Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
JASMINE
“ H ey, Butch. Watch out,” I shout.
The prospect jumps, heeds my warning, and gets the near-burning bacon off the heat. He gives a wide grin in response to my rolling eyes. Sometimes, I think I’d prefer to do all the kitchen duties myself. Supervising can give me hives.
“This enough eggs?” Kat, the club girl who’s been here the longest, asks in her lazy drawl.
Leaning over to check, I respond, “Sure, honey. That’s more than enough.”
“Impossible!” Shout laughs, entering the room and having overheard. “We’ll eat everything you serve up.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Kat winks at me.
Laughing, I go check that the coffee pot doesn’t need a refill, and finding it does, am just about to undertake that task when loud stomping footsteps approach.
“You. With me,” is barked out.
We all swing around but it’s me who Strider is clearly pointing to.
Brushing my hands down my jeans, I hate the way my heart rate speeds up. Nowadays, any attention from Strider is so unusual I can’t be unaffected. But it’s immediately apparent this is no request for a booty call. Have I fucked up?
Swallowing rapidly, I nod. “Sure, Prez. How can I help?”
Deigning not to answer, he simply stands back in silent invitation for me to precede him out of the door. Then he places his hand on my lower back to guide me. His touch burns, resonating through to my soul. I’ve missed him so much. I swallow hard, trying to stop feelings I shouldn’t have from overwhelming me. He’s not mine. He’ll never be. As far as I know, he’s about to chuck me out of the club.
The feeling he’s had enough of me intensifies when I realise he’s pushing me toward the front door. I wait for him to stop, to say some form of the words, “get out”, but nothing comes from his mouth.
Once through the portal, he pauses, half-turns toward his bike, then lets a long breath out. Changing direction, he heads to one of the club’s SUVs and opens the passenger door.
All my stuff is back inside in the small room I’d had assigned to me. Everything I possess in life, and, crucially, my laptop. Without that, I can’t work. Rather than simply obey him, I put one hand against the side of the car and push back.
“Not like this, Strider.” Again, I swallow hard. “You want me to leave? I’ll give you no problem. But at least let me go pack first.” Unless… A little voice says maybe he thinks I’ve learned too much about the club. If so, there’s no way he can leave me alive.
Is this it? Is he going to kill me?
“Fuck, Jas. What are you thinking? You’ve gone white.” Taking his hands off me, Strider takes a step back. “I’m not kicking you out. I’ve just got something I need to show you.”
I’ve spent three years of my life loving this man, but love is not totally blind. I know it’s one-sided. And when the emotion isn’t reciprocated, trust and love don’t go hand in hand. If Strider wants to get rid of me, he’ll make some excuse to get me into the car.
Strider’s a big man, and while my eyes flick left and right, he’s still standing too close for me to try to get past him. Stronger than me, there’s no way I’d be able to push him out of my path.
“Jas,” he says in an imploring tone. “Please don’t make this hard.”
What? If he’s going to take me somewhere to kill me and dispose of my body, why should I make it less difficult? I shake my head.
Reaching out his hand, he touches my shoulder, frowning as I visibly flinch. “What the fuck, Jas?” His eyes narrow more. “Where the hell do you think I’m taking you?”
Again, moving my head from side to side, I keep quiet. It seems stupid to voice my fears. I’ve never been afraid of Strider since the day that we met. In awe, yes, and respectful of his rank. But I’ve never been scared of him hurting me. Not until now, when he’s acting so out of character.
“Talk to me, Jas.”
Swallowing hard and licking my lips, I at last find some words. “You haven’t wanted to be near me for weeks, months, Strider. Now, suddenly, out of the blue, you’ve something to show me?”
“I’m fuckin’ this up,” he says under his breath, causing me to strain to hear. His hand, still on my shoulder, gives a gentle squeeze. “I read your last book.”
I catch a breath as my eyes open wide. Never in all the time I’ve known Strider have I ever seen him with anything other than a parts magazine or a bike manual. He’s never once opened a book in my presence.
I don’t need to say anything. He can see the doubt written on my face.
“Buzz said I should.” He gives a half-hearted shrug.
“You read it all?” I query, my stomach dropping, hoping he might just have flicked through a couple of pages. I wonder whether there’s any chance I could convince him it’s all made up.
He disavows me of that. “I read enough.” His Adam’s apple moves in his throat. “Fuck, Jas. I didn’t realise the feelings you had for me.” His eyes search mine, and I try and turn away, but with his free hand, he grabs my chin and moves me to face him again. “Am I wrong? In your book, the club girl fell for the prez.”
She had. Just like I had done. I’d set out the outcome I wished there could have been.
He can see it written on my face as he adds in a sad, gruff tone, “You were writing about me and you, weren’t you?”
I let my lids shutter my eyes, not wanting him to be able to read my thoughts. It would be easier to tell him that his assumptions are incorrect and that I wasn’t writing about any particular person. But I can’t tell a lie. As the story came into my head, it was impossible to stop the words from flowing. The characters did what they wanted to do, and I knew it was my inner dreams talking. While I never told him I love him, it doesn’t make it any less true.
When he pulls me to him, I allow myself to relax into his arms. It’s been a while since he’s held me, and selfishly, I breathe in the scent of that sandalwood shower gel he always uses mingled with leather and oil. It’s so familiar, for a moment, I don’t care what he does to me, as long as he keeps holding me.
“Jas,” he murmurs softly into my ear. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought we could just fuck, no emotions involved. But it didn’t turn out like that. I didn’t want anyone else to touch you, but…” he pauses, swallows, then adds, “I couldn’t make you mine.” He pulls back slowly, almost reluctantly, and while I lose the warmth of his body, his hands cradle my face. “I shouldn’t have gotten close to you, and I should have explained. Now, I want to show you why I have nothing to offer you.” Leaning forward, he rests his lips against mine for a moment. “Can’t blame you for not trusting me, but please, please, Jas. Come with me now.”
What else can I say? Knowing he’s never knowingly hurt me and trusting he won’t start now, I reply with just one word, “Yes.” Maybe if I understand the reasons for his actions, it will make his rejection ache less.
This time, when he opens the door, I get in. He reaches over me to pull the seat belt across and tightens it. Then he moves around to the driver’s side.
He pulls out of the compound, not offering the exact location we’re going, and I’m too nervous to ask. I rack my brains but can’t come up with any explanation or suggestion of what he might want to show me. And as we drive, I can’t bring myself to ask.
It’s not a great distance until we’re going through a nicely kept residential area, two-storey houses to either side with nice gardens and distance between them. If I’m honest, the type of place I’ve dreamed of living in. Not as ostentatious as where I grew up, but somewhere with a cosy, homely vibe. He pulls into a driveway and puts the car in park.
I eye the building in front of me—nicely maintained, and a decent front yard. When he makes no move to get out of the car, I ask, “Where are we?”
“At my house.” He sounds curt.
I already knew he had a place away from the club. He’s got a room there but rarely uses it to sleep, especially nowadays when I’m no longer warming his bed. “Okay,” I respond slowly. “But why am I here?”
A quick glance toward him shows me his jaw is clenched. A moment passes, then two, before he explains, “I’ve brought you to meet my wife.”
His wife? Now hold on one hot damn moment. Turning away from him, I focus my eyes on the front of the house. The fact he’s married doesn’t surprise me. Many bikers live a double life. That no one in the club ever mentioned he had a serious other half doesn’t confound me either. The bro code trumps all. I just, never for one second, had even considered Strider had a permanent woman in his life.
I’ve been so fucking stupid. Those tender touches, the hours spent just talking. Those many times he kept me in his bed, wanting me to stay the night, had me thinking I was something special to him when, all it turns out I am, was the woman on the side. I, of all people, knowing how cruel men could be, would never have knowingly put myself in this position.
My fingers curl into my palms as I think through the implications. I was never anything more than a pleasant distraction on those nights he did stay at the club. It’s no wonder he didn’t want a baby with me. I’m angry at him, but more so at myself. Surely, I should have been able to recognise the signs? But Strider never smelled of perfume. There was no clue to destroy the fantasy I’d built up in my mind that he was mine.
When coming to the club, I had no good expectations about the men I would find, my sole purpose being to place myself under their protection. So why should I be shocked now when I find the president, himself, is a philandering bastard? I shouldn’t be surprised.
What I can’t understand is why he’s brought me here now? Is it to punish me for clearly developing thoughts I should never have about him? Does she know about me, or is he going to flaunt me in her face ? Did my story about the successful love affair between the president and the club girl make him think he needed to leave me in no doubt that he’s already taken?
He’s so wrong if he thinks I’ll try to sink my claws into him. He’s not been near me in months, and if that wasn’t a damn red flag that he’s not interested, I don’t know what it would take. I certainly don’t need any further introduction into his domestic life to steer clear of him. Hasn’t he already hurt me enough?
“Take me back to the club,” I spit out.
“No.” He doesn’t even spare me a glance as he refuses.
Incensed, I let my voice rise. “Not up for negotiation. You’ve made your point. I don’t need a screaming match with your wife to confirm that you’re off the market.”
Now he turns to face me, his eyes wide. “That’s not?—”
I slam my fist into my palm, half wishing I was hitting the face of the obstinate man. “Strider! We had fun. Sure, I might have had some feelings for you, but you’ve made your point. Take me back.”
“Just get out of the fuckin’ car,” he growls.
I’m going to get out of the car, alright. I’m going to be calling myself an Uber and heading back to the club. He’s playing some game, and I want no part of it. Pushing hard, the door flies open and I all but stumble out.
But my escape plan is quickly foiled as he’s moved fast. He catches me before I’ve even rounded the back of the car, takes me by the arm, and turns me around. While not a painful hold, it’s enough that I can’t get loose.
“For fuck’s sake, Strider…”
He stops, looks down at me, and there’s a softening in his eyes. “Please, Jasmine. In a moment, you’ll understand.”
It’s hard to refrain from stomping my foot. “What if I want to remain ignorant?”
“Do you?” His eyes rise in challenge. “Not like you, Jasmine, to turn away from having all the information.”
I might not have ever expected this career path, but I’ve become an author. I spend my life weaving plots, trying to understand motivation and emotions. Suddenly, I realise that no matter how uncomfortable I am, if I walk away now, I’ll always wonder why Strider thought it so important I meet his wife. Though right now, I can’t fathom any reason for it.
Unless… Has he an open marriage and his wife won’t mind? Or, God help me, no. I narrow my eyes. “I’m not into threesomes.”
His eyes widen so far, it’s comical. His mouth drops open, then he recovers himself. There’s even a quirk to his mouth. “Just get inside, Jas.” After a pause he adds, “Please.”
Something about his tone, or maybe his countenance, stops my protest. For some goddamn reason, deep inside, I still love the man even though I know he doesn’t—and shouldn’t due to his marital status—feel the same for me. Even though thinking I’m an idiot to put myself through this torture, I find myself beside him as he puts the key in the lock, turns it, and opens the door.
“That you, Colt?” a feminine voice calls out. She uses what I assume, but hadn’t known, was his government name, which emphasises the vast gap between her and me.
He barks a laugh. “Who else would it fucking be?”
That’s his wife, I remind myself and start panicking. How bad will this be?
The door closes behind me with a decisive click. I’ve no option now but to follow his lead. With his hand on my back, he encourages me forward into the room where the voice came from.
I come to an abrupt halt at the sight in front of me.
There’s a woman in a wheelchair, held in by straps, as if her body is incapable of supporting itself. Apart from her chest gently rising and falling, there’s no other movement, no recognition that anyone has entered the room. Beside her stands another woman clothed in a nurse’s uniform. It’s her that’s giving Strider a welcoming smile.
“How is she today?” the man beside me asks.
“As comfortable as I can make her,” the nurse replies. “Are you going to visit with her awhile?”
Strider gives an abrupt nod. The nurse gets up. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
I’m still trying to get my head around the dynamics in the room. Casting a quizzical glance toward Strider, he takes no time to enlighten me.
“Let me introduce you.” He points to the comatose-looking woman in the wheelchair. “This is my wife. Anna.”
I’m filled with horror. All my imaginations hadn’t led me to this. I swallow, think whether I should temper my words, then blurt out anyway, “What’s wrong with her?”
“Best diagnosis?” He looks at Anna studiously, then turns back to me. “Pick’s Disease.”
Taking a step toward the person he claimed as his wife, he places his hand on her forehead, smoothing the lines away gently. He stares at her for a moment, his face softening, then hardening as he turns back to me. “Come, let’s sit.” He beckons to a three-person sofa.
I perch myself at one end. He sits at the other but turns to face me. This situation is so far from what I imagined. For a moment, I focus on Anna. “Can she see or hear us?”
His gaze shifts from me. “Her eyes follow movement, but at this point it’s unlikely she’d be able to understand what she’s seeing. Same with hearing, she doesn’t react to anything, even her name anymore.”
Even so, I feel uncomfortable being here, especially seeing how Strider’s expression gentles as he continues to stare at his wife. I’m just about to say I should go when he starts to confide, “Anna and I were childhood sweethearts. Right from the start, I knew she was the one.”
His statement puts me completely in my place. There was never any room for me. However ill she is, he’s letting me know I could never compete, and all my foolish dreams about him and I were doomed from the start.
If only he’d been honest with me. I couldn’t have turned his approaches down. That was my bargain with the club. Sex for protection. But it would have meant I’d have shielded my heart. Knowing the truth would have meant I’d never have fallen for him. A cheater was never on my agenda.
Not understanding why he couldn’t have simply just told me, I realise there’s nothing more to say. Placing my hands on the sofa, I start to push to my feet.
He sees my movement and, stretching over, places his hand on my arm. “Please, Jasmine. I need to get this off my chest. Please spare me a moment. Just listen to me.”
His tone is uncertain, almost vulnerable. If he had demanded, I’d have left, but his demeanour has me sitting back in my seat. When he doesn’t immediately start talking again, it seems breaking the silence is up to me. “Will she recover?”
My question sparks him to glance sharply my way before he heaves a big sigh. Then he inches closer, taking my hand in his as though he needs a human connection. “No.” I inhale sharply, but he’s already moved on. “We were in high school together. When we left, I joined the Marines. Anna stood beside me all the way. She was so proud of what I’d accomplished, liked to show me off and boast about me going away and fighting for my country. And hey, what red-blooded man doesn’t want his wife to look up to him? She worried about me when I was overseas, of course, but I suppose being the big brave man, I downplayed the risks that I faced daily. I did my time but couldn’t do it anymore. After eight years, I got out.” His teeth clench, and he moves his jaw side to side to release them. “I’d seen things no man should ever see and heard screams no one should ever hear. I could tell Anna was disappointed, but still, she stood by me.
“On US soil, I floundered. I couldn’t find my place. Being a Marine was the only thing I’d ever known, and civilian life wasn’t for me. Then I found the Wretched Soulz MC.” He stops, considers me for a moment, then resumes, “Well, they found me. They threw me a lifeline, a way of living that I could understand, and once again, to be part of a team. Anna,” he points at the woman in the wheelchair, “couldn’t fathom what attracted me to the MC, and tried all she could to keep me away. Despite her objections, I knew this club was the only thing that was going to ground me. Fuck knows where I’d have ended up without my brothers.”
Hie eyes glaze slightly as mentally he drifts back in time. “I’d come home a damaged man, unable to fit into society. Anna did her best, but she couldn’t give me all I needed. I wanted purpose, direction. I tried to do what she wanted. At first, I turned down the Soulz approaches and attempted to live a citizen life. But something was calling to me, and I bought myself a motorcycle. Hell, how I loved the freedom it gave me. When Anna saw that, she knew that she’d lost.
“For a moment, she tried. She pretended to be enthusiastic about the bike, and when I asked her to come for a ride, she agreed even though I could see she didn’t really want to. She rode stiff, scared, and, hell, I wasn’t an experienced rider. When a truck blew me off at a junction, I lost control and dropped the bike. She never rode with me after that, and since her, I’ve never had another woman riding behind me.”
Something pushes me to ask. “Was she hurt?”
He grimaces. “It didn’t appear so, but she had banged her head. Cops turned up, ambulance, too. They took her in and said she might have a concussion, but just told me to keep an eye on her during the night, and didn’t seem to think it was serious. She woke up the next day with just a mild headache.”
He laughs softly in a mirthless way. “She did use it to try to stifle my new desire for two wheels. For a while, I suppose it worked. I endeavoured to find a job, but how could you go from being a respected Marine to being a lowly mechanic with a man with a paunch who’d never seen action in his life spending his day shouting crap orders at you? Telling you how to do something you could do blindfolded.” He shakes his head as mentally he goes back in time. “Anna saw it was slowly killing me, so, against her better judgement, when she got really worried about my mental health, when she could see there were no other options, she capitulated but made two stipulations. If I joined the Wretched Soulz, I didn’t draw her into the club, and our marital life was to be kept completely out of it. The other?” Wincing slightly, he looks at me, then straightens his shoulders. “That we fulfil the original desire of us both. That we start a family.”
Quietly I suck in air, pain lancing my heart as another nail is hammered into my coffin. He wanted her to be the mother of his kid, but not me.
Ignoring my reaction or not acknowledging it, he carries on talking. “I agreed to both conditions. I became a hangaround, then prospected, and got my full patch. True to my word, I kept her out of the club. Easy in some ways as I was never in danger of sharing club business with my old lady. She didn’t want to know. She never wore my property patch, attended events, or came on rides. While I didn’t set out to keep her a secret, many brothers who joined the club after me didn’t know of her existence.”
I can’t help myself. I snort. “I bet that was hard. No one questioned you going with the whores?”
His move is just short of violent as he uses his grip on my hand to pull me around to face him. “I never cheated on Anna. I didn’t take advantage of the women in the club. Anna was enough for me.” He grimaces and looks away. From the sideways view, I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck as he swallows. “Well, at that time, anyway.” He coughs to clear his throat. “We were too busy trying to get pregnant. I wasn’t wanting for sex.” He huffs a sad laugh.
“You have a child? Children?” Christ, this is getting worse. Though I’ve glanced around, the walls are empty of any family photos. Just a portrait of him and Anna in much younger and clearly happier days.
A rapid shake of his head. “We tried and tried, but she didn’t fall pregnant. She started to get depressed. I just thought it was because she yearned to have a baby. We went to doctors, but they had no answers. Give it time, they said, but still, whatever we did, didn’t take.”
And I fell at a drop of a hat… Guilt floods through me. I can now understand his reaction. Can see it through his eyes. He wasn’t able to give the woman he loved a child, yet found himself getting a club whore pregnant instead.
I swallow my gasp as he continues without realising the effect his words had on me. “I wanted a child with her. Wanted to fulfil her needs. Then Rooster died…” His voice trails off, and he looks at me expectantly.
I take a moment to process what he said, then answer the unspoken question. “The old Prez?” I wasn’t there at the time, but have heard his name mentioned and seen the pictures on the walls.
“Yeah,” he confirms. “He was like a father to me. He saw me. He was the one who found a disillusioned retired Marine drowning his sorrows in a bar. He saw me as a damaged man, understood what I’d been through, and how much I needed the life and brothers around me. He waited until I’d come around, then sponsored me into the club. When we lost him, I couldn’t believe it. It was so unexpected, I wasn’t prepared. It hit me, all of us, hard.”
Now it’s me squeezing my fingers to his. I feel forced to say, “I’m so sorry.” And I genuinely am. I cast my mind back to the stories I’ve heard, and what I’m looking for comes into my mind. “He had a bad bike accident, didn’t he?”