Page 94 of Jett

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Oh, that’s right. What was it you said? You love me, but not enough to forgive me.”

I open the fridge and stare at the contents. Beer, tequila, limes, and two wrapped Subway sandwiches sit on the top shelf. I pull out the beer and sandwiches and glance at the empty counter.

Thanks for not leaving us the cookies, Kick.

“What the hell are you doin’?”

“I’m getting dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired, I’m starving, and though I don’t want to be here, he took my phone—and yours by the sounds of it—so it seems we’re stuck here for the night.” I shake my head. “And honestly, if we’re going to keep fighting, I need to keep my strength up.”

Jett wraps his arms around me from behind and lowers his mouth to my ear. “So quit fightin’.”

My whole body comes alive as he slides one of those large, calloused hands around my waist. “Don’t,” I plead, because we both know I’m not strong enough to resist his touch. “Please don’t. You don’t have a right to touch me like that anymore.”

He withdraws his arms, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he grabs my shoulder and spins me to face him. “Bullshit I don’t have a right to touch you anymore. You’re mine.Myold lady. You put on my patch, you sat your arse on the back of my bike, and you were having my baby—that makes you mine until I say otherwise.”

“No. It doesn’t. It makes us nothing.” I step away and pick up a bottle of beer. Condensation beads on the glass, soaking the paper label. I slam the edge against the counter, not caring if it damages the cheap Formica, and pop the top off, draining half the contents in one go.

“You wanna punish me? You wanna throw shit at me, tell me it’s all my fault? Go right ahead, darlin’. You do whatever you need to help you sleep at night, but from now on, you’re gonna be sleeping in my bed.”

“Oh fuck you, Jett.”

“Fuck me?” He sneers as he steps toward me.

“Yeah, fuck you and your biker creed, and your precious fucking club.”

He takes the bottle from me and drains it dry. Then he smashes it against the counter.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He presses the broken shard against his chest and grabs my hand. “You wanna fuck me up, Angel? Go right ahead. You could mutilate me from head to fuckin’ toe and it still wouldn’t hurt as much as losing you.”

I try to yank my hand from his, but he presses harder, until a thin line of blood wells against his chest. “Stop! Please, stop!”

“It doesn’t matter how deep you cut me. It doesn’t matter how much you yell or how much space you put between us because you’re always gonna be mine. And I’m always gonna be yours.”

“Jett,” I beg. Tears roll down my cheeks unchecked. I grasp his hand and carefully pull away the broken bottle. He winces but his jaw is set, his expression stony. My hands are shaking as I pry the bottle from his fist and throw it in the sink beside us. My bottom lip tremors, and I lift my palm to his chest. Three fine rivulets of blood trail over his abdomen. I press my hand against his flesh to staunch the bleed, to feel his warmth beneath my palm once more.

“Say you’re mine, Angel. I can’t do this without you.”

I shake my head. “I—”

“Don’t say you can’t. Fuck, Raine. I’m dying here, baby.”

And that’s the crux of it. That’s what everything boils down to, is that we need one another. We love one another. And we can’t survive without each other.

“I’m yours,” I whisper. “I’ll always be yours, but I don’t know how we fix this. I’m always going to be in danger; our children will always be in danger. I don’t know how to live without you, but I don’t know how to be with you either.”

He pulls me flush against his chest, and I don’t even care that I’m getting blood in my hair as I sob against him.

Jett cups my cheeks and turns my face up to his. His lips slant over mine, his tongue pushing inside, coaxing, but he isn’t gentle. He’s Jett. He’s never been gentle, and that’s the way I love him.

I slide my hands—wet and tacky with blood—up his chest and neck to take his face between my palms. I open to him. I moan into his mouth and push my body against his. He skates his hands over my waist and cups my arse, and then he lifts me and deposits me on the counter, wedging himself between my legs.

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