JETT (Savage Saints MC Book 3)

by Carmen Jenner

  JETT

  A Savage Saints MC novel

  Carmen Jenner

  Copyright © 2020 Carmen Jenner

  All rights reserved.

  carmenjenner.com

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work and not pirating this book. Pirates suck!

  JETT, Savage Saints MC: Carmen Jenner March 1st,2020

  carmen@carmenjenner.com

  Cover design © Tall Story

  Editing by Creating Ink

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  JETT (Savage Saints MC, #3)

  RAINE

  GRIM

  RAINE

  RAINE

  GRIM

  JETT

  RAINE

  JETT

  RAINE

  RAINE

  JETT

  JETT

  JETT

  RAINE

  JETT

  JETT

  RAINE

  RAINE

  JETT

  RAINE

  RAINE

  JETT

  RAINE

  RAINE

  RAINE

  RAINE

  RAINE

  JETT

  RAINE

  JETT

  RAINE

  RAINE

  JETT

  RAINE

  RAINE

  EPILOGUE

  NEVER MISS A NEW RELEASE!

  MORE BY CARMEN JENNER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AUTHOR LINKS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For Shane and Troy,

  thank you for showing me what a brotherhood truly is.

  I love you.

  RAINE

  DOG-TIRED, I WALK THE hall at the end of my shift. I’m ready for a glass of wine and that new Netflix rom-com. Anything to chase away the sights, sounds, and—unfortunately—the smells of a rowdy clubhouse. The whole club came back from a run in a good mood—which, around here, is like winning the lottery. It doesn’t happen often, but boy, do you hear about it when it does.

  Kick exits the room at the end of the hall with a bottle of Bundy Rum in his hand. He chuckles to himself, but his laugh gets loud and more obnoxious than usual when he glances up and meets my gaze. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”

  “Just coming to tell the boss that I’m finished for the day.”

  “You go in there looking like that and you won’t be the only one who’s finishing.”

  “Oh my God, stop.” I smack his arm. His face contorts, and he moans like I just hit him hard enough to bruise, but we both know that’s not true.

  “Hey, I just call it like I see it, sweetheart,” he slurs.

  “Mm-hmm. Well, I might just call Indie to come pick your drunk arse up. Honest to God, I don’t know what you boys did today, but someone must have spiked the punch. You’re all acting so crazy, even Crazy looks sane.”

  “God had nothin’ to do with it, but the Saints sure did.”

  “Alright, captain cryptic, move aside. This saint needs to go to bed.”

  Kick lifts the rum to his lips and takes a huge swig. “Well, shit, don’t let me stop you. Prez’s couch is right this way.” He gestures to the closed door at the end of the hall like a game-show host pointing to the main prize.

  “Get out of here.” I move around him. I have half a mind to snatch the bottle from him and save Indie from an especially obnoxious Kick, but she can hold her own, and I know better than to take booze from this biker. “And text Indie to pick you up. We don’t need a call from the police saying you’ve been plastered all over the road.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I shake my head and rap my knuckles on Jett’s office door. My hands look worn, aged from the harsh cleaning chemicals and lack of self-care. I need a manicure. I need a man, period. Guilt worms its way through my chest. I take a deep breath and knock again.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. Can’t a man jack it in peace?”

  “Sorry.” My voice is merely a squeak as I consider my options. I could attempt to scurry away before he opens the door, but this hallway is long and there’s no place to hide. Instead, I stand my ground and prepare to face the wrath of a very pissed-off Jett.

  Jett yanks back the door. He’s shirtless. Water beads on his chest and torso. Or perhaps it’s sweat. Either way, I’d like to lick it from his skin and shove my hand into those unbuttoned leathers that he’s clearly straining against. His blue eyes switch from murderous rage to easy and inviting all in the space of a heartbeat. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Yep, only me. Your friendly neighbourhood bar wench.” Friendly neighbourhood bar wench? Oh my God. What is wrong with me?

  The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. One that belongs to another woman, but he graces me with it all the same. His damp wheat-blond hair brushes the tops of his shoulders. Would it be silky to the touch, fall into his eyes or brush my cheek as his body hovered over me? He appears calmer tonight—not at all the menacing man who started his own biker club. Not at all how he looks in his cut, with his scruffy beard, his hair slicked back, and a gavel in his hands. He looks ... soft.

  But looks are misleading.

  Every inch of him is hard ... at least, that’s how I imagine him. It’s not as though I’ll ever get the chance to find out. He’s married, and I’m ... well, there’s no point in fantasising about something you can’t have.

  “I’m heading out for the day.” I’m also blushing right to the roots of my hair. I can feel it. “Unless, of course, you need me?”

  He licks his lips. His eyes roam over my body. Those devious baby blues say he needs me, but it’s not to clean his clubhouse.

  “I need a lot of things, darlin’.” A quiet sigh passes his lips and washes over my face. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. It’s a heady mix. Or maybe it’s just the man himself who makes me half-drunk with adoration. “But you go on home. I reckon you’ve had enough of dirty bikers for one day.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” he says, on a deep exhalation.

  “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  I duck my head. “Goodnight.”

  “Night, darlin’.”

  I feel his eyes on me the whole way down the corridor. “Raine?”

  I turn. “Yeah?”

  “Tomorrow, grab yourself one of those fancy coffees you’ve been bringin’ me. We need to have a little chat.”

  Ice floods my veins. Oh my God, he’s going to fire me. Shit. I can’t afford to lose this job.

  “Are you unhappy with me? Did I do something wrong? I can work harder. I don’t have to leave right now. I can stay if you need me to work longer hours. Just tell me, and I’ll do better. I’m not—”

  “Raine?”

  “Yeah?” My shoulders deflate. Oh God, how? How could I have been so blind? I’m doing a terrible job of keeping this clubhouse.

  “I’m not firing you. I wanna talk about a pay rise, and what’s expected of you. And what’s not.”

  “I have no problem with hard work.”

  “Raine.” He raises his voice. “Shut the fuck up. You’re the hardest-working woman I know. I’m not getting rid of you. I just want you to be happy here, so we’re gonna put some changes into effect.”

  �
��Oh.” I exhale and hold my hand over my heart. “I thought for a minute there you were firing me.”

  “And miss seein’ that pretty face, and that arse bent over my desk as you clean my shit? Not fucking likely, sweetheart.”

  I blush. Heat creeps up my neck and over my cheeks. Jett’s eyes hood over, and I know he’s aware of it too. “Get yourself home before you get in trouble, Angel.”

  “Going,” I mutter and turn around. Jesus, what is wrong with me? He’s a married man, and I get paid to clean his clubhouse.

  “No more of those muffins tomorrow, okay? I’m getting fat.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Babe, I’m like a stray. You feed me, and you’ll never get rid of me.”

  “Goodnight, Jett.”

  “Night, darlin’.”

  “I’ll bring you something savoury tomorrow.”

  “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he murmurs, and I float out of the clubhouse doors with a smile on my face.

  I STEP OFF THE BUS and brace myself against the cool autumnal breeze. It’s late, and the roads are practically deserted at this time of night. I lift the collar of my coat and smooth my thumb over the back of my phone. It’s little use against any would-be attackers, but at least I could dial triple zero in a hurry. I’m being paranoid. I just need to get my damn car out of the shop.

  “Freaking extortionist mechanics.” My words are swallowed by the wind as I put my head down and hurry through the empty streets. The occasional car passes, and in the distance, the faint roar of a motorbike cuts through the silent night. Funny how I notice bikers and their rides since working at the clubhouse. I glance at the clouds overhead. With the reflection of the city lights and the blanket of cloud cover, it’s a starless sky. It has that eerie yellow glow, as if the earth is sick. I turn and scan the street behind me, but it’s empty. I quicken my pace to make sure it stays that way.

  I’m a block from my apartment when footsteps echo behind me. I can’t make out whether the person is male or female, but they are short, stocky, decked out in black and moving at a clipped pace. I hurry forward, pushing my already exhausted body, palming my phone in my pocket as if it were a lifeline. I should have just grabbed my keys. They might not be able to do any real bodily harm, but they’d hurt like hell getting up close and personal with your eyeball.

  The person behind me starts to jog—their shoes slap against the pavement as they move closer. Not runners then. I should cross the street. I should pull out my phone and dial triple zero, then grab my keys from my purse. But as I turn and stare at the heavily muscled physique hurtling toward me, I know I have no choice but to run.

  I yank my hand from my pocket, and my phone falls to the ground, shattering on the concrete. I don’t have time to go back for it, because the man is getting closer. His face is clearer now. White-blond hair, a square jaw and eyes that are blacker than midnight, and just as fathomless. I turn, my arms pistons at my sides, my legs protesting every stride, and then my hair is yanked hard. I’m pulled back as his body slams into me, and we tumble to the ground. Concrete scrapes my face as he shoves a meaty hand against my skull, pushing me farther into the unyielding surface.

  “Please. Please don’t hurt me,” I beg, but my words are barely audible. “Take my purse—I got paid yesterday. I have a few hundred dollars.”

  “Shut up, bitch.” His voice is gruff and heavily accented. His weight pins me, one hand crushing my skull, the other unbuckling his belt.

  “Please, please,” I sob. “Don’t do this.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” His rough hands tug at my jeans. I’m not a slim girl, so they don’t budge. He yanks harder. “My boss wants you to deliver a message to your biker scum, but he never said anything about how fucking sweet this arse would be. There’s nothing wrong with a little fun first, huh, blondie?” He slides his hand between my legs, groping me with rough touches.

  “No. Get off me! Please. Stop!”

  He yanks my jeans, causing my body to slide against the abrasive concrete. I scream and manage a solid kick to his groin. He reels back, but I can’t get away fast enough, and I’m slammed back down to the pavement. He tugs at my waistband, ripping the seams, as I fight to get away. My efforts only help him to expose more of my lower abdomen. And then he pulls out the gun, and I still completely.

  The arsehole smiles as he cocks the pistol and shoves the cold metal against my head. “That’s more like it. Now, you’re going to slide your jeans down the rest of the way and let me inside that tight little cunt. I’m going to rape you bloody, and at the end, you’re going to call your boss and tell him we want the big guy. He fucked with Russian affairs, and now the Russians fuck him in return. But first, blondie, I’m going to shove my cock in so deep that you’ll feel it in your throat.”

  GRIM

  “YOU BOYS BE GOOD.” Raine smiles at Kick and Crazy as she’s pulling her keys from the purse on her shoulder. I don’t know why she needs her keys when she hasn’t driven her car in a goddamn month. I can’t exactly ask her though, because I’m not supposed to know her every move, but I do. And wouldn’t Prez just love to know that? He’d have my balls for paperweights if he knew just how closely I’ve watched this woman.

  “Always, babe.” Kick shoots her a wink and puts his feet up on the coffee table. A table Raine just got done cleaning an hour ago. Fucking arsehole.

  I liked Kick. I’ve always had a soft spot for the kid, until Raine started working here, that is. Now I hate the closeness those two share. Doesn’t matter that he’s only got eyes for his old lady—he’s still a man, and I don’t like that they’re as tight as they are, maybe because deep down I resent him. She trusts him. She knows she’s safe with him. With me, on the other hand? Safe is probably the last thing she feels.

  Raine leaves, and I force myself to wait a full five minutes before I slam my empty bottle on the bar and slide from the stool.

  “Night, Reaper,” Kick says, and I’d give my left nut to wipe that goddamn self-assured smile off his face, but I have zero interest in starting something I have no time to finish.

  “Don’t you have an old lady to go home to now?”

  “Girls’ night out. They’re throwin’ a farewell for one of the bitches who works at the coffee shop. I’m just killin’ time until Indie calls me to pick her fine arse up and drive her home.”

  I glance at Brooke, one of the resident club whores, who sits beside Kick.

  “Just make sure your old lady is the only one you’re driving it home to.”

  “You ain’t gotta worry about me, brother. I got all the woman I need in my little spitfire, but you, on the other hand, better catch up. Sadie the cleaning lady left ten minutes ago, and following her don’t do much good if you can’t find her.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” He gifts me with that fucking wink again. What the hell is this kid’s problem? I’m starting to think he might need to see a fucking eye doctor.

  I head for the door. Despite being a little know-it-all prick, Kick is right. I gotta get the hell outta here before I miss Raine. She’s more than likely on the bus right now, and she should be there for another ten minutes before having to walk at least another kilometre back to her apartment.

  Outside, I climb on the bike and start the engine, revving the throttle. Trigger’s manning the gate, and I nod on my way out.

  The streets around the clubhouse are quiet at this time of night and it isn’t long before I’m opening up my baby on the highway. Cold wind rushes over my face, creeping into the pockets of exposed flesh created by my hoodie.

  I slow as I take the exit and a few minutes later, I turn the corner onto her street. This part of Redfern sucks. It’s mostly all mum and pop shops, and green grocers who’ve long since closed, and abandoned buildings. But it’s not safe for any woman, let alone someone as fucking beautiful as Raine.

  I pull into the shadows created by an aban
doned building. The alley is dark—it’s always dark—and I can’t see the front doors of her apartment block from here, so I park my bike, remove my helmet, and walk up the deserted street. Why she lives in this shithole is beyond me. I wait in the dismal laneway, staring at the piece-of-shit cars parked under one gloomy streetlight.

  “Get off me! Please. Get off!”

  What the fuck? That’s Raine, alright, but I can’t see her. She screams, and my blood curdles.

  I pull the gun from my cut and cock it. Then I crouch and hurry across the road as quietly as I can, using the cars to hide me from view. I peek around the butt-end of the vehicle. Some arsehole has her pinned to the ground as she sobs. His dick is out, and her jeans are down around her knees. Her perfect, lily-white arse is exposed to the street, and she’s bucking to unseat the dead man on top of her. And he is a dead man. Whether he actually got his cock wet or not, I’ve never seen a deader fucker.

  I step around the car and come up behind them. This arsehole’s too busy getting his rape on to notice me. I lean down and shove the pistol into the base of his skull.

  “Get the fuck off her,” I say quietly. He stills. I grab the back of his hoodie with one hand and yank him upright. “Drop the fucking gun.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says in a thick Russian accent. He drops the pistol and holds his hands up in the air, as if I could be placated with a simple gesture after he just tried to rape the woman I love. “We were just fooling around, man.”

  I kick the gun away from us and glance at Raine. She’s trembling so bad she may as well have Parkinson’s. There are grazes on her face and hands, her knees too, but I don’t see any blood between her legs.

  “Raine, babe, you okay?”

  Okay? O-fucking-kay? What kind of stupid-arse motherfucker asks a question like that?

  Her baby blues meet mine, and her face crumples as a timid cry escapes her throat. She scrambles to pull up her jeans, but her body tremors and sobs wrack her frame as tears and snot run down her face.

  That’s all the confirmation I need. I slam the arsehole up against the fence, shoot him once in the dick and then again in the head. Blood mists my face, and I wipe it off with the hem of my shirt as his body slumps to the ground.