JETT (Savage Saints MC Book 3)

by Carmen Jenner

  Eventually, a team of nurses enter the room. One ushers me to the corner while another checks his vitals. She shakes her head. I cry out and collapse, but strong arms hold me up, and I lean into Jett as he pulls me across the threshold and lifts me in his arms. I sob for my husband, my first true love, my Joshua.

  Jett carries me out through the doors of the nursing home and sets me on my feet beside my car. He opens the door and helps me in, leaning into the vehicle to buckle my seat belt.

  “I ... I can’t l-leave,” I sob. “I have forms I need t-to sign, things I need to—”

  “Later. You’re not signin’ nothin’ right now. Your husband just died, darlin’. I’m sure even the bitches at that nursing home can understand you need a minute to grieve.”

  We drive in silence. When he pulls up in front of my apartment, I close my eyes and grab hold of his hand. “Will you stay with me?”

  “Babe, you couldn’t pay me to be anywhere else.”

  I climb out of the car and step into the crisp, early-morning air. The first few drops of rain brush my arms and hair, but I don’t hurry to the door like I usually would. I stumble forward a few feet, and the weight of my loss slams into me so hard that I crumple to the ground.

  Jett helps me to my feet and leads me to the front door of my building. We ride the elevator and I sob the entire time. When he opens my door, he picks me up and carries me across the threshold. Joshua did this very thing after we returned from our honeymoon in Italy. The juxtaposition of those two men and the thresholds they’ve carried me across is startling.

  He takes me into my bedroom and lays me on the unmade bed. Jett lies beside me, and pulls me into his embrace. I sob so hard, I soak his shirt through in minutes.

  He strokes my hair. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. I couldn’t handle empty platitudes just to fill the space anyway. I think he knows this. It’s likely why he didn’t want anyone around after Mia’s death.

  What could anyone say to make this better, to make me grieve less?

  Nothing. There are no words. Only pain and tears, and the arms of the man I love, but not the arms of the man I married. I’ll never feel those around me again. I’ll never kiss him, make love to him, or have him whisper assurances in my ear.

  The man I married is dead, and the man I love—the man I tried so desperately not to fall for—is here, holding me, kissing my forehead, and telling me I’ll be okay.

  Nothing feels okay in this moment.

  Nothing will ever be okay again.

  JETT

  I’VE HARDLY SLEPT. My phone buzzed so much with incoming texts and calls this morning that I turned it off. I slide out from under Raine’s arm, easing it back to the bed carefully so I won’t wake her. Then I walk through the apartment to check my messages. Tank’s name flashes up on the screen and I unlock the door and step out onto her tiny balcony to answer it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Prez, you okay? We’ve been trying to call and some of the boys were getting worried.”

  “I’m fine. I’m with Raine.”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Not like that, arsehole. Her husband passed away last night.”

  “Husband?”

  Shit. I forgot that wasn’t common knowledge.

  I take a deep breath and rub at my eyes, staring at the buildings across the way with their balconies all facing one another. I chose this place because while it may not offer a whole lot in privacy, Raine would be safe here.

  “Yeah, her husband.”

  “Fuck, Prez. I didn’t even know the bitch was married.”

  “Well you do now. Listen, you can hold things down at the club for a few days, right? I’m not leaving her alone.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “I need to come and get some shit: clothes, deodorant—so she doesn’t kick my stinky arse out. Do you think Ivy would keep Raine company while I’m gone?”

  “Why don’t I just have her bring the shit to you?”

  “She gonna appreciate you making her my errand bitch?”

  “She’ll appreciate it later when I pull her hair, spank her arse, and tell her to call me Daddy.”

  “Too much fucking information, arsehole.”

  He chuckles. “You want us to send food too?”

  “Nah, we’ll order in, or I’ll drive her to the store myself.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Tank is my VP for a reason. He has my motherfucking back when no one else would, and he’s probably the only other brother I trust to keep the club running and my boys in line while I’m gone. They’ll answer to him, they’ll respect him, and if they don’t, they’ll be dealt with when I get back. “Where are we with those Arian arseholes?”

  “It’s all quiet on the ranch. We got no leads. The Devils ain’t got jack shit. Country might have a way in though. Some guy he did time with in state. Thinks it’s right up his alley. Raphe’s tagging along for the meet.”

  “Alright, let me know when you hear something.”

  “Sure thing, boss. I’ll text when Ivy’s on her way with your shit.”

  I laugh. “Assuming she hasn’t cut off your dick and both your hands.”

  “Might be fun to see her try,” he says, and I end the call before I can hear any more about it. Ivy was my best girl before Tank decided her junkie arse was worth saving—the brothers almost killed one another over the girls who were left in my employ after Ivy was taken off the table. I’m surprised Tank trusts her at all around the club brothers. It’d eat me up inside knowing my woman had fucked every brother in that club, but Tank and Ivy? They’re the shit biker fairy tales are made of.

  I chuckle at that stupid-arsed sentiment and shake my head. I need more sleep.

  When I head inside and climb back into bed, Raine startles. “Jett?”

  “It’s okay, babe. I’m here.”

  “Don’t leave me. Please? I know you have more important things to do but—”

  “Nothing is more important than you, darlin’.”

  She sniffs and I wipe away her bout of fresh tears. “How did we get here? Both of us widowed before fifty?”

  I shake my head and sigh. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I know. I’m an arsehole.” I reach out and run a hand over her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I don’t know what else to tell you, darlin’. Life handed us both a raw deal, you more so than me. I can’t make it better. I can’t bring him back or replace your husband, but I can love you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Hell, you really gonna make me say it again?” I smirk, and the tears shining in her eyes cause my protective instincts to kick in. “I love you, Raine. I think I’ve loved you since I walked into that fuckin’ coffee shop and you looked up and took my order.”

  Her lips tip up in a sweet smile.

  “Even now, even smilin’ through your tears, you’re still fuckin’ knocking me off my feet, and all the air from my lungs.”

  “Liar. I look like a goddamn mess.”

  “No, you look like a woman who just lost the love of her life.”

  More tears spill over her cheeks, and she sobs and clutches me close to her chest. “I spent so long caring for him, I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  “It takes some time. You’ll be okay.”

  “How did you do it? How did you survive Mia?”

  “I’m still wondering that myself.”

  “God, you’ve been here for hours.” She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. “I need to feed you.”

  “I know where the kitchen is.”

  “That’s not the point. You’ve been so good to me and I—”

  “Saved me from drinking myself to death only a month ago.”

  She sniffs. “We make a great pair, huh?”

  “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’re gonna eat, Raine. I don’t c
are if I have to spoon-feed you, you’re gonna eat. You can’t afford to lose any more weight.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh right, I would hate to drop a dress size.”

  “Come on, now. You know you’re perfect just as you are, right?”

  “No. I’m not. I have stretch marks, a fat arse, and boobs that are far too big.”

  “You tryin’ to make me want you more?”

  She inhales sharply. “I’m not ... I ...”

  “You’re not anything but perfect. You got that?”

  She nods and climbs out of bed. I head for the door, but she stops and turns around to face me. “Thank you. For everything. This apartment, my job, for being here. You’ve given me so much.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing, Jetthro. It’s everything.”

  I reach out and take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to mine. “You’re everything to me, Raine.”

  She exhales a shaky breath and I bend and lay a soft kiss against her lips. She doesn’t open her mouth, but she doesn’t need to. Just having her lips on mine, her body pressed close, and the scent of her in my sinuses is enough.

  For now, it’s enough.

  RAINE

  A WEEK LATER, I SAY goodbye to the last of the mourners at the wake. The boys and their old ladies are all here to support me on this day. And while Joshua’s old work colleagues may have found it strange that a biker gang had taken up residence of the back row of the funeral home, it brings me comfort knowing they’ve all come for me.

  Kick, Tank, and Jett talk in one corner of the room. Crazy stands by the buffet table, poking at the devilled eggs. Grim, Country, Trigger, Diesel, and Killer have taken up posts near the exits. The only ones missing are the new prospects and Raphe, and they stayed behind to watch over the clubhouse.

  Kick leaves the group and walks toward me. “How you doin’, babe?”

  “About as well as could be expected for a widow who’s trying to hold it together in front of the big, bad bikers.”

  “You don’t have to hold anything together, sweetheart. That’s what we’re here for.”

  For the eightieth time today, I burst into tears. I’m so sick of crying. I need a wine, a long, hot bath and ... well, I need to lay my husband to rest. While technically, I already did that two hours ago, I still have a lot of things to say to him when no one else is around. Things I can only say with half a bottle of wine in my system.

  Kick pulls me into a quick hug and Indie comes over, nudging him out of the way so she can hug me instead. I’m so thankful to have her and Ivy in my life. I’m lucky to have all of them.

  “Thank you,” I say glancing first at Kick and then at his gorgeous old lady. “Both of you. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you, and Jett, or Tank and Ivy.”

  “Hey.” Indie takes hold of my hand and squeezes. “We’re family. That’s what family do, right?”

  “Right.” A wistful sob escapes me and I wipe away my tears. “I’m sorry. I just realised with Joshua gone, I have no family. No legal family members anyway.”

  “Well, we might not be related by blood or marriage.” Indie shoots a pointed look at her biker. “But we’re tied together by the brotherhood, so I think it still counts.”

  “Of course, it still fuckin’ counts.” He wraps an arm around Indie’s shoulders and squeezes, then he draws me into his side and crushes us together.

  “Ow. Jesus, Biker.” Indie shoves him away. “You squished my fucking boobs.”

  “What? I was just trying to get Raine to feel the love.”

  “She’s straight, arsehole. And don’t lie. You were hoping for a hottie subway sandwich. Never gonna happen.”

  Kick winks and Indie takes my hand. “Raine, call us if you need us. I’ll be there in a heartbeat, minus this jerkoff, of course.” She thumbs a hand toward Kick.

  “Thanks again.”

  “Love you, baby,” Indie calls, and they exit the building. Tank and Ivy are next to say their goodbyes, and pretty soon everyone but Jett, Grim, and Trigger have left. I set about covering the remaining food, of which there is far too much. As I’m tossing the beat-up devilled eggs in the trash, Father Scott approaches me and places a hand on my shoulder. I about jump out of my skin.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Cole. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m kind of jumpy right now.”

  “Before you leave, I wanted to talk to you about your new friends.” He inclines his head toward the service window in the wall. To Jett, Grim, and Trigger.

  “What about them?”

  “Some of the attendees today were concerned that you haven’t been in church for a while.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I have to say, your absence has been duly noted for some months now. You know if you’re in some kind of trouble, God will find a way to help you. He will not leave a devout member of his flock to navigate the rocky roads alone.”

  “Well, I appreciate that Jesus has my back, but while we’re on the subject, why don’t we ask him where he stands on my husband’s soul, and why he didn’t step in with some divine intervention to stay Joshua’s hand from trying to end his own life? Or maybe we can ask where the church was when my husband was lying in a nursing home fighting for his life, and while I was working every second of every day trying to pay off his medical bills. Why don’t you ask the damn flock why they don’t give a shit about me unless it’s to gossip?”

  Father Scott’s mouth gapes open and though my chest is heaving, my face is red, and my heart hurts like there’s a giant hole in it, I am not ashamed. I will not let this man ridicule me and judge my boys unfairly.

  “Everything alright in here?” Jett asks from the doorway.

  I meet his gaze, unwavering. “It’s fine.”

  “You sure? It don’t sound fine.”

  “I was just having a conversation with Mrs Cole about finding her faith in Jesus, and coming back to the church.”

  “Really?” Jett folds his arms across his chest. “’Cause it sure as shit sounds to me like you’re harassing a woman who just laid her husband to rest.”

  “I-I ...” Father Scott’s chin wobbles. His quivering turkey neck would be quite comical if I weren’t so damn angry.

  “That’s what I thought,” Jett says, and Grim crowds the doorway behind him. He’s just as imposing as the president of the MC, but Grim’s scars tend to set people on edge and make them even more wary. If only they knew underneath all of that scarred flesh and bravado lies the heart of a man who reads classic literature and rescues stray Chihuahuas from kill shelters.

  “I hope you’ll consider what I said, Mrs Cole.”

  “And I hope you’ll consider what I said, Father.”

  He inclines his head and I move away, grasping Jett’s outstretched hand. It isn’t until I’m out in the parking lot, the food loaded in my tiny car, that I fall apart.

  JETT LEFT MY APARTMENT hours ago. He’d helped haul all of the platters of food in from my car and I’d made him a container and sent him on his way with the rest of the food for the clubhouse. Tonight, I need to be alone to grieve.

  I open a bottle of red, deliberately forget the glass, and walk through my empty apartment. I light a candle, draw a bath and sink into the sweet, lilac-scented bubbles. The wine makes me feel sick, but I continue to drink it anyway because I don’t know what else to do.

  “I don’t forgive you,” I say quietly as tears run down my face. “You hear me, Joshua? I don’t forgive you for trying to kill yourself. I don’t forgive you for leaving me, and saddling me with the cost of your care. I don’t forgive you for attempting to leave me, and I don’t forgive you for failing.” I raise my bottle toward the ceiling. “I don’t forgive you for dying, Joshy, but I still fucking love you.”

  I sob in the tub until I can’t cry anymore. I no longer have the tears, and I rest my head on the bath pillow and close my eyes.

 
I jerk awake. A man stands over me in the dark, the candle already burned out and the water is cold. I gasp, terrified, exhilarated, numb.

  “I got you, darlin’,” Jett whispers as he pulls me from the tub. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”

  I’m freezing, naked, and apparently stupid with grief and alcohol consumption, but I curl into his warm body. Jett sets me on my feet, and I let him dry me off. I don’t care that he can see every inch of me in the light from the hall. I don’t care that I’m naked, he’s touching me, and all of my imperfections are on display. I only care that he’s here.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought you might need me.”

  “I do. I need you, Jett.”

  “I know, babe.”

  “No,” I whisper, almost afraid to utter the words out loud. “I need you. I need you to touch me. I need you to make love to me.”

  What am I doing? What am I asking for? I just laid my husband to rest and already I’m begging another man to take me. I understand all too well the reason he guided my hand to his erection in the bath after Mia died. Some holes can’t be filled with sweet sentiment and well wishes. Some holes are too deep, the ache too strong, and when I think about that word ... widow ... I fear I’ll never be whole again. I’ll never be touched again, filled, satiated. I’ll never belong to another man, and I need to belong to something, to someone. Otherwise I’m alone.

  Jett studies my face. I don’t know what he finds there—a sad woman? Someone as broken and lonely as he is? Or just a woman in love, begging him to take away her hurt. Whatever he sees, he exhales, long and slow, and then he picks me up and carries me from the room. I start crying all over again. As he lays me on my bed and takes off his cut and the shirt beneath, I inhale sharply. My eyes roam his tattoos, over every inch of his hard torso and arms. I reach out and run my hands over his abs, trailing down to the bulge in his pants. He groans and strips off his leathers. Then he climbs on the bed and crawls up my body. He slides his hand behind my head and threads his fingers through my hair. “Jesus, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”