JETT (Savage Saints MC Book 3)

by Carmen Jenner

  “He’s fine, dear, just fine.”

  Her shrewd gaze rolls over Jett as she enters the elevator. The furrowed brow indicates she’s not too pleased with what she sees. Jett leans forward and presses the button for the top floor.

  Mrs Robinson nods her thanks. “And whom might you be?”

  “I’m a concerned friend.”

  Mrs Robinson’s mouth turns down in a frown. “Concerned?”

  “I want to make sure Raine gets home safely.”

  “Well, this is supposed to be one of the safest buildings in Waterloo.”

  “Oh, I know,” Jett says. “That’s why I bought the apartment.”

  Why do I suddenly feel like a thirteen-year-old coming home late from a date?

  The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open with a cheery ding.

  Jett motions for my nosy neighbour to go first and we wait in silence as she shuffles out.

  “Goodnight, Mrs Robinson.”

  “Goodnight, dear. I trust your company won’t stay long.”

  I frown and Mrs Robinson opens her door. Winston barks and almost bowls her over as she slips inside.

  I turn to face him. “I’m sorry. That was rude of her.”

  “It’s okay, babe. You don’t get to be my age and be worried about appearances.”

  “I guess not.”

  Jett slides the key in my door and pushes it open, holding it while I walk through. He makes no attempt to cross my threshold.

  “You’re not coming in?”

  “Probably best if I don’t.”

  I swallow hard and try to hide my disappointment. “Right.”

  “Jesus, Angel, you can’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “You can’t be this disappointed when I tell you no. I’m only doin’ it for your sake. After all, what would Mrs Robinson think? She’s probably got her beady little eye pushed to the peephole.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about appearances?”

  “I care about your reputation.”

  “Jett, would you come in and just stay with me for a while? I’m not ready to be alone yet.”

  “You’re gonna be the death of me. You know that, right?” He shakes his head and steps inside.

  “Mind the boxes. I had to race out before I could get everything put away.” I walk into the kitchen and pull a beer for both of us from the fridge. Jett glances at the label. Fifty Lashes. Grim’s favourite. “Indie bought them. I guess Grim got Kick onto this brand.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him to come keep you company?”

  “Because I need to learn how to do this thing on my own. It’s been seven years since Josh’s accident. You’d think I’d be used to being alone by now.” I glance down at the bottle in my hands and take a sip.

  Jett drains half of his beer in one pull.

  “Grim is my friend. That’s all he’ll ever be. That’s all anyone can ever be. I don’t ... I don’t have a right to ask for more.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh, what?” I move away, needing space between us. I walk into the lounge room and sit on the plush grey sofa.

  Jett follows and sits beside me—too close. Our thighs touch. I wet my suddenly dry lips and swallow hard before shifting and tucking my feet underneath me.

  He grins and pulls on his beer before saying, “I don’t have a problem with you asking for more. Never have.”

  I rest my elbow of the back of the couch and lean my head on my palm. An involuntary yawn escapes, loud and unapologetic.

  Jett chuckles. “Sorry, is my attempt at seduction putting you to sleep?”

  I laugh. “God, no. I mean ... I’m sure you’re not really trying—”

  “Jesus, why don’t you twist the knife a little deeper, darlin’?”

  I clamp a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s true. I’m just ... I’m just so tired lately.”

  “You been sleepin’ okay?”

  “Sure, when my anxiety isn’t through the roof and I don’t have to get up a thousand times a night.”

  “We can get the butcher to get you some pills if you like? It’d help with the sleepin’.”

  “I’m okay. It’s just been a big few weeks.”

  “Weeks or years?”

  I smile. “Both?”

  “Well, I better let you get some sleep.” He stands and drains his bottle dry, moving into the kitchen to set it on the counter.

  “Jett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you stay?” I’m so surprised by the words that come out of my mouth that I bite my lip and wish I’d had the forethought to bite my damn tongue instead. “I mean ... that came out wrong. I just ... do you want to stay and watch a movie with me?”

  “A movie?”

  “Yeah. We could Netflix and chill, only ... without the chill because ... married.”

  “What’s that code for? Sex?”

  “Are you kidding me? How do you not know what Netflix and chill means?”

  “Darlin’, I run a nefarious biker club. I can’t remember the last time I turned on a TV that wasn’t hooked up to a surveillance camera, let alone had time to Netflix and chill.”

  “That’s a good point. I guess I never realised how much of your life the club takes up. I mean, obviously I know, because you’re there all the time.”

  “Yeah, sometimes I think my wife preferred it that way.”

  “Do you ... do you miss her?”

  He gives me a wistful smile. “Sometimes. Most nights I’m too busy at the clubhouse to think about her, and others I wake in a cold sweat, seeing her eyes staring up at me from that box.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say and stand abruptly, heading to the kitchen to grab him another beer. Why did I ask him that? What the hell did I hope to gain by making him talk about his dead wife?

  I fill the kettle and put it on as Jett follows me into the kitchen and leans against the counter opposite me. Even now, standing here at the end of a long, emotional day, he looks sinful in his leathers and with his dusty blond hair and that beard I want to scratch. I open the fridge and grab him another beer, popping off the top and handing it to him.

  “You usually ask a man a question and walk away while he’s pouring his heart out to you?”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I ... I still feel responsible.”

  “How? Were you the one to decapitate her and mail her head to me in a box?”

  I swallow hard and close my eyes. I know this kind of violence is normal for him. The Saints see brutality like that every day, and they still get up each morning. But I can’t help the visceral effect his words have on me, or the way my stomach lurches when I recall Jett opening that box—when I saw the horror, grief and anguish on his face, or the vengeance reflected in his eyes afterward. I will my tears away, but they spill over my lashes and I turn and pour myself a tea even though the kettle hasn’t quite finished boiling.

  “Raine,” Jett says, his tone gentle and coaxing and far closer than I imagined. He stands behind me, his heat prickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck and spine. He slides his beer onto the kitchen bench in front of me and his hand snakes around my waist, turning me in his arms.

  “I can’t,” I whisper, afraid to look him in the eye, afraid I’ll see his desire reflected there and give in. “I can’t do this again.”

  “Because of Josh.”

  I nod. “I meant those words when I said them in front of our family and friends, in front of God. I promised to love and cherish, to be faithful, and I already broke that promise once. I can’t do it again.”

  “You asked me if I miss my wife—I don’t. That makes me a bad man, I know.” Jett leans in, his arms encircling my waist, his fingertips softly trailing my spine. “I don’t miss my wife, darlin’, but I do miss you.”

  I still. I don’t dare glance up at him. I know it’s a battle I’ll lose because the truth is, I miss him too.

&nbs
p; “Look at me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I ain’t gonna push you to do somethin’ you’re not comfortable with. I respect that you made a promise you intend to keep. I think it’s bullshit given he broke his promise first—somethin’ I would never do. I would never leave you like that, Raine. If you were mine ...” He shakes his head. “I’d be trying to spend every minute of every day just holding you.”

  I look up at him. I fall into those bright blue eyes and I keep on falling. He kisses the tip of my nose, and when I don’t pull away, he angles his head and kisses my lips. It’s sweet and chaste—much more gentle than I ever imagined he’d be capable of, but when I open to him it quickly turns passionate. He lifts me, and sets me on the counter, upending the beer all over the floor. I don’t even have time to protest as the amber liquid splashes our legs and my kitchen cabinets. Jett’s hands grip my hair as he kisses me, and my own fingers roam his chest beneath the cut, and slide under his T-shirt. Hard-won muscle greets me: perfectly sculpted pecs and abs. His hips are between my thighs, and his erection is pressed against my heat. It’s intoxicating. It’s raw and brutal—passion and need—and it’s a complete betrayal. I pull away, sucking in air as I meet those eyes that seem to swirl an even brighter blue.

  “I can’t,” I pant.

  “Shit,” he mutters, raking his hand through his wheat-blond hair. “I’m not gonna apologise for kissing you. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

  A nervous laugh escapes me because I know what he means. How can kissing him, being with him, feel so right and be so wrong? “I don’t want you to apologise, and I don’t want you to stop, but—”

  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me again, deeply, ferociously, so hard and hot my head is spinning. I press my hands against his and pry them from my cheeks. “Jett.”

  “I know.” He sighs. “I know you can’t let this happen again, and I should go.”

  “Do you have to?”

  “Jesus, woman. You sure know how to send mixed fuckin’ signals.”

  “I’m sorry. I just. I don’t like being alone after ...”

  “The attack?”

  “Everything. I can’t stand it, actually.”

  “You think about getting a room-mate?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. I don’t want to impose. It’s not my place, and you’ve already been good enough to me just letting me stay here.”

  “You don’t have any friends you can call to come stay with you?”

  “Nope. That’s the price I pay for working so hard to keep Josh in care.” I shrug. “Everyone just sort of stepped away after his accident. I didn’t have time to foster fake friendships, so here we are.”

  “You want me to be your room-mate?”

  I chuckle, but then baulk when I see he’s serious. “Do you really think that’s a good idea. I mean, you’ve been here an hour and we can barely keep our hands off one another.”

  “Sounds like a fucking brilliant idea to me.”

  “I’m serious. This ...” I point between us, but he catches my hand and presses it against his chest. “Whatever this is between us, I can’t ... we can’t let this happen again.”

  “And if I promise to keep my hands and appendages to myself?”

  “You can’t seriously believe this is going to work?”

  “Why the hell not? You can’t sleep on your own, your wrist is still in a cast, and I’m very good with my hands.”

  I laugh and he gives me one of those sexy smirks.

  “I can’t go home, so ... it makes sense for everyone.”

  “Why can’t you go home?”

  He lowers his gaze to my lap. “Because I don’t fuckin’ want to.”

  “Why?”

  He takes a step back but I wrap my legs around his hips and draw him closer. “I thought you were the one pushing for room-mates with no funny business?”

  “Talk to me, Jett. Please?”

  He sighs. “Guilt mostly. Everything of hers is still there. It’s funny, I wanted that house. Mia threw a fit when I bought it and moved our shit from our pokey little flat in Surry Hills to the mountains. She hated it. She hated nature, and being that far away from her friends. She hated me too, but somehow, that house is more hers than it will ever be mine. I should sell it. I’m never there anyway. I hardly ever leave my goddamn clubhouse, but I still can’t let it go. The vision I had of us being a family is there—kids, and dogs, and more fucking bikes than any man has a right to own.”

  “I’m sorry you never had the chance to have that.”

  “Oh, we had the chance alright. It’s just our lives were completely different. Mia never wanted kids. She had her tubes tied while I was in lock-up.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah, my wife was a real piece of work.”

  He shakes his head and slides his hands up and down my thighs. I don’t even think he’s conscious of it, but I’m hyper aware of those rough hands against my body and I’m growing more and more turned on by the second.

  “I don’t know. I mean, a woman can do whatever the fuck she wants with her body. Far be it from me to tell her to have my kid when she doesn’t want it, but she’d never said anything otherwise, you know? Maybe I should have taken the look of disgust on her face as gospel or some shit.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “I’m not. Mia would have made a terrible mother, and fuck, she was right—bringing a kid into this world, into my world? It’s selfish. I got too many enemies and a fucking club full of grown-arse men behaving like children. I don’t need no kid getting caught up in the middle of this shit.”

  I nod, but inside, a part of me deflates. I don’t know why—children aren’t exactly on the cards for me either. My husband is lying in a nursing home, and I have no plans to replace him. Despite my inability to keep my hands off my boss, I meant those words I said to him. I won’t cheat on my husband ... again. Which means that Jett and I need to stay a safe distance away from one another from now on.

  Easier said than done.

  RAINE

  MY PHONE RINGS AND I throw out my arm and feel around my dresser, but I’m not met with hardwood. Or, I guess I am, just not the kind I anticipated. Instead, I’m grabbing a naked abdomen, a warm body, and a very hard penis. “Oh my God!”

  Jett’s sleepy chuckle echoes in my ear. “As nice as it is waking with your hands on me, are you gonna get that, babe?

  I yank my hand back and sit up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You fell asleep during the movie and I didn’t feel like driving home to an empty house.” He clears his throat and shifts against the mattress. “The phone, darlin’.”

  “Right.” I flick on the lamp and check the number on my screen. Shady Acres. Josh. “Hello?”

  “Mrs Cole?”

  “What’s wrong.”

  “It’s your husband. I’m afraid he’s taken a turn for the worse. His doctor has given permission for Joshua to receive a higher dose of morphine for the pain. The priest has already read him the last rites.”

  I blink. Am I still asleep? What the hell is she talking about? I pinch the bridge of my nose to ward away the pain in my skull. “Pain? Last rites? What do you mean? I was just there with him a few hours ago—he was doing fine. I know he’s had a hard time shaking the pneumonia but—”

  “Mrs Cole, we believe he’s suffered another stroke. His waiver prevents us from taking measures to keep him alive should he haemorrhage again. I suggest you get here soon.”

  “I ... oh my God. I’m coming. I’ll be there soon. Tell him I’ll be there soon.” I let the phone fall from my hands onto the duvet cover and I stare at it.

  “Babe, what’s wrong?”

  I glance at the man in my bed. A man who isn’t my husband. Jett. I close my eyes as a sob escapes me, and I cover my mouth to keep from screaming. “It’s Joshua.”

  I break down, deep sorrowful cries. Jett pulls me close, holding me as I fall apart. I don’t have time for this.
We don’t have time. My husband is lying in a bed across the city, dying, and I’m in bed with a man who isn’t him.

  “I have to go.”

  Jett climbs off the mattress and throws his shirt and leather cut on. “Where are your keys?”

  “I don’t know. You can’t be in the room. He wouldn’t want that. He’ll think I’ve replaced him already.”

  “Raine, I’m taking you. You’re in no state to drive.”

  I frown. I’ve been preparing for this since Joshua’s accident. I knew one day I’d have to let go much sooner than I’d anticipated, much sooner than a marriage should end. But it ended the day he attempted suicide. He’s dying this time, for real.

  Twenty-four hours ago, he was doing fine. Twenty-four hours ago, Jett and I were sitting in his room and he was okay. And now? “We need to go.”

  “You need your jacket, darlin’.”

  I look down at my jeans and T-shirt. I don’t remember how I got to bed. I guess Jett carried me in. Thank God he didn’t change me out of my clothes.

  “It’s cold out.”

  I throw on the same leather jacket I wore yesterday and head to the door, grabbing my purse. Jett picks up the keys and ushers me into the hall.

  “I’m not ... I’m not ready.”

  Jett rests his hands on my shoulders and ducks his head until I meet his gaze. “None of us ever are, Angel.”

  I SIT WITH MY HUSBAND, holding his hand in mine as the registered nurse gives him a butterfly injection. I talk to him as he wheezes and stares up at the ceiling as if the angels from heaven have come to take him from me. I talk until my voice turns hoarse, because I can’t stand the silence. I hold his hand until the wheezing becomes too loud to ignore. Finally, his hand twitches and then stills.

  Lifeless.

  I stare at Joshua’s face. It’s slackened with what looks like sleep, but it’s one he’ll never wake from. The wheezing stops. Everything stops. Including his heart. It seems so strange that mine should keep beating, even though it has just shattered into a million tiny pieces.

  “Joshy?” I gasp. “Joshua?”

  I rise, gently shaking his arms—arms that are frail and rail thin, arms that haven’t held me for the longest time. Arms that will never hold me again.