Page 42 of Jett

“I guess that’s fair. I knew it needed cleaning. I couldn’t sleep, and I’m not good with mess.”

He raises a brow and steps closer. “I thought I told you not to work until your arm is better.”

“I’m ... I know. I’m sorry. I can’t just stop, you know? I’m going stir-crazy.”

“How ’bout a midnight ride?”

“You finally got the bikes fixed, huh?”

“Finished just now. So, you wanna come?”

I laugh, but when I see he’s completely serious, I raise my cast. “I’m not sure I could hold onto you.”

“I don’t think you’d have any problems there.” He grins, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I want to show you something.”

“At midnight?”

“Yeah, at midnight.”

“Give me a few minutes to change first?”

“You don’t need to change. You’re perfect.”

I glance at my leggings and the Savage Saints MC hoodie that dwarfs me completely. I’m just about to protest when I meet his hungry gaze. “Okay. Let’s go.”

I follow him out of the clubhouse and wait for Jett to wheel it out from the host of newly restored chrome and black motorcycles. He pushes a button and the engine growls to life—a deep, throaty rumble that forces a shiver up my spine and makes my hair stand on end.

Jett revs the throttle. “You just gonna stand there all night, darlin’?”

I bite my lip. “The last time I was on the back of one of these, I was run over, shot, and blown up.”

“You weren’t ridin’ on the back ofmybike.” He shakes his head. “I won’t let nothin’ happen to you.”

“Promise?”

“Saints’ honour.” Jett smiles and my heart performs cartwheels in my chest. “I swear, I’ll never let anything happen to you, again.”

I let out a deep breath and inch closer. He hands me the helmet he took from the clubhouse, and I slide it on as he fastens his own. I place my foot on the peg and climb over, grabbing hold of Jett’s waist as I wrap my body around him. I try to ignore how good his hard stomach feels beneath my hand. I try not to think about how I broke my vows and let him take me on the clubhouse kitchen counter. Or the night shortly after Mia’s death when I bathed him, touched him, and he begged me to make him come. I refuse to lose myself in his sage and leather scent now, though it’s all I can smell.

“Don’t let go,” he yells over the growling engine.

“I won’t.”

We move slowly toward the gate and Raphe—who’s manning the guard’s station—opens it to let us through with a huge grin on his face. Jett shakes his head and chuckles before he revs the throttle and we shoot forward up the road.

Ten minutes later, we’re pulling up to a huge apartment complex. Jet stops at the gate and fishes a key card from his leather jacket. The gate opens and he leads us into a parking lot. He slides into an empty space and cuts the engine. I climb off the bike and remove my helmet.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as I run a hand through my locks, inconspicuously attempting to remove all traces of helmet hair.

“You’ll see.” He flips the kickstand down and climbs off the bike, resting our helmets on the warm seat we just vacated.

“Hey, mate, how’s it going?” Jett nods to the security guard manning the reception of the first building of three, and steps onto the waiting elevator. I follow, baffled, because what the hell else am I going to do? I have no idea what it is Jett wants to show me, but I trust him implicitly. I’d likely follow this gruff, angry biker anywhere if he told me to.

We head to the top floor of the building and exit when the doors open. At the end of the hall, he slips a key in the lock and pushes back the door. Jett flicks on the lights and an empty apartment—six times the size and so much nicer than the one I was forced to leave—stares back at us.

“After you,” he says, gesturing that I should go first.

“Where are we?”

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