by Debra Kayn
"Where're my sisters?" asked Jett.
"Outside playing." Johanna hugged him lightly. "They'd love if you said hi. We've made sure to talk about you all the time, and I think Stassi believes she remembers you because of all the pictures we have up in the house. She's so funny. Your dad says she's a lot like you and your brothers. Jackie—well, she's not a baby anymore. She's sweet and strong, and she's missed you."
"I'll go out and see them." Jett stepped back. "Chief wanted you to know he's going to be done in about a half hour and that Thorn will meet you at the house to watch the kids."
Johanna laughed. "I wasn't going to hold Thorn to babysitting."
"Don't tell him that." Jett walked to the sliding door and left the house.
Johanna pivoted and gawked at Sydney. "Oh, boy. He's having a rough time."
Sydney nodded. It wasn't her place to discuss Jett's difficulties, even though Johanna was involved with Chief.
"Change of plans. You're coming with me to get your hair trimmed while having a pedi—don't worry, the place I go to takes walk-ins. You need to spend some time away from this house. Jett needs to learn he can't take everything bothering him out on you."
"He isn't," she mumbled.
"You can be strong later. I've been where you are and had to deal with Chief. I doubt living with Jett is much different than living with his dad when he's full throttle ahead and the hell with everyone who steps in his way." Johanna raised her brows. "You need time to be you and feel pretty and pampered. Afterward, you can deal with Jett."
The change of topic so abrupt, Sydney could only shake her head.
Johanna approached her, wrapping her in a big hug.
"Something you'll learn real fast...men coming home from prison are real assholes. I should've realized how hard this would be for you. You're young...practically the same age as I was when Chief was released." Johanna grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.
She dragged her feet. "I can't leave him."
"Yes, you can."
She stopped, yanking her arm. "I don't want to leave him."
"I know. God, I know." Johanna exhaled loudly. "Trust me on this. A couple of hours away from him will do you wonders, and it will do good for Jett to see you enjoying yourself."
"It'll only make him in a worse mood."
Johanna put her hands on Sydney's shoulders. "Listen to me. I grew up with Jett. I've been with Chief forever. I've seen dozens of Brikken members come back from prison. They're all moody, closed off, and angry. Jett's running on empty, plus he's in pain and probably pissed off because he can't ride again. But, deep down, he knows what he's doing to you, and it makes him angry at himself. I'm kicking myself for not talking to you before he came home or you would've been prepared for the emotional ups and downs. But, I'm going to make this up to you. Give me five minutes to talk to Chief, fill him in on my change of plans, and then you can ride with me to the house when I drop off the kids with Thorn before heading over to the spa."
Everything in her told her not to go along with Johanna's plans. That it was more important for her to be here in case Jett needed her. But, Johanna's understanding and empathy for her had her nodding.
She'd go out for a couple of hours. Maybe during that time, Jett would be more responsive toward her, and she'd find the strength to not let his mood put her in a funk.
"Tell Kylie, too. She can go with us." Johanna smiled, backing up to the door leading to the garage. "I'll only be a second and then we'll take off."
Left alone in the house, Sydney tilted back her head and closed her eyes. There was a good chance that when she walked outside to tell Kylie about the change in plans and let Jett know she was leaving to go with Johanna that he'd tell her she couldn't go.
There was an even bigger chance that he'd tell her to leave and not come back.
Chapter Thirty Nine
An hour after Sydney left, Chief and Olin finished the reworkings on the Harley and rode away from the house. Jett stood in the driveway alone. Keyed up over Sydney leaving, it'd taken everything in him to not show how upset he'd been when she left.
She was in no danger. Hell, if there were even a hint of someone after the club or any of the members, Chief wouldn't have allowed Johanna off Brikken property. Rationally, he knew that to be true, but he still wanted her by his side.
Looking down, he flexed his hand. No matter how he squeezed, the two damaged fingers remained curved and unmoving. If he threw a fist at someone, he'd break his fingers, and the next time the doctor would probably amputate them.
Stretching his thumb, he tried to hook the knuckle of his index finger and failed. With his other hand, he bent the unmovable fingers, pressing them down. A deep ache traveled throughout his hand. He held them in position, ignoring the pain. The scars from the two surgeries still red and tender.
He let go of his injured hand and fingered his cheekbone. The scar from his first incarceration long ago took a year before a faint white line about four inches long marked his face. He wore that scar with pride, having taken out three men when jumped.
Today, if anyone jumped him, he'd only have his left hand for protection. Half his strength to protect Sydney.
His right dominate arm tensed. If only he'd injured his left hand, he wouldn't be standing here without his woman, feeling pissed off at the world.
He questioned his importance to Brikken. Would he be able to step up into his father's place within the club not running at one-hundred percent?
Could he protect his MC brothers?
Could he intimidate others?
Could he ride?
He walked into the garage and circled his motorcycle. Chief adapted the handlebars. The throttle was on the left side. The front brake disconnected. He peered down at the side of the Harley. The clutch was now on the left foot peg with a jockey shifter on the right side—manageable with a fucked-up hand. While not ideal because of having to take one hand off the handlebars, it would allow him to ride.
An urge to try the motorcycle out and see if all the work would make it possible to ride again filled him. He walked over to the rollaway, found Duct tape, and using his teeth, bit off slim strips about five inches long.
He taped all four fingers side by side on his right hand. The stiff position and pressure on his knuckles pained him, but his determination pushed him through the discomfort. He fisted his hand, feeling the pull from the weakness, but managed to close his hand enough.
Enough to hold on to the handlebar.
He swung his leg over the bike, grabbed on with his good hand, toed the kickstand, and stopped. Starting the bike had always come naturally, he never even thought of the steps. Until those steps were changed and moved.
Balancing the weight of the Harley on his other leg, he put his left foot on the peg. From there, he started the bike.
The vibration as familiar and welcoming as coming home. He sat the bike and closed his eyes. The rumble of the engine a sweet caress. He could feel, hear, see, smell, and taste freedom.
The emotional release he'd needed after prison came back with a vengeance, hitting him hard.
His hand was not a memory he wanted to carry. He wanted to be the man Sydney needed, the man the club respected, the man who could take down any motherfucker asshole that threatened to take what was his.
He reached up and put his injured hand on the handlebar. His thumb, ring finger, and pink curled around the grip taking his two useless fingers with it because of the tape.
He felt no pain.
He was home.
Jett opened his eyes, used the clutch with his foot, hit the shifter with the palm of his hand, and gave the Harley some gas. Riding out of the garage, he looked up at the clouds.
All he needed was Sydney.
SYDNEY HELD THE HAND mirror in front of her watching the hair stylist trim the ends of her hair. Paranoid that Linda would do more than cut off the inch she'd requested, she'd accepted the mirror to keep an eye on her. Jett would hate it if
she cut her long hair.
Another woman, Babs, towel dried her feet. If she concentrated on what was happening around her head, she could handle the ticklish sensation on her soles.
"I wish I had more time in my life to get pampered," said Johanna, on Sydney's right.
"I've only had a pedicure once before," said Kylie, on her left. "My foster mom took me for my sixteenth birthday."
Stuck in the middle of the two, there was no use trying to keep up with the conversation. They both talked as if they'd known each other their whole life. She was glad to see Kylie accept Johanna, and in turn, Brikken.
Kylie had a chance to be herself, and now that she was an adult, she spread her wings more and more each day.
"What about you, Sydney?" asked Johanna.
"Hm?" She looked to her right, having spaced out.
"Don't you wish you could have this done all the time?"
She looked down at her scrubbed and softened feet. "It's the first time I've had it done."
"Really?" Johanna reached over and patted the arm of her chair. "We'll have to do it again."
Babs held up a tray of nail polish. "What color are you in the mood for this afternoon?"
Her eyes zeroed in on one. "Black."
"Black?" said Kylie. "Pick something sexy and wild."
"I want black." She held up the mirror but stared at herself instead of Linda pulling on the back of her hair.
Black would irritate Jett. As soon as the thought came, she ran with it. "Could you hand me my purse, please?"
"Sure," said Babs.
She dug through the contents until she found her bag of makeup. Using the hand mirror, she outlined her eyes in black.
"Flashback." Kylie laughed. "What are you doing?"
"Getting what I want." She glanced over at her sister, raised her brows, and smirked. At times in her past, her makeup and dying her hair black were the only things that gave her the confidence to pull off cons and manipulate others.
Kylie giggled. Sydney's neck warmed knowing Johanna took the situation in without giving her opinion. No one knew Jett better than her.
She'd attracted him once when she was sixteen, looking like she was twenty. Now that she was older, and they'd both gone through hell, she wasn't afraid of what putting makeup on would do to Jett.
He could yell.
He could demand she scrub her face.
He could hold her down and wash everything off himself.
And, she'd call her decision a success.
"Sis?" whispered Kylie.
She looked at her sister. Kylie gawked at her. She held the mirror up and looked at her face again. "What's wrong?"
"I remember when we used to watch You-tube tutorials on how to apply makeup and then practice on each other." Kylie's voice softened. "We both looked silly. But, you..."
"What?" She ran her finger under her eye. "Did I overdo it?"
"You look beautiful," said Kylie. "You're so much prettier with your natural hair color, and the makeup doesn't stand out the way it used to. You look older."
"She looks her age," whispered Johanna. "You could be a model."
She glanced over at Johanna needing another opinion. Johanna nodded and smiled. "Gorgeous. Why don't you wear makeup more often?"
"When Jett met me, he hated me wearing makeup." She shrugged. "So, I stopped."
Of course, that was a long time ago. At JDH, they forbid her from having make-up. After she got out, she'd been wrapped up in dealing with Jett in prison, she'd put her life on hold. Then, she'd found her old duffle bag in the closet.
She used her lip stain and mascara, but nothing else knowing Jett liked her without makeup.
Maybe that was Jett's problem.
She'd stopped being herself and concentrated on him. She rubbed her lips together, looking at herself in the mirror. Could she have changed too much trying to please him?
Since he'd been home, she'd followed him around like a nurse, trying to make him comfortable. She hovered like a mother, forbidding him to hurt himself again. When he exploded, she ran like a scared child. Somehow, she'd forgotten to be Sydney Hawkins.
"Oops, hold still." Babs lifted the brush from Sydney's toes. "I'm almost done. Two more toes to go."
Linda put her hands on Sydney's shoulders. "Your hair is finished."
She lifted her gaze in the mirror and warmth filled her. Her hair looked healthy and fell in waves past her shoulders. She shook her head. The lighter weight left her hair practically floating before falling back in place.
"Thank you so much. I love it." She handed Linda the mirror and put her makeup back in the bag, shoving it in her purse.
She couldn't sit still any longer. The moment Babs finished with her toes, she maneuvered herself out of the chair and walked on her heels in front of Johanna and Kylie. She was ready to go home.
Home.
To Jett.
Chapter Forty
Jett sat on his Harley at the end of the block across the road from the spa. It only took him one ride through town to find Johanna's car parked in front of the girly place with the colored benches out front with a sign that read Full Sun Spa.
It took him another ten minutes to talk himself out of storming into the building and bringing Sydney out with him. She deserved to do something nice for herself. He hadn't been the easiest person to be with the last few days. The last four years. Their whole relationship.
While he'd kept her safe at his house all those years, there were few things of comfort he provided.
He removed his injured hand from the handlebar. Sharp pain pulsed through his palm.
This time, he let the pain make him stronger. He'd rode the Harley into town, despite his injury. It would take time, but he'd damn well work around his limits and make himself stronger.
All he had to do was change what came naturally.
The knife at his back—left side now. He had protection. He planned to use the sandbag at the clubhouse and work his left side, gaining better coordination. A pistol shoots from both hands. There was no reason he couldn't practice and have just as much accuracy as before. His size, his appearance, his club hadn't changed. He would once again build himself up and make sure his reputation exceeded the damage to his hand.
It was his only option.
He was Rollo's grandson.
Chief's son.
He wouldn't allow himself to become less. The family depended on him. Brikken would need his leadership. There were over three hundred members, and their families, who relied on the security the motorcycle club brought them.
He'd be the toughest son of a bitch anyone ever came up against.
His chest pounded at the surge of energy pushing him forward for a change, and he stared at the door separating Sydney from him. He'd do it all with her by his side.
The door across the street opened, and Johanna walked out, followed by Kylie, and then Sydney. He started the motorcycle wanting to go to her, share what had happened with him today as he gained the ability to ride again. To step forward and become her protector, her lover, her family.
To make up for the shit, he'd put her through over the last four years.
He entered the street, checked traffic, and made a U-turn. All three women had stopped on the sidewalk, but only Sydney shielded her eyes from the low hung sun, peering toward him. He pulled up to the curb in front of her, and she dropped her hand.
Sydney's frown marking her confusion as she looked at his hand on the handlebar ignited into the most beautiful smile on her face. A smile he remembered from the past.
His cock pulsed, taking in everything from her makeup to her hair, to the way her blue eyes lit up as if he was the answer to her every need.
"Get on," he said.
She looked down at her purse, then spoke to Kylie, and tossed her bag to her sister. He revved the engine to get her moving. She unlatched the helmet from the back of his Harley, slid behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her excitement pressed ag
ainst him fully. Her breasts warmed his back. Her legs cradled his hips.
She propped her chin on his shoulder. The moment took all his pain away.
No breeze would touch his back because, with his hand out of the way, she plastered herself against him, unafraid of hurting him.
He nodded at the women on the sidewalk, catching Johanna's gaze. He winked, and she nodded understanding that he wanted time at the house alone with Sydney. Johanna would keep Kylie occupied.
The fifteen-minute ride home took twenty-five minutes. Aware of the changes on his Harley, the danger of riding with a suicide clutch, and the distraction at having Sydney at his back, he made sure they arrived home safely.
He pulled up into the driveway. Shutting off the bike, he expected Sydney to slide off the seat, and she remained sitting. She hadn't moved an inch during the ride.
Unable to see her, he looked in the side mirror as he placed his injured hand on his thigh. His gaze met hers through the reflective glass. The happiness in her smile stopped him from hauling her into the house and taking her.
His chest warmed. He'd done one thing right. The night he'd found Sydney conning the Brikken members, he could have easily let Sydney walk away into the night. But, he'd gone after her.
He'd spend the rest of his life going after her.
"Love you, Syd," he said.
Her eyes softened on his reflection. "I love you, too."
"You look real pretty." He inhaled, aware the longer they sat there, the harder he got for her. "You keep sitting there, not getting off my motorcycle, and I'm going to have to carry you inside."
Her gaze dropped to his hand, and she slid off the seat. He took his helmet off and shook his hair loose, and when he turned to her, she had already taken off her protection and waited for him. He leaned down, kissed her hard, and pulled back an inch. "Get your ass in the house."
She caught her lip between her teeth, holding her smile of pleasure back, and hurried through the garage and into the house. He followed, taking his time, keeping his head.