JETT (Savage Saints MC Book 3)

by Carmen Jenner

  “It’s called lockdown, babe. That’s what happens when our lives, and the lives of our women, are at risk.”

  “But I’m not yours,” I whisper, and his eyes narrow. “I’m not one of you. I just work for you—a fact your wife likes to remind me of, as if I could forget my place here.”

  Jett’s nostrils flare. “I’ll talk to Mia.”

  “Don’t.” I meet his gaze. Those bright blue eyes glitter with anger. “You’ll just make it worse.”

  “You don’t have to take her shit.”

  “She’s your old lady, and I’m the hired help.” I move past him, but he catches my good arm.

  “Raine?”

  “Goodnight, Jett.”

  Grim and Killer enter the room. I’m sure the tension between me and their prez is palpable. Grim’s been avoiding me. He was too hurt to ride out with the others, so he stayed behind with Country, Diesel, and the three new prospects to protect the clubhouse. I thought we’d get a chance to talk, but he made it clear he had a job to do so I left him to it and found the girls instead. The look he shoots Jett and me is murderous. I just smile tightly and move to the door.

  “You want me to walk you to your room?” Grim says.

  “The fuck?” Killer punches his arm. “I thought you were going to show me how you make the holy fuckin’ grail of sandwiches?”

  “Later,” Grim says.

  “No.” I press a hand to Grim’s chest. “Thanks, but I’m not likely to get lost.”

  “It’s not you gettin’ lost that I’m worried about.”

  “Nobody gets lost on Grim’s watch. He’s a fuckin’ knight in shining armour.” Jett lights another cigarette, the glow of the flame too close to Grim’s face.

  “The fuck’s that supposed to mean, Prez?”

  “It means nobody’s going anywhere.” He levels me with a look, but I shake my head and turn to walk out of the room.

  He can threaten all he wants, but I’m not one of his boys he can order around. I’ll endure this lockdown because I have no desire to get shot at again, or almost raped, but as soon as the trouble has passed, I need to find a way out of this job. Somewhere far, far away from Jett and the MC.

  I JOLT AWAKE WITH SWEAT beading my brow and sit upright. My ragged breathing fills the darkness—the only sound, loud and grating against my ears. I dreamed Jett was in my room, in my bed, on top of me, inside me, and as I looked into those pained blue eyes, he stared down at me as his adept hands wrung the life from my body. I press my good hand to the column of my neck and ease myself back onto the mattress.

  Oh God.

  I close my eyes, trying to erase the image of his big body against mine, to ignore how my blood moves hot and needy through my veins, and the ache between my legs.

  “There’s something seriously wrong with you, Raine,” I mutter.

  I kick off the covers, even though the sweat drying against my skin causes goosebumps to slide over my flesh. I’m just about to snake my hand between my thighs to alleviate some of my tension when I realise I’m not alone. He’s here. My body already knew before I did, because I can’t be in the same room as this man without feeling as if I’ve swallowed an electric charge.

  I open my eyes and stare at the armchair by the bed. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. I can make out his silhouette in the dark. I could find him anywhere.

  “Jett?” I sit up and reach out to turn on the lamp.

  “Don’t,” he says.

  I suck in a deep breath and lean back against the headboard. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I been asking myself that same question for an hour now.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Late.” He chuckles. “Or early, dependin’ on your definition.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why—”

  “Because no matter what I fuckin’ do, I can’t stay away from you, darlin’.” He rises, wobbling a little on his feet as he rights himself. He moves closer to the bed and I stiffen because I’m not sure I’m strong enough to say no to him if he touches me. “What did you dream about, Angel?”

  Did I cry his name in my sleep? Did I moan, touch myself, or beg him to make love to me? I swallow hard and dart out my tongue to wet my lips. “Nothing good.”

  His dark chuckle settles over my skin like a midnight shroud. He inhales slowly and reaches out, tracing a clumsy finger over my shoulder. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of you waiting in bed for me?”

  “I’m not ... I’m not waiting for you—”

  “No, I guess you’re not, are ya? Not when my brother Grim is warmin’ your bed.”

  I clench my teeth. He’s drunk, possibly high if he thinks anyone is warming my bed but me. I’ve never been more alone, but he can’t say the same. “Go back to your wife, Jett.”

  “You know, sometimes I wish she’d just fuckin’ vanish—a freak spa accident, a jilted lover, or a fuckin’ bullet to the head.”

  I stiffen. I wish I could see his face, study it in the moonlight, but there are no windows in the clubhouse. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yeah, I really do.

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “What do I want?” he slurs, getting up in my face. The whiskey on his breath and venom in his voice force my heart into my throat. He slams his lips down on mine in an angry kiss that I don’t reciprocate, but I’m breathless all the same when he pulls away. “Everything. I want everything.”

  Then he releases me and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

  RAINE

  I ENTER THE DARKENED kitchen without turning on the light and hit the switch on the kettle. I can’t sleep—I haven’t slept since I woke to Jett’s presence in my room two days ago—and a chamomile tea sounds like heaven right now. I pull the jar of honey from the cupboard and try to remove the lid with one hand. It doesn’t budge. I take several deep breaths, set it on the counter, and fling it against the tiled wall with the back of my cast. It’s one of those thick, old-school jars from Country’s farm, so it doesn’t shatter, which just pisses me off. And now my hand hurts.

  I scream at the wall, so tired of holding everything in. Tired of being too weak to stand up to Jett and Mia. Tired of not demanding more for myself. Tired of every day of this shitty life where one thing hits after the other and I can’t ever get ahead.

  Tired.

  That’s a good word to sum up my whole existence right now.

  “You want some help with that, or you just gonna throw it at the wall some more?”

  I jump, causing pain to pulse through my arm. Jett is sitting in the dark, nursing a drink—alcoholic, if the stench coming off him is any indication.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Can’t a man enjoy the peace and quiet of his clubhouse kitchen in the middle of the night?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you were ... I’ll leave.”

  “Where you gonna go, sweetheart? To Grim’s bed?”

  I glare at him. I’ve always had the greatest respect for Jett, but it’s all so clear now.

  This man truly is an idiot.

  I turn, and I’m about to leave when I decide I’ve had enough of being weak. “Do you even care?”

  He smirks, and I hate him all the more for that bitter curl to his lip. “I care about a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Do you care that I had a gun held to my head? That I was almost raped? That I was chased and shot at, or that I was almost blown apart for your stupid club?” I shake my head.

  He doesn’t respond, just sits there and sips his whiskey.

  “You know what? I don’t even know why I’m here. I have nothing to do with this, and clearly I mean nothing to you and your precious club. Lockdown or no lockdown, I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “You’re going nowhere, sweetheart. Not until I say you can leave.”

  “I’m not one of your boys, Jett,�
� I say through my teeth. “And I’m not your fucking wife—who I’m convinced is the devil incarnate, by the way. Does she hate all the women in your life, or just me?”

  “Just you, and I mean it, Angel. You walk out that door before this lockdown is done, and I’ll drag your sweet arse back in here and tie you to my fuckin’ bed.”

  “That might be kind of crowded, considering your wife is already in it.”

  “You’re not one of my boys, and you sure as shit ain’t my wife, but you’re my employee. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your fuckin’ mouth before I fire your arse.”

  “You’re worse than Tung Lin. At least he didn’t pretend to have my best interests at heart when he forced me to go down on him.”

  “What the fuck did you just say?” He stands, kicking his chair to the ground. His lips curl into a sneer. I see now why he makes such a savage and formidable enemy. I back up, but I have nowhere to go. For the first time since we met, I’m afraid of him.

  Jett stalks forward, pressing his hands into the counter on either side of me. I’m trapped, penned, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get off on it. He smells like whiskey, leather, and longing, and although I don’t like him very much right now, I wish he’d close the distance between us. I wish that mouth would turn from a vicious snarl to a warm and inviting kiss.

  “I care. I fuckin’ care too much. Is that what you want to hear, babe? You wanna know how fuckin’ sick I feel that he was there to protect you and I wasn’t? You know how much I wanna beat his fuckin’ head in right now? Because my club brother is holding your hand, sharin’ your bed, sliding between those pretty, milky thighs of yours, and I’m just itching to sink my blade into his chest for takin’ what’s mine. So you ask me again if I fuckin’ care.”

  “You’re a fool, Jetthro.”

  His lips quirk up into a bemused grin. “No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sleeping with Grim, you idiot.”

  “Bullshit. I don’t believe he hasn’t been all up in that tight little cunt of yours.”

  “Jett,” I whisper. His face is close to mine. Too close. “I haven’t slept with Grim or any man for a very long time. I haven’t wanted anyone.”

  “You want me. I just can’t figure out why you’re stalling.”

  “You’re married.”

  “And?”

  “I can’t do this. I’m ... I can’t.” I push on his chest, but he doesn’t back up. Instead, he leans closer and his lips brush mine in the softest kiss—teasing, as if he’s testing my reaction. I part my lips and allow his tongue to slip inside my mouth. He tastes bittersweet, like whiskey and cigarettes. I moan. My hand on his chest trails lower, turns from pushing away to pleading as I slide it under his T-shirt and cut, and feel the warm, rigid stomach beneath.

  His lips explore mine as he circles my waist with strong hands. Lifting my body with ease, he sets me on the counter and fills the space between my legs. I slide my hands from his well-defined abs, up to the thick muscles of his shoulders, and down again—both desperate and afraid to move them lower, to seek out his hardness. He squeezes my breast as I break away from his mouth and moan again. Jett trails kisses along my skin to the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet. His hands steal inside my robe, pushing up the black satin chemise that Ivy loaned me. Jett’s caresses are hot on my body, making me yearn for more of him as rough fingers grab my thighs, and spread them wider.

  His hands pause in their exploration of my flesh. He growls. “No fucking panties? You been walking around my clubhouse with these filthy fucking bikers, in the middle of the night, and no panties?”

  “Please, Jett. Please?”

  Please what? I don’t even know why I’m begging. This is dangerous ground for both of us. We shouldn’t ... oh, but when those big calloused hands touch my sensitive flesh, we should. We definitely should.

  I no longer care why this is a bad idea because I’ve never been touched like this. I’ve never been handled as if I’m both delicate and robust. I’ve never had a man this rough, and there’s something thrilling about that.

  Desperate to touch him, I slide my hand in the waistband of his jeans. I can’t get a whole lot of traction, so I try to unfasten them—an impossible task with one hand in a cast. Jett appears to take pity on me, and unbuttons his jeans. They fall somewhere around his knees but his clothing is the last thing on my mind. His dick is hard and proudly jutting out before me, begging me to touch.

  “Don’t be shy, darlin’.” Jett’s tone is as thick with need as I am.

  I reach out and graze my fingertips over him—the velvety tip jerks against me. Jett groans, and leans into my caresses. His hands seek me out again, shoving my legs apart and playing in my slick heat. He slides two fingers in without warning. I gasp as he bites down hard on my earlobe.

  “Jesus Christ, Raine, do you know how long I’ve waited to get my hands on you, to feel this pretty pussy against my fingers and my cock?”

  I shake my head, but I don’t think he’s really expecting a response. The truth is we’ve both waited far too long. I know that as well as he does. He glides his thick fingers in and out of me, fast. Heat builds in my core; my breath comes in heavy pants that fill the room. He takes my mouth again with his own, driving his tongue in deep, so deep I can’t breathe. I’m lost in all the places my body touches his. Too soon, though, he pulls his fingers free of me.

  I sag in defeat.

  He’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re both not free to touch, or feel the things we feel.

  “I ain’t waitin’ anymore, babe.” Jett wraps his arm around my waist and slides me closer to the edge. I meet his gaze. I should tell him to stop. Just being here, letting him take it this far, I’ve already broken my promises to my husband. If I go through with this, if I let him inside me, the damage to my marriage, to his, and to our hearts will be irrevocable.

  He takes hold of his cock, sliding it through my wetness, but he doesn’t enter me. He doesn’t move. No. I’m the one who strains closer, who reaches between us and guides him inside. And that’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for him to sink deeper, to fuck me harder, and for me to be the home-wrecking whore his wife accused me of being.

  “Jesus Christ.” He grunts, his hot breath skating the shell of my ear and sending shivers through me. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. So fuckin’ hot.”

  I close my eyes and let my head fall back, basking in every sensation, loving the swell of pleasure and pain with his deep thrusts. He fucks hard, mercilessly—every thrust drives me closer to orgasm. He fucks me so hard I have to grab the kitchen cabinet behind my head and hold on because I’ve never been taken like this, with so much need and passion. I’ve never felt such longing, or been so desired.

  Jet squeezes my breast. The blood rushing to my sensitive nipples sends desire arcing through me. I pant. My legs shake—my body is taut as a bowstring, suspended on the precipice of pleasure. One more deep thrust and I snap. Endorphins flood my system. I gasp his name and buck my hips wildly as I ride out the high.

  “That’s it, Angel. Come on my cock. Jesus. I love the feel of that hot cunt squeezing my dick. And I fuckin’ love you crying my name.” Jett slides in and out as I grip him, and then he fists his hand in my hair and pistons his hips furiously, chasing his own release. I skim my good hand over his shoulder and back, digging my nails in deep, marking him as my own though the opposite is true. All we have is this one time. His body and mine, seeking pleasure, owning one another, even for just a brief moment. I come again as he drives in right to the root. He groans, husky and deep, as he comes hard inside me. And for a beat we just stay there, my legs wrapped around his waist, our foreheads pressed together, and his fist in my hair as we breathe the same air.

  “Fuck, darlin’,” Jett whispers, “I haven’t come that hard since I was in high school.”

  Fluorescent light floods the room. I gasp. Jett groans. We both tu
rn our heads toward the entrance of the kitchen where a livid half-naked Mia is standing.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You know I’ve ignored a lot of shit from you over the years, Jett. Club whores, junkies, criminal activity, hosting a wanted felon in our house, but fucking the help?” She narrows her eyes. Her disdainful gaze lands squarely on me.

  Jett pulls free of my body, yanks up his jeans, and tucks himself inside before fastening the fly.

  “This is a new low even for you. Do I need to get tested? Did you even wash your cock after you came inside me only two hours ago? Or did she lick the taste of me off you?”

  My sharp inhalation fills the room and I want to be sick. Oh, God. He slept with her only a few hours ago?

  “That’s enough, bitch.” Jett’s tone is menacing, and I baulk and shrink back on the counter, even though his anger is not directed at me.

  “Oh, honey. It’s nowhere near enough. In fact, I’m just getting started.” A cutting grin splits her pretty face. She might actually be more terrifying than all the bikers in this clubhouse combined. “I’m going to take you to the fucking cleaners, darlin’.”

  She twists the nickname he calls me into something bitter and ugly, and I know that’s what this is. What we’ve done isn’t beautiful. It isn’t making love or the sweet exploration of our bodies joining to find release. It’s ugly. It’s adultery. It’s thoughtless and cruel. Not just to Mia or Joshua, but to Jett and me too.

  Mia turns on her heels and stalks from the kitchen. “Jesus Christ. Mia, wait,” Jett calls to his wife. His wife.

  I lower my gaze. My skin is still hot with desire, still yearning to be touched, but my mind revolts. I had sex with a married man. I let him fuck me like I’d never been fucked before, and worse still, I broke my vows to a man who’s lying half-dead in a nursing home across the city. A man I promised to cherish and honour for the rest of my life. A man I lied to.

  I can feel the weight of Jett’s stare, and it’s clear from the sounds of Brooke and Hannah’s gasped exclamations from the lounge that Mia’s reign of terror is in full swing.