“Bullshit,” Jett says, coming into the kitchen and leaning against the cabinet. He glares between his wife and me, finally settling on her gaze and butter-wouldn’t-melt expression. “Don’t you have some online shopping to do?”
Ivy covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. Mia glowers at her husband and heads for the door. “Don’t you have another whore to fuck, or are they all here in this very room?”
“Go to bed, Mia,” Jett growls. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
She stalks from the room and we all let out a collective sigh.
“Well, that was fun.” Indie picks up her glass and downs the rest of the whiskey. I glance at Jett, afraid he’ll fly off the handle. I have no idea why he married that evil wench, but I’m convinced she’s the worst humanity has to offer.
“Boys are ’bout to party. So unless you’re up for boozing and fucking, I suggest you all head to bed lest your delicate sensibilities become offended.”
“Wonderful,” Charmaine says.
Ivy shoots up from her seat and skips to the door. “That’s my cue to find Tank.”
“Yep, Kick gets horny after inflicting lots of violence, so that’s me out too. Will you be okay, Raine?”
I open my mouth, but Jett answers for me, “She’s fine.”
“You know she didn’t start that shit with Mia, right?” Indie asks.
“Yeah, I know.” He rakes a hand through his hair. The dark shadows under his eyes say he’s in desperate need of sleep, and for a moment I feel bad for him. All the pressure of running this clubhouse, making the hard decisions that no one else wants to, and keeping everyone in line, can’t be easy. Then I remember that he’s been hot and cold with me since this damn lockdown started, and I’m glad he’s tired. I hope he’s as miserable as I am.
“You need to rein in your bitch, Jett,” Ivy says without preamble, and I wince.
“Funny, I was thinking Tank needed to do the same thing.”
Ivy laughs. “He wishes.”
“Night, Raine,” Indie says.
“Goodnight.”
“You want me to put breakfast on in the morning, Prez?” Charmaine asks.
“We still got a clubhouse full of hungry men, don’t we?”
She frowns. “Right, well, I’m not starting earlier than seven.”
“I’ll help,” I volunteer.
“You’re injured,” Jett snaps.
“So? I still have one useful hand.” I shrug, and the rest of the women make themselves scarce. So much for friends having your back.
Jett moves closer. “I told you that you ain’t workin’ until you’re all better.”
“I told you I’m going crazy not contributing.”
“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.”