Page 81 of Jett

RAINE

ISTAGGER OUT OF BED. It’s late, later than I expected. The house is quiet. I don’t know if Indie and Ivy are still here, and I don’t really care. I walk the hall and take the stairs one at a time as I cling to the railing for support. Every step is excruciating. That’s the thing they don’t tell you about C-sections—that it’s virtually impossible to function after them. Every movement hurts. Every step I take pulls at tender flesh and tight stitches.

I walk through the recessed lounge and into the kitchen. I stop dead. There’s a man at the table, and for a split second, I think they’ve found me here. But the flicker from his lighter sparks to a fully-fledged flame as he holds it to a cigarette. Orange embers blaze to life and a halo of smoke floats about his head.Jett. My lover. The father of my stillborn child. The big, scary biker who’s stepped in to solve every single one of my problems, except the most important one. He wasn’t there for that. He had other “club business” to attend to.

I sit heavily in the chair and instantly regret it. My wound screams at me and I double and cover my belly, but even that pressure hurts. I snatch the bottle off the table and take a hearty mouthful.

“Should you be drinkin’, darlin’?”

“Why not? It’s not like I have a baby to breastfeed.”

“I meant with your medication. You’ve been acting a little ... off these last few days.”

“Don’t you dare,” I spit, pointing my finger at him. “Where the hell were you? Huh? Where were you when your daughter was killed inside my womb? Where were you when I was rushed through surgery, and they placed her in my arms?”

“Babe, I didn’t know.”

“You did this. You and your fucking precious club, you brought your club business home and I’m the one who’s paying for it. Our daughter paid for it with her life.”

“Raine.”

I take another gulp from the bottle, bolstering my courage. “She was tiny. So tiny. But so perfect.”

“Babe, come on. Let’s not do this.”

“She looked just like you. I didn’t know that was possible, you know, to see an adult in a baby so small, but she looked just like you. Her hair was pale, and she never even opened her eyes ... she was ... she was already gone.” I suck in a deep, shuddering breath, fighting my tears and failing fast. “But she had your lips, your chin, and my nose. I would have liked to think that when she grew older, that she’d have had my hands and my heart so she could do good in this world, because there’s far too much bad in it already.”

“Come here.”

“No.” I shake my head and rise from my seat, wincing as the movement pulls my wound. “I’m going to bed.”

“Raine, please? Please just ... just let me hold you. I’m fucking spiralling, darlin’. I’m lost without you, without her. And it’s my fault. I know it’s my fault, and I don’t know how to move on.”

I go to him, not because I want to, or because he’s unravelling right before my eyes, but because I’m afraid I am. I go to him so he can hold me together too. I let him hold me in his arms and I bury my nose in his chest. He smells like night, like wood-burning fires, and something more, something acrid and earthly. Kerosene and blood.

“I found them. The bastards that hurt you, the ones who took our baby from us. I found them.”

My blood turns to ice. I gasp, tears springing to my eyes.

“I took their kid.”

I still. “What?”

“I almost fuckin’ killed him, but I couldn’t. I killed the men who did this. I sliced them up like little ribbons, and I slaughtered them.”

“Did they suffer?”

“For hours.”

“Good.” Tears run down my face and I step out of his embrace and walk away.

Upstairs, I walk into the en suite and turn on the shower.

“I sliced them up like ribbons.”

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