JETT (Savage Saints MC Book 3)

by Carmen Jenner

  “I wanted her dead,” he whispers, and the words are too cutting, too close to Mia’s fate that I still.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I had no way out of this marriage. I hated my wife, and I wanted to fuckin’ kill her myself—on a number of occasions.”

  I consider the bottles, the mess of this room and the ruined man beside me. Everything he just said may be true, but he also cared for her deeply. Anyone could see that. “You loved her once.”

  “Yeah, once. But I ruined our marriage, and I wanted her gone. I wanted her off my back. What kind of man does that make me?”

  “Did you have her killed?”

  “You’d think that would be the logical solution, wouldn’t it? I won’t lie—it crossed my mind. My life would be so much easier without her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t choose to have her head cut off and mailed to me in a fucking box.” Tears well in his eyes.

  I know he didn’t do this, that Russian bastard did, but what would have happened to Mia, to us, if she wasn’t lying in a morgue across the city? Would Jett have left his wife for me? Would he have had her killed? Could I betray my vows and leave Joshua? Could I live with myself for my part in any of this? I’m under no illusion that this club is just for motorcycle enthusiasts. Jett has done hard time. They probably all have, and I’m sure they’re all capable of truly horrific things, but I believe wholeheartedly that he didn’t orchestrate her death.

  “Come on. You need a shower.”

  I press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Jett inhales, and for a beat, I just linger in his space. I don’t care that he smells worse than a distillery, or that my boobs are in his face and his hands are digging into my hips as though I am his lifeline. I cry, my tears trailing down my cheeks, glancing off my jaw and falling into his hair. He lost his wife, and though I had no love for that evil bitch, I can’t help but wonder if being the wife of the Savage Saints MC President would turn my heart as black and bitter as hers.

  I pull away and stand. Jett reaches for my hand. I take it and attempt to haul him to his feet. He’s far drunker than even I anticipated, and he almost crushes me when he pitches forward.

  “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I take his arm and help him navigate the cluttered floor to his bathroom. Without incident, I finally get him situated in the tub. He still has his jeans and T-shirt on, but I turn on the faucet and cold water blasts him from head to toe.

  “Jesus. FUCK!”

  “I’m sorry. I needed to wake you up.”

  “Consider me fuckin’ woken, darlin’.” He tucks his legs into his chest and covers his face from the freezing spray.

  I fiddle with the taps, adjusting the temperature slowly so I won’t burn him. When it’s warm enough, I paw at his clothing. I don’t get very far because I need to keep my cast dry, Jett anticipates my wants and drunkenly leans forward and pulls off his tee. His jeans soon follow, and I swallow hard and try desperately not to look at his naked body.

  I grab the shampoo and kneel on the cold tiles beside the tub. With my one good hand, I pour shampoo from the bottle and lather it into a foam. Jett closes his eyes and leans back against the tub. The only sign he hasn’t fallen asleep are the tears that slide out from the corners of his eyes beneath closed lashes.

  I wish I had some words of kindness to offer, but I don’t. I can’t tell him it will be all right, because it won’t. His wife was brutally murdered after she caught her husband buried deep inside me. There are no words to say. So, we sit in silence.

  When I’m done washing his hair, I take the soap and slide it over his body in a perfunctory manner. I’ve done this a hundred times or more with Joshua, but it’s a thousand times different with Jett. I love my husband, I truly do, but a part of me will never forgive him for leaving me, for attempting suicide, and succeeding in killing the man I knew and loved. I still love him, but I haven’t been attracted to him in a long time, and that alone feels like a betrayal.

  Jett places his hand over mine, and together we glide the bar of soap over his body. Over tattooed muscle and huge arms, down his pectorals and washboard stomach. I wish the soap wasn’t between us. I wish I had the courage to touch him the way I want, the way I did in that kitchen, but he’s not mine to touch, and I am not his.

  I try to pull away, but he opens his eyes and grabs my wrist. I whimper, more out of need than fear. He forces my hand lower, through the blond curls covering his lower abdomen, and finally down over his erect cock. I gasp, and try to pull away, shaking my head.

  “No.”

  “Please?” His voice is gruff, but it’s also desperate, and sorrowful. It reminds me of the nights after Joshua’s accident, when I would lie awake in our bed at night, wishing someone would hold me. I’d make myself orgasm, violently, longing for my husband’s touch, praying he would come back to me whole and the way I remembered him. Afterward, I would cry for hours because that was never going to happen.

  Guilt washes over me, but the pleading in Jett’s eyes rips my heart to shreds. I understand the need to feel something—anything—other than misery, so I don’t stop him when he guides my hand over his length again. He groans and releases my wrist, but his other hand still covers mine. It’s still coaxing, his powerful body taut with tension.

  I gently remove his hand from on top of mine and take his shaft in my grip. I slide my closed palm over him, from base to tip. His gaze is firmly locked on mine. Tears well in both our eyes. Does he know that I have a dreadful secret? Does he understand that this one act which brings me so much joy and sorrow makes me a traitorous whore?

  Jett’s eyes never leave mine the entire time I stroke him. And when he finally rests his head back on the edge of the tub and his whole body turns rigid with orgasm as creamy cum spills from his dick, I savour every second of the pleasure and pain on his face because I know it’s the only time I’ll allow myself to see it.

  A sob wracks my body, and the sound seems to pull him from his euphoria.

  “Fuck. Raine. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I shake my head, attempting to signal that this isn’t on him. It’s on me. For the second time in as many weeks, I’ve broken my vow to stay faithful to my husband. And the worst part is, even now, even hurting and broken-hearted as I am for Joshua, I’d still do it all again. I’d let this man take me to bed, and I’d relish his hands on my body.

  What does that say about me?

  “Raine.”

  I can’t stop crying. I feel like Alice, flooding the room with my tears. Jett is in no way capable of dealing with this, and I don’t know what else to do, so I get up and flee from the room.

  Once in the hall, I run into Tank, who steadies me when I might have otherwise toppled.

  “Hey, where’s the fire, sweetheart?”

  “I ...” I sob. “Can you ...?”

  “Raine, what’s wrong?”

  “Jett. He’s drunk and in his tub. I can’t get him up. I ... I don’t think he’d want the other brothers to see him like that.”

  He runs his huge, meaty paws up and down my arms, warming me, no doubt wondering why I’m wet, and flush-faced. “Ivy’s in my room. Why don’t you go and sit with her?”

  I nod and walk away, blind and stupid with heartache.

  When I find Ivy and tell her all the sordid details of this train wreck, she pours me a shot of bourbon and sits beside me. “Who else knows?”

  “About my husband, or that I’m a traitorous whore?”

  “Honey, if you’re a whore, then there really is no hope for a recovering-junkie-club-slut like me.”

  “I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean—”

  “Relax, Raine. That word stopped bothering me a long time ago. I did what I had to in order to survive, and so did you.”

  I frown and meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re married to a man who tried to take the easy way out and who failed, and you’ve been left with the burden of his care for seven years. A whore wo
uld have walked and wiped her hands clean. You stuck by him, why?”

  “Because I love him.”

  “But he didn’t love you enough to stay.”

  Her words hit me like an anvil to the heart. “I made a promise.”

  “So did he.” She flops on the loveseat beside me. “Look, honey, I’m not saying you should fuck Jett. I’m not telling you to do anything, and I’m the last person you should take advice from, but you’re human. You make mistakes like the rest of us, but deep down, I think you also know that humans need to be touched, loved, and cherished. Your husband must have been going through some shit to want that kind of out. Even with all my past baggage, it’s not something I’ve ever seriously entertained. All I know is, you can’t live your life for your husband who wasn’t willing to live for you.”

  Is she right? Does Joshua’s selfishness mean that I’m exempt from remaining faithful? I don’t think so, but it does ease my guilt a little.

  God. I may not be a biker, I may not have broken the law, or held a gun to anyone’s temple, but I am surely headed to hell with the rest of the Saints. I just hope the ride is worth it in the end.

  RAINE

  THREE WEEKS AFTER JETT laid his wife to rest, I’m cleaning his office when the sound of jangling keys from the doorway startles me. Jett leans against the doorjamb, the low lamplight glinting off the silver in his hands. I press my hand to my chest and catch my breath. “You just gave me a heart attack.”

  “You’re in my office.”

  “I guess that’s fair. I knew it needed cleaning. I couldn’t sleep, and I’m not good with mess.”

  He raises a brow and steps closer. “I thought I told you not to work until your arm is better.”

  “I’m ... I know. I’m sorry. I can’t just stop, you know? I’m going stir-crazy.”

  “How ’bout a midnight ride?”

  “You finally got the bikes fixed, huh?”

  “Finished just now. So, you wanna come?”

  I laugh, but when I see he’s completely serious, I raise my cast. “I’m not sure I could hold onto you.”

  “I don’t think you’d have any problems there.” He grins, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I want to show you something.”

  “At midnight?”

  “Yeah, at midnight.”

  “Give me a few minutes to change first?”

  “You don’t need to change. You’re perfect.”

  I glance at my leggings and the Savage Saints MC hoodie that dwarfs me completely. I’m just about to protest when I meet his hungry gaze. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  I follow him out of the clubhouse and wait for Jett to wheel it out from the host of newly restored chrome and black motorcycles. He pushes a button and the engine growls to life—a deep, throaty rumble that forces a shiver up my spine and makes my hair stand on end.

  Jett revs the throttle. “You just gonna stand there all night, darlin’?”

  I bite my lip. “The last time I was on the back of one of these, I was run over, shot, and blown up.”

  “You weren’t ridin’ on the back of my bike.” He shakes his head. “I won’t let nothin’ happen to you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Saints’ honour.” Jett smiles and my heart performs cartwheels in my chest. “I swear, I’ll never let anything happen to you, again.”

  I let out a deep breath and inch closer. He hands me the helmet he took from the clubhouse, and I slide it on as he fastens his own. I place my foot on the peg and climb over, grabbing hold of Jett’s waist as I wrap my body around him. I try to ignore how good his hard stomach feels beneath my hand. I try not to think about how I broke my vows and let him take me on the clubhouse kitchen counter. Or the night shortly after Mia’s death when I bathed him, touched him, and he begged me to make him come. I refuse to lose myself in his sage and leather scent now, though it’s all I can smell.

  “Don’t let go,” he yells over the growling engine.

  “I won’t.”

  We move slowly toward the gate and Raphe—who’s manning the guard’s station—opens it to let us through with a huge grin on his face. Jett shakes his head and chuckles before he revs the throttle and we shoot forward up the road.

  Ten minutes later, we’re pulling up to a huge apartment complex. Jet stops at the gate and fishes a key card from his leather jacket. The gate opens and he leads us into a parking lot. He slides into an empty space and cuts the engine. I climb off the bike and remove my helmet.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask as I run a hand through my locks, inconspicuously attempting to remove all traces of helmet hair.

  “You’ll see.” He flips the kickstand down and climbs off the bike, resting our helmets on the warm seat we just vacated.

  “Hey, mate, how’s it going?” Jett nods to the security guard manning the reception of the first building of three, and steps onto the waiting elevator. I follow, baffled, because what the hell else am I going to do? I have no idea what it is Jett wants to show me, but I trust him implicitly. I’d likely follow this gruff, angry biker anywhere if he told me to.

  We head to the top floor of the building and exit when the doors open. At the end of the hall, he slips a key in the lock and pushes back the door. Jett flicks on the lights and an empty apartment—six times the size and so much nicer than the one I was forced to leave—stares back at us.

  “After you,” he says, gesturing that I should go first.

  “Where are we?”

  “It’s one of my investment properties.”

  I walk farther into the living room, staring out at the apartments facing us. I can see everything: other people’s living rooms, bedrooms, and—oh, a very naked gay couple having sex against the windows across the compound. “It’s so close to the clubhouse. Why aren’t you living here?”

  “Because it’s yours.”

  I whirl around to see his face. “What?”

  “Furniture should be arriving tomorrow. Not much was salvageable from your apartment but Grim and Kick went there and met with the landlord. He was a dick, and he’d already sold off your furniture to cover the rent, so they broke his nose.”

  I cover my mouth. “Oh my God.”

  “Anyway, there wasn’t much to save after the Russians riffled through it. Kick’s got a couple of boxes of your shit in his room at the clubhouse. We’ll bring them over tomorrow.”

  Oh God. All of the mementos and albums from my marriage gone, my previous life just erased by careless men seeking vengeance.

  “Jett, I can’t accept this. I ... I don’t know what to say, but this is ... it’s too much.”

  “Relax. The place is just sitting here unused. It’s about time you moved out of the clubhouse anyway. Now that lockdown is over, and the Russians are ...” He shoves his hands in the pocket of his jeans and glances at the window behind me. “I know living with a bunch of dirty bikers is no place for a woman like you.”

  I shake my head and step closer, pressing my palm to the ropey muscles of his forearm. “I’d be out on the street if it weren’t for you.”

  “I’d never let that happen.”

  “Still.” I take a deep breath. “I can’t accept this—”

  “You can and you will.”

  I raise a questioning brow and the corner of his lips tip up in a half-smile.

  “It makes zero sense having it sit here empty.”

  He’s not going to let this go. If I know one thing about Jett, it’s that he’s used to getting what he wants. I exhale slowly and turn to glance at the apartment, trying to imagine my new life here. Is it wrong that I see that life with him? It’s all I can see as I walk through the spacious kitchen, the living room, and head downstairs to the second floor where the bedrooms are. “The bathroom alone is bigger than my last apartment. I can’t afford this.”

  “It’s not costing you a cent, darlin’.”

  “Jett, I ...”

  “Christ, woman, for once will you just let someone take care of you?”
>
  His words catch me off guard. It’s suddenly hard to swallow around the lump in my throat. My nostrils flair and I fight back tears. “I’m not used to being the one who’s taken care of.”

  “Well, get used to it.”

  I shake my head at him and give a small smile. “I’ll get right on that, Prez.”

  Jett’s dark chuckle reverberates through the bathroom. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Angel.” He slips his arm around my shoulder and escorts me upstairs. “Let’s get you back to the clubhouse. You’re gonna need your rest if you’ve got Grim, Crazy, and Kick to babysit tomorrow.”

  “You won’t be here?” I try to keep the disappointment from my voice, but I fail miserably.

  “Club business with Tank. I’ll swing by later to see how you’re settling in.”

  JETT WASN’T KIDDING about babysitting the boys. Lucky for me, Ivy, Indie, and Charmaine are all on hand to whip them into line alongside me. Jett had left Ivy his credit card so we could order pizzas to keep everyone fed, and my new fridge had already been stocked with groceries and food. I feel like a charity case, but I’m still so grateful. I’m grateful for a family who went shopping to stock my pantry, who would drop everything to help me move, and who showed up at my new apartment with my car fully repaired and paid for, when my own kin abandoned me years earlier. But most of all, I’m grateful for Jett. Without him, I don’t know where I’d be. Although, at this rate I’m going to be working at that clubhouse until I’m one hundred years old just to pay him back for all he’s done for me.

  Josh’s face flashes before me, and I swallow the lump in my throat. Back when my husband was young and healthy, we moved into our first apartment together and christened every inch of that one bedroom. I’ve moved twice since then. Once into the town house we spent our marriage in, and the second time was the shitty apartment I took in Redfern because it was all I could afford after spending our life savings on his medical care and the room in the nursing home. But I’ve never had support around me like this.

  I sniff back the tears which are threatening to fall.