“Fuck.” He straightens and glances out the window at our neighbours, muttering, “At least someone’s gettin’ some.”
“You could be too if you didn’t speak.” I give him a playful wink.
Jett frowns. “You think we’ll ever get to have sex again?”
“As soon as I can scrub my mind clean.”
Jett moves around the couch and sinks into the soft cushions. He pulls my feet into his lap and begins massaging one, and then the other. I moan and his calloused, steady hands glide up my calves and thighs. He tugs me closer, my oafish body shifting like a sack of potatoes. He slides his hand higher and I let my thighs fall apart. His hands knead my flesh, his strokes turning softer the closer he gets to my pussy. I stare at him, his blond hair falling in his eyes and that smile that curves just one side of his beautiful mouth. He finally works his fingers beneath my underwear, and delves inside. I moan and shift my hips closer.
Jett cocks his head and gives me a predatory smile as he drops to his knees. He yanks my body across the sofa, pulls my panties down, and tosses them aside. Taking hold of my ankles, he bends my legs, and lowers his face so it’s level with my pussy. His tongue plunges deep, and my back arches off the couch cushions as his mouth engulfs me. I buck my hips against his face, tug on his hair as he sucks my clit into his mouth and slides two fingers inside. I’m so fucking hot for him that it’s not enough. I want more. I want his body weight on top of me, pinning me down, his cock buried so deep inside I don’t know where we end and begin. An electric current crackles through my veins, right to my core. I throw my head back, thread my fingers in his hair, and ride his face as I scream my orgasm.
Jett climbs to his feet and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Fuck, I love the way you taste, Angel. I could eat that sweet little pussy all day.”
I chuckle. “Don’t let me stop you.”
He leans in and I pull his mouth to mine, driving my tongue in deep. I taste myself, feel him smile against my lips, and then he opens his leathers and releases his cock—pink and hard, and straining.
His hands fist themselves in my hair and he yanks my head back, exposing the line of my neck to him. “On your knees, darlin’. I wanna see you fuck my cock with your pretty mouth.”
I scramble to the floor and lean in, running the tip of my tongue along his length, and then the underside of his head. He tastes of salt and soap, and I lick every inch of him before I make a fist around his cock and take him in my mouth, pumping my hand in time with my lips.
Jett’s hands tighten in my hair as he drives his hips back and forth. “Fuck!”
I slip my hand between my legs and begin stroking my clit while my other hand cups his balls.
“Jesus. You’re so fuckin’ hot. Fuck that cunt with your hand—I wanna see you cream, Angel,” he says, and I do as I’m told, alternating between working my clit and driving my fingers in and out of my body. I forget everything but the need to come, the need to have him buried inside me.
Without a word, he pulls free from my mouth and tugs me to my feet. My legs are like jelly and I have no choice but to hold onto him as he slants his mouth over mine and pushes in deep.
“I need to be inside that slick cunt, Angel.” He kicks off his leathers and sits on the couch. “Climb on up here and ride me.”
I laugh and point to my protruding belly. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We just need to get a little creative.” Jett grabs hold of my hips and turns me so I’m facing the windows, away from him. I lower my body onto his, taking him deep inside as I press my hands against his thighs and give him my weight. I rock my hips back and forth as he drives into me, one hand gripping my waist and the other wrapped around my body, stroking the sensitive flesh between my legs. Over and over again he slams into me until we’re both clawing at one another and climbing toward climax.
JETT LEAVES WITH A kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest, Angel. I’ll be home tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Be good for your mum, kiddo,” he says, kissing my belly. I smile and he dips his head a little lower. “And you ...” He presses a soft, wet kiss to my pussy. “I’ll be back for you later. No more orgasms with those fucked up pregnancy dreams.”
“Did you just talk to my vagina?”
“I may have.”
“Get outta here. Don’t you have some kind of big biker club to run?”
“Don’t wait up. We got some shit to take care of with the Devils. Seems we both pissed off a bunch of Hitler worshipers, and then Crazy drove his Harley right through the front door of their church.”
“He did not?”
“I wish I could say I was kiddin’. The sooner that dumb fuck meets the Reaper, the safer it’ll be for all of us.” Jett collects his keys from the sideboard. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“Jett?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Be careful.”
He winks and walks out the door, and I fall back on the couch with a sleepy, satiated smile on my face.
RAINE
AFTER SEVERAL MORE hours of napping, I get off the couch and decide I need to do some exercise, or this baby is going to come out looking like a forty-year-old couch potato.
I head into my room and change into a pair of maternity leggings that don’t feel like I’m cutting off all the circulation to my unborn child and a top that fits snug enough to hold my boobs, even if it does ride up a little over my ever-expanding bump.
I hate using the communal gym in my building, so I put on a pregnancy workout video I borrowed from the library.
Twenty minutes later, I’m a sweaty, exhausted mess and the baby is kicking like crazy as I lay in a heap on the floor. I could stay here until Jett returns, right? Because I don’t like my chances of getting up without assistance. Then the baby starts playing hacky sack with my bladder and I have no choice but to roll to a kneeling—and then much later a standing—position.
Nausea sweeps through me as I finally get to my feet and I have to hold the wall so I don’t topple over. I head toward the bathroom, but there’s a knock on my door so I double back and open it wide without checking the peephole
Two men shove inside, slamming me into the wall. My back screams. I shriek, and I’m promptly shut up by the man closest to me smashing my body belly first into the door. The pain is everywhere. I cover my bump with my hand as I slump to the ground, but my head hits the carpet and all I see is black. All I feel is pain and fear. Not for me, or for my life, but for my unborn baby.
MAYBE IT’S SECONDS, maybe it’s hours, but I wake to blinding pain in my womb, and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
“There she is.”
A gruff voice fills my ears, and stinking, putrid rot fills my nose as the man leans in close. His teeth are rotting in his skull. It turns my stomach.
“I thought you’d never wake up.” He grabs my breast and squeezes hard. I try to shove him away, but my hands are bound by thin black zip ties and I only manage to unseat him from his position kneeling over me.
“Help!” I scream the word as loud as I possibly can, and I’m rewarded with a hard backhand across the face. My eye feels like it’s exploding as pain rushes to my temple and throbs inside my head.
“Fucking mouthy bitch.” His beefy hand covers my mouth. He smells like petrol and trash. My stomach roils and I gag.
“Maybe we need to teach you a lesson about keeping your fat trap shut.” He kneels beside my head and unzips his pants. The other man in the balaclava watches on in amusement—if the curve of his lips and the glint in his eye are anything to go off.
Pain engulfs all of me—from my head, neck and shoulders to my back and belly, and even down to my legs. But the very worst pain is inside me. It’s in my heart and in my womb for the baby I can’t protect. The man closest to me whips out his penis and tries to shove it between my closed lips. I turn my head, because it’s the only part of me I can move.
The man standing by m
y feet strokes himself inside his pants. I want to retch, and then he swears as I feel a gush of wetness between my legs and my belly cramps.
“Fuck. She’s bleeding bad. We need to get outta here.”
“Not until we teach that scumbag biker a lesson.” Balaclava shoves his cock in my face, leaning his hand against the wall and penning me in. Searing agony shoots through my back and lower abdomen. I cry out, and glance at the space between my legs. Red. All I see is red soaking the snow-white carpet.
The front door bursts open and Mrs Robinson’s dog, Winston, bulldozes into the apartment, knocking the standing man to the ground. Behind him, Mrs Robinson shrieks, “Leave her alone! Get away from her! She’s pregnant! I’ve called the police.”
She shoves into the apartment wielding a broomstick. Her dog sets his sights on the man kneeling beside me. He screams and blood splatters onto the carpet as the dog continues to bite his arse. The standing man shoves my neighbour, and her frail body falls to the floor with a cry. I try to move closer to her, but everything inside me screams. More blood gushes from between my legs. I wish my arms were free. Then I could cradle my baby and show her that she’s not alone.
The men flee with Mrs Robinson’s dog taking off after them. My neighbour from down the hall emerges from his apartment with a phone in hand. “She’s bleeding, and the old lady is on the floor. There’s blood pooling beneath her head. She’s unconscious.”
Blinding pain courses through my whole body as I crawl to my knees and attempt to shuffle across the room toward Mrs Robinson, but I make it only a few feet before my head swims and my whole world turns black.
BRIGHT LIGHTS.
One after the other flash overhead as I’m wheeled through a corridor. I clutch at the mask over my face and remove it. “My neighbour. She’s hurt.”
“Miss, miss, you can’t take your mask off.”
“My baby.”
“We’re rushing you through for an emergency C-section.”
“No ... she’s too ... too small.”
I WAKE TO THE QUIET beeping of hospital room monitors. I hurt everywhere. My hand travels to my stomach automatically, but it’s not pulled taut and heavy with my child. There is no life inside. I throw back the blanket and lift the hospital gown. My abdomen is covered in gauze. I don’t have to lift it to know what lies underneath—an ugly scar where they plucked my baby from my womb. I feel around the bedframe and reach for the call button. I push it, and shortly after, a midwife in brightly patterned scrubs enters the room. “Good morning, Mrs Cole.”
I clear my throat. It feels like swallowing razor blades. “What happened? Where’s my baby?”
“You suffered a placental abruption, Mrs Cole.”
“Where is she?”
“I’m very sorry to tell you, but she passed in the womb. She was stillborn when we performed the C-section.”
“No! No, no, no, please? No. Where’s my baby? Where is she?”
“We have her in what’s called a cool cot. We thought you might want to hold her.”
“A cool cot? What does that mean? Go get her. Bring her to me and I’ll put her on my chest, and she can come back from this. I’ve seen babies come back from stillbirth.”
“No, she can’t. The placenta erupted inside you. She drowned long before we could get to her. The placenta likely ruptured during the attack. I’m so sorry.”
“No!” I sob, wrapping my arms around my empty abdomen.
“Would you like to hold her?”
I nod. I can barely see through my tears, but all I want is to look at her perfect little face. The nurse leaves the room and a few moments later, she returns cradling the tiniest little bundle. She hands me my baby, and I was right—she is the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. With her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, she appears to be sleeping. I stroke my finger down her cheek.
She’s cold. Too cold. Unnaturally so. I suck in a sharp breath.
“She’s cooler to the touch than usual because of the cooling cot. It helps ... preserve her just the way she was born.”
I take her gently with one arm and remove the blanket and beanie from her head. She has a shock of wheat-blonde hair, just like her daddy. She has his lashes, and lips too. I set her naked, frail little body against my chest. The cold is the most distressing part, as if she’d been left out in the snow when she should be warm, a healthy chubby weight against my breast. But she will never be warm again. She will never grow fat with the milk from my breast, or learn to walk, run, or ride a bike. She’ll never fall in love, have her heart broken, get married, or bear children of her own. She’ll never have any of those experiences because I failed in the one task I had. I failed to keep her safe. I failed to keep her alive.
JETT
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, my clubhouse is in a shambles. We’ve been here for the last three hours debating what the hell to do about these Arian arseholes. The Devils have been good to us, and they have our back, and we’re gonna need it to take on this group.
“So, we bide our time until they make the first move? Everyone okay with that?”
A chorus of approval fills the room. It’s strange having to defer to another club in my own house, but it feels good to know we have alliances. I bang the gavel and say, “Alright then, we wait. Church adjourned, men. Now go, drink, be fuckin’ merry and get your dick wet. We got some fine pussy in this clubhouse.”
“Prez?” Diesel says, pushing through the throng of bikers filing out of the room.
“What?”
He holds a phone above the crowd. “You’re gonna wanna take this.”
“Take a fucking message.”
“It’s about Raine, and the baby.”
My blood turns to ice. It’s too soon. It’s too fuckin’ soon. “Why the fuck didn’t you say so earlier?”
“You told me to hold all of your calls.”
“You fuckin’ idiot. ‘Hold my calls’ don’t mean when it comes to my woman and baby.” I snatch the phone off him and put it to my ear. “I’m sorry, babe. Diesel’s a fuckin’ dead man.”
“Mr King?”
“Yeah, who’s this? How’d you get this number?”
“Your ... girlfriend gave it to us. I’m Margret. I work on the maternity ward at The Children’s Hospital at Westmead.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s been an incident with Mrs Cole. I’m not at liberty to say exactly what happened over the phone, but you should definitely get down here as soon as possible.”
“What the hell do you mean you’re not at liberty to say? That’s my fucking wife and baby you’re talking about.”
“I understand, sir, but hospital policy states—”
“I don’t give a shit about your policy. Tell me what the hell is wrong with my woman.”
“She’s been attacked.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She’s in a very fragile state right now, Mr King, and she needs those around her to be calm and—”
“The baby?”
“I suggest you come down here as soon as possible.”
The line goes dead and ice floods my veins. I’ve seen some pretty fucked up shit—done some fucked up shit—but nothing has ever turned my veins to ice like the tone in that bitch’s voice. “Fuck!” I kick the door and my foot goes right through it.
“Prez?” Tank says.
“Raine’s in the hospital. She was attacked.”
“Attacked?” Grim says, shooting out of his chair. It falls back against the floorboards with a ringing clang that shakes the floor and reverberates through my skull.
“That’s what I said, arsehole. Kick, go to the apartment. Talk to the neighbours. Find out what the hell happened there. The old bat next door is all up in our fucking grill twenty-four/seven. Start with her—see if she heard anything.”
“You got it, Prez.”
“Take this arsehole with you in case they come back.” I point to Killer. I know Kick is more than capable of handling himself
, but I want that little poser prick Killer out of my fucking hair.
“What did I do?” Killer complains. Kick slaps him upside the head and the kid whines.
“You got on my last fucking nerve.” I open what’s left of the broken door and stalk through the clubhouse.
Outside, I get on my bike, rev the engine, and take off. Several of the brothers follow me, along with the Devil’s President and a few of their men. We break every speed limit and run every red light between the clubhouse and the hospital.
The nurse at the front desk is being a bitch and waiting for conformation from the maternity ward before she’ll let me up to see my woman.
“I want to see my goddamn wife.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot let you up there unless you’re immediate family, and you can’t prove that the two of you are in fact married. So I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to take a seat, and I’ll let you know as soon as hospital staff can confirm—”
“I wanna fucking see my woman and my unborn kid.”
“I’m going to call security if you don’t calm down.”
Tank places a hand on my shoulder and leans in. “Come on, Prez. This isn’t getting you closer to seeing her.” He leads me away from the window and the bitch who’s giving a pretty good impression of that fucking wizard in The Lord of the Rings. “I know something that will, though.” He turns and steps closer to Crazy. “Get up.”
Crazy quits flicking his Zippo. “What?”
“I said, get the fuck up.”
“Wh-what did I do?”
Before Crazy can get to his feet, Tank pulls him up by the cut and holds him a foot off the ground. He’s barely even breaking a sweat. “You’re takin’ one for your Prez.”
“Huh? Prez, what the fuck’s he talkin’ ’bout?”
Tank pulls his fist back and lets it fly with two hard punches into Crazy’s jaw. Security are on us like a shot. The nurses are up out of their chairs and standing against the wall—despite the fact that they’re behind safety glass.
JETT (Savage Saints MC Book 3) Page 15