Forbidden Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #5

by Ames, Jessica

  I watch as sympathy crosses his handsome face, and I hate seeing it there. I don’t want pity, not from him.

  “Piper…”

  “Don’t.” I raise a hand. “You don’t have to say anything, Jem. I understand. He’s your Club brother. I don’t expect you to badmouth him. I’m just telling you how it is for me. Losing Josh again will destroy me, Jem. I can’t do it.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He leans forward on the sofa, clasping his hands between his splayed legs. Then he says, “Your brother’s an arse.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “Wade’s an arse for walking away like that. I get he was going through shit, that he was spiralling after jail, but you don’t walk away from family. Not ever. He’s an arse.”

  That’s it? He’s an arse?

  “Jem…”

  He sags back against the sofa.

  “Drink your tea, angel.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to wait for you to fall asleep.”

  “Jem, I’m not going to fall asleep here.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving you alone. Not now.”

  I stare at him, my eyes feeling suddenly gritty and heavy with the sting of tears. “I didn’t tell you that so you’d feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you, but I’m still not leaving you.”

  “You are the most stubborn man.”

  “Says the woman who hasn’t slept a full night in a month.” He tugs the blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it over my legs. “Drink up.”

  I stare at him, trying to fathom him out. I want to ask why he’s looking after me, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

  Jem grabs the remote and switches the television on, and my courage flees. He puts some action film on and settles back against the cushions. When I’m done with my tea, he takes the mug from me and places it on the coffee table.

  Absently, I watch the movie with him, my eyes drifting as he gently strokes a hand up my arm. I shift closer to his shoulder until I’m completely tucked against his side. It doesn’t take me long to succumb to the pull of sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Two days later, a bang on the flat’s front door draws my attention. I pull my head out of the sink, my toothbrush half hanging out of my mouth. I’m not expecting anyone yet. My taxi to the hospital isn’t due for another twenty minutes, and he usually calls when he’s outside.

  Spitting toothpaste, I quickly rinse my mouth, and head for the front door.

  When I peek through the spy hole, I’m surprised to see Jem standing on the other side—who is steadfastly becoming the object of a few late-night fantasies after seeing him in his workout gear the other day and after falling asleep on him. I can’t believe how sweet he was to me. I didn’t think he was capable of it.

  Since I got into town, he’s either been a completely sarcastic arse or total joker. I thought he might make fun of me for calling him over nothing with the door situation, but he didn’t. He forced me to get some rest. I slept for seven and a half hours, during which time he didn’t leave my side. When I woke, he ordered us takeout. He fed me and then he left. The whole situation was surreal.

  I haven’t seen him since that day, though, so seeing him now has a tendril of fear rushing through me. What if something is wrong with Josh?

  I tug the door open a little more forcefully than necessary.

  “Is Josh okay?”

  He smiles at me, and I can’t deny I’m not affected by his silly grin, because I am. In fact, I’m starting to become affected by almost everything he does, and I don’t want to read too much into why that is.

  “Not quite the greeting I was looking for.”

  Irritation flares in me. “Jem, is he okay?”

  “Wade’s fine. Are you just going to leave me standing out here?”

  I peer at him through the open door.

  “Why are you here?”

  “We really need to work on your hospitality, Pip.”

  He pushes past me without waiting for me to extend an invitation inside, clearly realising I’m not going to give him one, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. I watch him, bemused, as he starts to boil the kettle, reaching for the cups to make us both a brew.

  I continue to stare at him, hoping this will make him talk. It does not.

  I may have to take the initiative here…

  “I think it’s the other way around.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Your manners are atrocious. Who just comes into someone’s home uninvited?”

  He glances over his shoulder at me. “Friends, that’s who.”

  “I didn’t realise we were friends.”

  “You drooled all over me for more than seven hours,” he says as he reaches for the sugar. “I think we’ve extended our relationship into the friendzone, Piper.”

  Mortified, I hiss, “I did not drool on you.”

  This seems to amuse him more. “I have the shirt and the stain to prove it.”

  “You do not.”

  “In your defence,” he says, “it was the most adorable drooling I’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t drool—adorably or otherwise,” I snap, but my voice is less heated than I would like. Mostly, because I can’t stop watching him moving around the kitchen in his perfectly fitted jeans that hug his stupidly, amazingly pert arse. Nor can I stop ogling the outline of his thick biceps in his ridiculously well-fitted shirt either. His kutte is annoying me; it’s in the way of the view.

  This has to be one of the most surreal things I’ve ever witnessed—a huge six-foot-plus biker with far too much hair and a scruff of blond beard, looking like he stepped off the pages of Beowulf, making coffee for me.

  “Do you feel better for catching up on your sleep?” he asks.

  It breaks me out of my gawking.

  Heat infuses my cheeks and I’m glad he’s focused on making the drinks, and not the fact I’m blushing like a teenage girl at having been caught.

  “Yeah, actually I do.” And because I have manners, I add, “Thank you.”

  He waves this off. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean it, Piper. You’re no good to Wade if you’re barely functioning.”

  “I know that, too,” I tell him quietly.

  I watch as he pours the water over the coffee granules and stirs both contents of the mugs. I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or slightly concerned he knows how I take my coffee. He has bought cups for me from coffee shops in town while I kept vigil at Josh’s bedside, so I don’t know why it surprises me that he remembers, but it does.

  When I take the mug from him, our fingers scrape over each other’s and my eyes meet his. There’s heat there for just a second before he shuts it down.

  Maybe I imagined it. I am still tired, after all.

  Weeks of sleep deprivation can’t be fixed with one catch up session. I do feel more invigorated, having slept on him the other night, but I suspect my sudden burst of energy in this moment is more to do with the man standing a few feet from me right now. My pulse certainly seems to be moving a little faster than it was before I opened the door.

  Jem confuses everything. I shouldn’t be feeling anything for him, but he’s a hard man not to like. He’s funny and although he would probably hate being labelled it, he’s sweet.

  As much as I’ve tried to keep my distance from the Club, I’ve struggled. I wanted to hate them all, hate the people I saw as destroying my life, but the time I’ve spent here has shown they’re not who I should be directing my anger towards. These people are not my enemy. They’re actually good people, as bizarre as that is. The way they have rallied around my brother and me to help has been astounding. I can’t imagine any of my parents’ friends reacting this way if they were struck ill.

  Mary, Dorothy and Jeanne, three of the older ladies associated with the Club, visit Josh often. They do laundry for him, bring him magazines to
read, books, sweets, treats. They look after his bills, other affairs, too. They’ve tried to take care of me, as well, although I was not receptive at first. It was only fear Josh would make me leave that kept me holding my tongue, but now, it’s a mutual respect.

  These people may be criminals, but I don’t think they are any worse than the people I deal with back in my own life. In fact, I think those in Grant’s circles are worse. At least Josh’s friends are upfront about who they are.

  “Clearly, you missed your calling as a barista,” I tell him.

  “I make a mean cheese and bacon bagel, too.”

  I don’t point out that there’s no ‘making’ this. It’s just prep work. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  I point to his ‘Treasurer’ patch on the front of his kutte. “You’d have to give up the day job to do it.”

  He, and a few of the others, have similar patches with different roles. Logan’s says ‘Sergeant-at-Arms’, Adam is ‘Road Captain’, Slade—the mean man who I met with Weed when I first arrived—has ‘Vice President’. Weed does not have a patch, however.

  Jem seems amused by my statement. “I guess so.”

  “Do you enjoy being Treasurer?”

  “It’s not about enjoying it, angel. It’s about what the Club needs.”

  “It sounds fairly important. You must be skilled to do it.”

  He shrugs. “I’m good at making money appear and disappear. I’m not sure if that’s a skill or not.”

  “Trust me, it’s a skill. Businesses pay people lots of money to do precisely that. It would certainly pay a lot more than the coffee making if you did it in the corporate world.”

  I have no idea what the criminal underbelly pays, and I’m not about to ask.

  “That I don’t doubt, but I’m not much for suits—or customer service. There’s a reason they don’t let me do any customer-facing jobs in the Club.” He wiggles his brows at me. “I lack diplomacy skills.”

  “I can believe it.” I sigh. “While I appreciate the coffee, I’m not going to have time to drink it. I have to leave shortly.”

  “To go to the hospital,” Jem correctly surmises. It’s not a leap. I spend all my time there.

  “Exactly, so you need to go.”

  His jean-clad legs cross at the ankles as he leans back against the counter, clutching his mug tighter. “Why’re you taking taxis?”

  His question seems to come out of left field. “Excuse me?”

  “There’s plenty of brothers and old ladies who can run you back and forth. Why in the hell are you putting money in some taxi driver’s back pocket?”

  “Because… the hospital is five minutes up the road and a cab is easier.”

  He shakes his head. “Wrong answer.”

  “Jem, you’re being a little ridiculous.”

  “No, what’s ridiculous is you forking over money for rides to the hospital every day when we’ve got prospects who can do that shit for free. Christ, I’ll run you around myself. Just ask, angel.”

  I sigh at him. “You’re not a taxi service, Jem. You have things to do. And didn’t we talk about the ‘angel’ thing?”

  “Didn’t I explain about the ignoring thing?”

  I throw my hands up in the air, my frustration mounting. “Did you just come here this morning to lecture me?”

  “I came here to give you a ride to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need a ride. I have a taxi booked.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  The flippant way he says this puts me on alert.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I cancelled it.”

  I stare at him. “You didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  I can’t work out if he’s being serious or not, but he hasn’t blinked or made any indication he’s joking, so I press on. “How did you cancel a booking I made?”

  He shrugs. “It wasn’t difficult. There’re only two taxi firms in this town. I called them both, figured out which one you’re using, told them not to take bookings from you anymore. I told the other one the same as well, in case you’re considering using them instead.”

  What the absolute bloody hell?

  I think my head might be about to explode.

  “Why would you do that?” I demand, my voice tight.

  “I told you why.”

  He is certifiable. Who does this? Who controls people’s lives like this? I take it back… I take back everything nice I’ve said or thought about Jem bloody buggering Harlow. He’s a monster. He’s got screws loose in his head. He needs professional help.

  Slamming my mug down on the counter, I snap, “You are an absolute lunatic.”

  “Possibly.” His tone is light, lofty, and supremely annoying.

  “Jem! You can’t control where I go, or with whom.”

  “No, but I also don’t like the idea of you moving around town with total strangers either,” he says, serious now. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

  What is he talking about?

  “I don’t need protecting.”

  “I sincerely hope that’s the case.”

  Is he for real? I want to throttle him. The urge to wrap my fingers around his stupid, thick neck is so overwhelming I have to clench my fingers into fists for fear I might follow through with it.

  Instead, I give him the dirtiest glare I can conjure up. “You are completely and utterly deranged.”

  “I don’t think so, but if it makes you feel better about the situation to think that, then by all means…”

  “Jem! I need to use taxis to get around town. I don’t have a car here.”

  “You have the Club. That’s your taxi firm, Pip.”

  Is he really this obtuse? Does he really not understand this situation and how insane he is being? For a man who is obviously intelligent, he acts like a dolt at times.

  “I don’t want to rely on the Club.”

  He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter. “Because you think we’re all crooks?”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  His lips tug into a grin. “Only sometimes.”

  This answer infuriates me. “Are you worried about the man who shot Josh coming back? Because the police are still looking for him.”

  Jem shakes his head. “I’m one hundred percent not even remotely concerned about him.”

  The way he says this makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His answer seems a little too definite for my liking.

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t waste my time worrying about psychopaths like Simon Wilson. And neither should you.”

  “Is he still a danger to Josh? To me?”

  “Nothing is a danger to you, as long as you let the Club do what it needs to in order to protect you.”

  I roll my eyes. “And forgoing a taxi is going to help with that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His hedging is driving me insane, and so is his calm demeanour. He has yet to show a single emotion outside of level-headed, while I’m one step from raging banshee. What is wrong with this man?

  “You’re infuriating,” is my less than stellar comeback.

  “No more so than you are, angel.”

  He steps into my space, and I move back, my spine hitting the counter. With nowhere to go, I’m trapped. My breath quickens as I glance up at him and try to regain my equilibrium.

  “A lot of bad things have happened lately to a lot of people in our family,” he tells me softly. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, too.”

  His words slice through me—not only at the implication that he considers me family, but that he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to me. Considering my brother is still in the hospital recovering and the Club is still patching itself up from the aftermath of that, I gentle my voice. I’m not completely unfeeling, after all.

  “Jem, nothing is going to happen to me. Certainly not from getting a taxi in the middle of the d
ay.”

  His eyes scan over my face and I feel heated under his gaze. Something is changing between us, but I don’t know what or why.

  “Yeah, well, you’re not always getting them in the middle of the day. I know you come back late some times.”

  This is true. Visiting hours don’t end until gone nine o’clock in the evening.

  “Jem, it’s the summer. It’s still light when I get home.”

  For the first time, a crack appears in his calm. A ripple of irritation wavers across his face.

  “Fucking hell, woman, you’d argue with an empty room, wouldn’t you?”

  Probably, but my lips tip up as I say, “No.”

  He dips his head down to mine, his mouth inches away. I feel his breath against my skin, warm and heated. Tingles race across my skin. My chest feels tight as the air stops in my throat. I can’t draw it further down as he gives me a cheeky grin that melts some of the hardness around my heart.

  “There’s absolutely no denying you’re a Wade.”

  This makes me laugh a little. “Was there ever any doubt anyway?”

  “I did hope,” he murmurs, somewhat bizarrely.

  I frown at him. “Why would you hope that?”

  “Because it would make things easier if you weren’t.”

  I pull back slightly, so I can see his face. “What do you mean?”

  He scans my face. “For someone smart, angel, you can be incredibly imperceptive sometimes.” It’s not said nastily, but with a hint of regret. He pushes back from me. “Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital. We don’t want you to be late.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jem is late to pick me up, which is just as well because I’m not ready for him. I didn’t get to bed until gone three o’clock this morning and I’m exhausted, so dragging myself out of bed at nine was always going to be a challenge. Never mind burning the candle at both ends, I’m burning it at all ends. I’m working remotely using one of Josh’s old laptops, which seems to be appeasing my bosses. This is now my fourth physical week of absence from work, and so far, they’ve been great about things, but I fear their patience is not infinite. At some point, they’re going to demand I come back, although for now they seem content to let things continue as they are—as long as I’m doing what is needed. I suspect my name and links to a certain councillor Grant Hollander and the funding he provides for the centre is about all that is keeping my neck off the chopping block. That won’t last forever, though.