Biker Blues

by Dale Mayer

  Jazz was caught in the middle, through no fault of her own.

  “This is stupid,” she muttered. But she didn’t move.

  A low laugh rumbled through him. “It might be stupid, but it’s still nice.”

  She shook her head, the long waves of hair clinging to his shirt. “No.”

  “Not nice? Or not stupid.”

  “It can’t be nice,” she muttered. “There was never nice with us before. It was all heat and cold, there was never anything in between.”

  “There could be,” he said gently, calmly striving for a collected mess he didn’t feel. “We could try being friends first and lovers second.”

  At that, she snorted and stepped back. “What? I have no intention of being your lover again.”

  “It doesn’t matter one bit what your intention is,” he said, “because I know you’ll be back in my bed within a few days. We were always crazy good there.”

  “But nowhere else,” she said, “and I made a decision to not have bed-only relationships ever again.”

  “It wasn’t sex only,” he protested, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, but her instant rejection had hurt even though he should have expected it.

  She held her finger up to his lips. “Stop. No illusions. We had sex and nothing else. We had each other as often as we could in as many ways and places as the concept struck us. Then you walked. No explanation. No trusting me to understand. No intention of coming back. You turned what we had – what I thought we had – into a cheap, no-strings-attached sexual relationship. When you did that, you changed the rules.”

  Shit. He hadn’t looked at it from her perspective. He was seeing his actions a little too clearly at the moment, and it hurt. He hadn’t intended to do that. Had never considered the incredible relationship to be as she’d stated. It was the last thing she wanted now.

  “You hopped on that damn bike of yours and you took off for parts unknown. That’s the way it stays. The only relationship you know how to have are sex-only, which I refuse to have anymore.”

  “So where does that leave us?” he asked quietly, knowing he should keep his big mouth shut, but unable to. He needed to know where he stood. To know if he could redeem himself in her eyes.

  “It leaves us in the exact same place we were when you walked out. Friends without benefits.”

  “At least we’re friends,” he muttered.

  “And I might downgrade that, too,” she warned.

  He winced. They shared a lot of events in their lives. Many stories of their past. They had gotten to know each other like he’d never known anyone else. They had been so close. He’d changed that. Not willingly. With the little bit of grace of hindsight, he realized his reasons wouldn’t wash now. Not to her. Maybe not to himself either.

  He’d been keeping an eye on Jazz and waiting for something to change that he could step back into her life. But his brother’s death had not been the way he’d planned to go. And to think Billy had committed suicide. After Morgan had shown up again, well, that just ratcheted the pain and guilt all over again.

  His brother had been damn good. Had always been able to twist Morgan up in knots. But where the hell was Billy now?

  Where had he been this last year? He wanted to wring his neck. He needed to know the truth in at least one avenue. He took a deep breath and asked outright, “Were you sleeping with my brother?” From the shocked look on her face, he realized he’d likely have to narrow that down slightly. “In this last year, after I left, did you have a sexual, loving relationship with Billy?”

  Chapter 6

  Jazz stared at Morgan in shock. Her instinctive response flew out. “Fuck you.”

  His gaze darkened. His jaw locked down.

  She turned her back on him. Christ, she didn’t need this. Hadn’t the day been tough enough?

  “I need to know.”

  She froze. What the hell was this all about? She slowly turned back to face him. She studied the cold look on his features for a long moment then caught sight of something unusual in his eyes. Fear? Uncertainty? Did he care about her answer? If so, why? And if he did, how did she feel about that?

  Her heart jumped then flattened. No, she didn’t dare get taken in again by him. She’d been too badly affected by everything he did. She loved him so much. His leaving, and the way he left, had devastated her. She didn’t want to make that same mistake again. She’d gone a little wild at the time. A little crazy as she slid off the deep end. There were days of drinking to drown out her sorrows. She’d kicked and broken a few things as the anger and the fear that he was truly gone had settled in.

  No, she didn’t dare go down that road again.

  “Answer me.”

  With a narrow gaze, she shook her head slowly.

  “I was never Billy’s lover and I have never, to the best of my knowledge, seen him naked.”

  At her phrasing, his gaze pierced her eyes, as if willing to see the truth. “Best of your knowledge?” he probed cautiously.

  “I’ve been to a few parties where various members ended up stark naked, but I don’t remember if Billy was there.” She grinned. And damn if his gaze didn’t warm, his whole demeanor relaxing.

  “You really thought I’d been his lover?” She shook her head. “How could you think that?”

  His gaze lifted above her head then as if making a decision, he said quietly, “Billy told me many times. Before and after I left.”

  She had no words. She shook her head slowly, trying to shake off the sense of betrayal, then faster as she realized there was no shaking this off. “Well, I’d like to think you didn’t believe him, but I can see from the look on your face that you did.” She turned and stormed to the back door again and threw it open. “Get out.”

  She turned to glare at him, adding, “Now.”

  A weird ping sounded.

  Sharp stinging pain hit her in the shoulder. The force of the blow sent her to the floor. Morgan yelled, snagged up her arm, and dragged her back around the corner.

  She stumbled to her feet, her hand slapping over the sudden pain in her shoulder. “What the hell just happened?”

  Instead of answering, Morgan tugged her into his arms, his hand slapped over her mouth He held her tight, then released her slightly and crouched down, pulling her toward the front of the house. “Let’s go.”

  She stumbled behind him. Her shoulder was on fire but her confused mind was still in run-and-hide mode.

  A second shot rang out, this time splintering a kitchen window. Thankfully, she was in the living room.

  “Crap, he’s on the move.” Morgan raced to the front door and with her tugged up close to his side, he opened the door.

  No shot.

  He tugged her forward and snuck around the corner of the house to his bike, which he left parked in front of her house. He helped her onto the back, “Hold on tight.”

  “To what,” she managed to get out, groaning.

  “Me.” And he was there in front of her, taking her weight as she leaned forward. He tugged her arms forward, making her cry out.

  “Shh. I know you’re hurt. I’m getting you to safety. Stay awake and hold on.”

  He popped the stand and was even now rolling down the slight incline to the road. He took the corner into the shadow of the neighbor’s trees then fired the bike up and with little warning, he surged forward.

  She buried her face between his shoulder blades, holding on tight with her good arm. Her other arm was numb. Maybe that was better. He shifted under her, his hand pulling and tightening on her arm. Shit. She whimpered silently. No, it wasn’t numb. Right now the pain was screaming through her. She couldn’t get away from it. She’d nowhere to run.

  “Hold on,” he cried out as he picked up speed. Now the wind whipped past her shoulder. She huddled behind his much bigger, broader shoulders and let him take her away. Hopefully to somewhere safe.

  She was incapable of arguing. In fact, with pain blazing through her, the mists in her mind were threate
ning to overtake what little cognitive thinking she could do. She just wanted all this to disappear. To be back in her tiny home with a glass of wine and forget about this day from hell.

  A black wave of unconsciousness was just out of reach. She stared into the abyss, desperately wanting to fall into it.

  “Hold on. We’re almost there.”

  She closed her eyes and reached for the wave of darkness.

  *

  Jazz’s weight shifted, sinking heavier against him. Morgan shifted his body weight to make sure she was solid behind him. “Jazz? You awake? Stay awake, honey.”

  No answer.

  Damn it. He cut a corner, taking it slightly slower, and pulled into the emergency bay. He hated to bring her here but wasn’t sure what else to do. She hated hospitals. He hated hospitals. Only, how bad was the bullet wound? Shock was the worst for her right now. He should have taken her to his truck.

  At least then he didn’t have to worry about her falling. But it was at home and too far away.

  He pulled up to the front of the double doors and shut the big machine down.

  “Jazz?”

  No answer.

  He held her hand, keeping it snug against his chest, and pivoted to wrap an arm around her shoulders, lowering her into his arms. He stood up with her limp body in his arms and strode into Emergency. Thankfully it wasn’t crazy busy. Of course, bullet wounds and dripping rivers of blood were usually enough to get attention.

  Within minutes, she was being treated as the medical staff worked to stanch the flow of blood. He worried over her from the sidelines. He hadn’t seen the bleeding. When had that started? Why so much? He tried to avoid thinking arterial, but there was a lot of blood on the floor. He leaned against the wall out of the way, trying to stay invisible so that no one would chase him away, and he stared at the ongoing mess with his heart in his throat. God, what had he brought to her door?

  It had never occurred to him that he’d be putting her in harm’s way by asking her to help identify the tattoo. But he couldn’t think it was anything but this mess that had brought a shooter to her house. What the hell? He cast his mind back, looking for anything to explain who or what.

  He didn’t have much chance to look when a cop stepped up in front of him and tapped him on the shoulder. He motioned to the sitting room. “Come on, where we can talk.”

  Loathe to leave her, he frowned and shook his head. The cop’s smile disappeared. “Now. Not a request.”

  “Fuck.”

  He followed the cop out to the other room with a final look at Jazz. “If she dies while we’re out here, I’m going to blame you.”

  “If she dies while we’re out here, there was nothing either of us could have done to stop it anyway.”

  Morgan’s fist pounded on the table. He stared at it in surprise, not even realizing what he’d done. At the cop’s narrow gaze, he pulled himself together. The last thing he wanted was to get on the wrong side of the law. They would look at him and not look anywhere else.

  “Start at the beginning,” the cop said. “What happened?”

  “Beginning. Jesus. I don’t even know where that is.” He collected his thoughts and realized it started as far as Jazz’s role, when he called her today. From that point forward, Jazz’s life had gone to hell. He took a deep breath and started to explain. The cop took notes and stayed quiet until Morgan fell silent.

  “So you think the two incidences are connected?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t know for sure that it’s my brother back there. With his face shot off by a shotgun, I doubt anyone could recognize him.”

  “And your friend Jazz was shot, but not with a shotgun?” The cop turned to look at the emergency room. The chaos had calmed down somewhat.

  Morgan stared at Jazz. She appeared to be getting something into her arm now. He hoped it didn’t mean surgery. Then again, if she needed it, she better get it. It was her right arm. For many people that would be bad, but Jazz was a southpaw. He wondered how many people knew that. He turned to face the cop.

  “I know it’s a long shot and likely unrelated…”

  “Go ahead. We’ve got nothing at this point.”

  “She’s a tattoo artist and one of the best, and she’s been shot in the shoulder of her right arm. For anyone else, it would affect their ability to work. In her case…”

  “Is she a leftie?” The cop wrote down several notes.

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “Has she had any trouble with competitors, unhappy clients, jealousy with her success, and breakups with old partners, landlords, boyfriends?” At the last word, he shot Morgan a tight look. “Just what is your relationship with the victim again?”

  “Again is right,” Morgan muttered. “We were lovers, then I walked away. I only called her today, for the first time, about my brother, in over a year.”

  “So you aren’t in a relationship together?” the cop asked.

  Seeing that it needed to be a clear-cut answer from him, Morgan said, “No. We aren’t.” When the cop nodded and wrote down something Morgan couldn’t see, he added, “But we will be.”

  The cop dropped his pen and leaned back in the hard chair. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I made a mistake walking out, and I am going to try and find a way to make her forgive me.”

  “How’s that been working out for you?” the cop asked curiously.

  “It’s not. She wasn’t happy to see me,” Morgan admitted. “But I’m different. I still care. I need her to know that.”

  “Hmm. In my experience, it doesn’t matter if they know it or not. Once trust is broken…it’s broken.” He stood up. “Stay here. I’ll see if I can get a status update on her condition.”

  Morgan watched him walk to where Jazz lay. He couldn’t have walked if he tried. The cop’s statement had crippled him. He had to believe it was possible to get Jazz back in his life. He understood that it had been his mistake and he made it with the best of intentions. He hated himself almost immediately and knew none of that mattered.

  He’d missed Jazz every day of this past year. Almost losing her now… there was no way in hell he was going to go through another day without her.

  Chapter 7

  Jazz curled up in a ball, whimpers sliding out with every movement. God, she hurt. Shivering, she tried to open her eyes and couldn’t. Someone had painted them shut. She started to panic until she felt a firm, comforting hand on her lower arm.

  “Easy, Jazz.” He gently squeezed her arm. “You’re in the hospital. You were shot. The bullet went through the muscle of your right shoulder. You will be fine. Until it gets better, it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

  Shot. Arm. Morgan.

  And the morgue. As those memories flooded her psyche, the shivering eased back. She opened her eyes and realized it had been the light hurting that had her closing them earlier. Morgan’s face appeared in front of her, close enough for her to see the gold flecks in his eyes.

  “Hey. There you are. You scared the crap out of me.”

  She tightened her lips, scared to move too much and end up in pain. She’d had enough of that already. She whispered, “Hey back.”

  “Outside of the shoulder, how do you feel?”

  It took several long moments to assess. Everything ached. Her chest, both arms and hands. Her neck was stiff and a headache was threatening to overtake her skull with the sledgehammer it was using to get her attention. “Fine.”

  He snorted. “Good.”

  “I wish.” She yawned. “I didn’t see it coming.”

  “Neither did I.” He reached out and gently picked up her hand. “You… I’d never have brought this to your door if I had any idea this was going to happen.”

  “There was no way to know.” She struggled to keep her eyes open. “Must be the drugs, but I don’t feel so good.”

  “Rest.” He squeezed her hand and tried to withdraw, but her hand wouldn’t cooperate.

  “I’ll stay here,” he
said gently.

  She smiled, closed her eyes, and clung to him. Then she slipped under the cotton wool in her mind.

  *

  When her hand went limp, he settled back on the side of her bed but didn’t release her fingers entwined with his. Even in sleep, she knew where she belonged.

  Now if only he could convince her mind to remember she needed him. He wanted to kill his brother for making it seem so damn plausible to walk away. Yet, it wasn’t his brother’s fault. It was his. He’d let his brother convince him and manipulate him. Billy had always been able to do that, and he always let himself get caught up in the guilt. It hurt to see where he was now. His brother was dead, or it felt like he was dead at least, and until the results came back, he had no reason to believe otherwise.

  But the manner of the death… suicide? He hated to speak ill of the dead, but damn, it would be the way his brother would go just so he could twist the guilt card all over again. Morgan didn’t help him when he needed it. Morgan hadn’t been a good enough brother. Morgan had cared about everyone but Billy. Morgan had screwed the one girl Billy had loved and destroyed the only chance Billy had ever had of finding happiness.

  Shit. With the fictional voice of his brother rolling through his mind, Morgan realized he was an idiot.

  Now his brother was gone and Jazz had been shot. Had the shooter been after her or Morgan? And why either of them? He’d been wracking his brain for answers since the cop had left. Surely there was a motive, but if it was as twisted and convoluted as his brother’s for making Morgan step away from Jazz, then there was no thinking it through.

  He slouched forward and dropped his head into his hands, Jazz’s fingers still entwined with his, and closed his eyes.

  She had to let him back into her life. He wasn’t going to enjoy the explanation of why he’d left in the first place because even to him, it seemed ludicrous, but the regular updates from his brother on how good his life with Jazz was had kept him away, aware he’d blown his chance with the woman he’d loved.