naked against him, and right now that was all that should have mattered.

  He rolled them to their sides as he played with her nipples more and she reached between them to stroke his thick cock, wanting to give him the same pleasure he’d already granted her. They both needed more sweet relief, and this coupling would be the first of many—she knew that as surely as she knew that, somehow, she’d get her memories back.

  Until then, she’d commit moments like this, with Jem coaxing her to another orgasm, to memory.

  *

  Drea woke, starving, and half-trapped under Jem’s arm. She gave a little shove and thankfully he turned over, allowing her to escape. She dressed in sweats, walked quietly out of the room and down the stairs, prepared to grab a quick snack and come right back upstairs.

  She hadn’t expected to come face-to-face with Key, who was making his own late night snack. It looked as though he hadn’t gone to sleep yet, and a quick glance at the microwave’s clock told her it was past two in the morning.