Forbidden Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #5 Page 8

  “It’s good to see you too, you bloody arsehole.”

  His expression softens a little and I see the regret at his words.

  Good. You should feel bad, you bastard. I dropped everything to sit at your bedside for the past few days.

  “You didn’t need to come all this way.”

  I didn’t. I still don’t know why I did.

  “You’re lying in a hospital bed in intensive care. Of course I had to come.” I don’t mention the fact it’s my own guilt that drove me to be here, that I’m here for partly my own selfish reasons.

  He stares at me a beat, and I wonder what he’s thinking. He gives nothing away, his face as blank as a slab of granite. Even in the short time I did get to know Josh, I could never read him. I think he got so used to hiding every emotion from Curtis growing up that he’s never outwardly shown anything. Now is no different. Even under the pull of the drugs they’re pumping into him he’s a closed book.

  I can understand this; I’m no different. My mother taught me that emotions are a weakness. They can be exploited.

  “Are any brothers waiting out there?” His words roll into each other, the drugs affecting his speech as they take hold of him once more.

  “If by ‘brothers’ you mean the Neanderthals wearing leather vests, then yes. They’ve been hanging around since I got here.”

  This probably isn’t the politest thing to say, and considering how nice most of them have been to me, I feel bad, but I’m also angry that he’s treating me like little more than shit on his shoe to be scraped off. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but I’m here now, making an effort. That should count for something, right?

  The tension in Josh’s face eases. “Good. I need to talk to one of them.”

  Is he serious? I haven’t seen him in nearly three years. This is the first meeting we’ve had, and he wants to see one of his friends?

  Disappointment floods me, mixed with anger. I shouldn’t be either. I have no right to either emotion. Did I really expect my brother to just open his arms to me, to welcome me back into his life like nothing has changed?

  I suppose, naïvely, I did.

  What a fool I am.

  “What you need to do, Joshua, is rest. You’ve been out of it for days, you have a hole in your gut, and you are currently being held together with stitches. Your little pow-wow with your friends can wait.”

  The look he shoots me makes me recoil. For someone who just woke up fully from life-saving surgery, it’s a look that promises more anger than he has any right to deliver. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve come into his life and turned my nose up at it. I’d be defensive if he’d done the same to mine. If he was rude to Cami, I’d outright slap his face. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m going to back down. It’s not in me to roll over and play nice.

  “You can be pissed off at me, Piper, but you don’t disrespect the Club, you hear me?”

  “It’s bad enough that you joined them, but don’t expect me to roll over and play nice. They’re your friends, not mine.”

  He closes his eyes for a moment, seeking patience maybe. I’ve seen Grant do the same thing many times over the years, before he says, “Piper, I mean it. You don’t disrespect them—or me in front of them.”

  He’s serious. Old feelings resurface and for a brief moment, I consider telling him to get screwed, but I keep my tongue in check—barely.

  “Fine. I’ll behave.” I don’t say the ‘for now’ but it certainly hangs silently in the air between us.

  I watch as he tugs on the blanket pooled around his hips. For such a large man to appear so weak is concerning. This knocks the anger out of me. He nearly died, and I need to remember this fact. I could have lost this chance to talk to him again. My emotions are all over the place. I’m conflicted and confused, but I’m glad he’s awake and alive, even if I feel a little flash of irritation towards him.

  I don’t know if he’ll welcome the help or tell me to leave him alone, but I can’t watch him struggle any longer. I move towards him and help him settle the blankets up his bandaged chest.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles before he slides his heavy gaze towards me. “How did you know I was here? In the hospital, I mean.”

  “One of your friends—Weed—called me. What kind of name is that, Josh? Weed? Jesus,” I mutter, unable to help myself. “Anyway, he called and said you were in the hospital and that it was serious. What was I going to do? Say thank you very much and go about my business? He was kind of pushy about having me picked up, though. Insistent, really, even though I said I could drive myself.”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d said fuck it, given how things have been between us.”

  Shame and guilt wash through me. I had thought this. It was only Cami’s insistence that put my bum in Charlie’s car. Without her, I don’t think I would have come, and I would have regretted it.

  But it means Josh shouldn’t be looking at me like I made some huge gesture. I didn’t. It was only sitting at his bedside, watching him sleep, wondering if he would wake up, that gave me the time to think. Now that I am here, I want to try to fix things.

  Maybe candour is the key. Maybe I should just be honest.

  “Yes, well, I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. That call… it about knocked ten years off my life. I realised we wasted a lot of time together. I know we can’t fix everything between us, but maybe we can try to repair some of the cracks.”

  I hate how small my voice sounds. How much it trembles when I speak. Will he want that? Does he want me here?

  He surprises me by reaching over the bed rail and seizing my hand. I freeze, momentarily stunned, swallowing hard. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders as I realise he’s not pissed off I’m here. He’s actually glad to see me.

  Relief floods me and chokes me.

  “I’d like that,” he tells me, and I can see the sincerity in his words, in his face.

  Don’t cry, don’t cry.

  I sniff, my head lowering to stare at our joined hands as a shaky breath rips out of me. “I’m glad you’re okay, Josh.”

  “I’m glad I’m okay, too.” He lets out a low breath. “I hate to cut this short, Piper, but I don’t know how long I’m going to stay awake. I need to talk to one of the brothers before I crash back out. Can you get one for me?”

  Is he serious? No, he must be joking. We’re having a moment, a fairly big moment and he’s just taken a giant dump all over it.

  I stare at him. “But you just woke up.”

  He doesn’t waver, even though his eyes are still drug-heavy.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you think you should rest?”

  “I will. After I talk to a brother.” He juts his chin to the door. “Now, Piper.”

  I sigh dramatically, because if I don’t I’m going to break down into tears or I’m going to unleash a tirade of anger on him. Since he just woke up from being shot, I’m not sure either responses are appropriate.

  “Fine.”

  I head for the door, disbelief swirling around my brain, as I step into the corridor. Ghost is sitting in a chair opposite the door. To my dismay, Jem is leaning against the wall next to him. Doesn’t he have things to do? Crimes to commit? Places to be that are far from me?

  His eyes, which were locked on the ceiling, lower to me as I exit. The way they rove over me does funny things to my belly. Why do I feel as if he’s undressing me with his eyes?

  “He wants to speak to one of you.” I address Ghost, though my gaze darts to Jem as I speak.

  And, yes, he’s still staring at me.

  “He’s awake?” Ghost asks, his gruff voice intimidating.

  I nod. “And happy as a clam about it.”

  Jem pats Ghost’s chest. “Why don’t you go and see how our brother is doing? I’ll take Piper down to the canteen while you’re busy.”

  Uh… what? Spending time with Jem is not high on my to-do list. The man induces a headache.

  “Why don’t y
ou go and talk to Josh instead?” I demand.

  Not that I have any desire to spend time with Ghost. Frankly, the man scares me half to death, but any time with Jem is likely to result in jail time.

  Jem shrugs. “Wade just woke up. Let’s not torture him with me just yet.”

  That we can both agree on. Jem is torture.

  Even so…

  “I don’t need an escort, Jem.”

  “Good thing I’m not providing one.”

  “But you’re coming with me?”

  He shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

  “Fucking hell,” Ghost mutters, his patience clearly reaching the end of his non-existent tether. “You two are irritating as fuck.”

  He pushes into the room, taking the choice away. I stare at the door for a long moment, willing him to return.

  He doesn’t.

  I glare at Jem, who is grinning stupidly at me.

  “I’m capable of being on my own for ten minutes while I eat, but if you want to tag along, I can’t stop you.”

  “Well, thanks for making a guy feel welcome.”

  “You’re not welcome.”

  “I got that message loud and clear.”

  “Good.”

  I head for the lifts, trying to ignore him.

  “You really don’t like me much, do you?” he says.

  “I met you just over two days ago. I don’t even know you.”

  Stabbing the lift call button, I don’t look at him as he stands next to me.

  “I’m a lot of fun.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I really am. You’d like me if you got to know me.”

  I blow out a breath and step into the lift when the doors slide open. He follows me inside and steps closer as a few other people get in, too. I try not to think about his proximity to me, but this is not easy. I can feel the heat coming off him and I can smell his aftershave from here. I must smell half dead. I’ve alternated between Josh’s room and the family waiting area. My eyes are like sandpaper and my back has knots that no chiropractor is ever going to fix. I’ve been using the small bathroom at the end of the hall to wash in, but I could use a proper shower.

  Jem places a hand on the small of my back, and steers me out of the lift when the doors open on the ground floor. His touch is warm and inviting, and I don’t want to think about how much I like it on me, or how much I miss its loss when he removes it.

  When he leads me into the hospital canteen, he grabs a tray from the stack and says, “Get whatever you want.”

  I don’t really know what I feel like eating, but I pick up a sandwich and a few other things, placing them on the tray he’s holding. People stare at Jem, which makes me incredibly uncomfortable, like a fish in a bowl, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s like a child, picking things up and examining them before putting them back down. He can’t seem to help but touch everything. I want to tell him to stop, but I barely know him and he’s more than a little intimidating, so I hold my tongue.

  He also flashes smiles at every single woman we cross paths with, as if he can’t stop the flirting. It’s like a reflex action. It’s annoying. In fact, nearly everything about this man gets under my skin.

  When we come to pay for the food, he refuses to allow me to part with any money. I would argue about being independent, but I’m too exhausted.

  When he leads me over to a table and orders me to sit, he offloads all my food in front of me. I realise at this moment, all Jem bought for himself is a bottle of water.

  “Aren’t you eating?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You said you were,” I accuse.

  “I changed my mind.”

  My brow arches. “You changed your mind?”

  “Yep.” He pops the ‘P’ loudly.

  “Between here and upstairs, you changed your mind?”

  “Yep.”

  I let out a frustrated growl. “So, are you just going to watch me eat?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” His eyes narrow. “Why? Do you want me to?”

  “No. That would be weird.”

  “I thought you might have a strange food fetish.” My gaze snaps to his face, and he holds up his hands defensively. “It’s not for me to judge how others live. Different strokes for different folks and all that. Food isn’t my thing, though—not with sex. Far too messy.”

  I’m certain I’m blushing tomato red, and he gives me a lazy grin.

  “I’ve embarrassed you.”

  This seems to amuse him.

  “I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about this stuff when my brother is lying upstairs hooked up to God knows how many machines, do you?”

  He sobers a little. “No, probably not, but humour in the face of adversity is the best medicine.”

  This is kind of poignant, and I doubt it’s something he thought up himself.

  “Says who?”

  “Me. And probably someone smart. Besides, your brother is awake now and that means he’ll be back to his usual grumpy self in no time. Order will restore itself to the universe and you can go back to your high-flyer life and forget you slummed it for a time.”

  Ouch.

  His words sting, even though he says them with a smile.

  I fiddle with my food, trying to think how best to combat this.

  Finally, I settle for being honest. “I don’t think I’m slumming it, Jem.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  His eyes are piercing as he takes me in and I want to shift under his scrutiny. Behind the smiles, this man sees too much and knows more than he says.

  “But you refuse to stay at the clubhouse, refuse the hospitality offered by the women of the Club, treat them like shit when they’re trying to help you.”

  Heat infuses my cheeks. I did refuse to stay at the clubhouse, and for good reason. I have no intention of getting caught up in drug-fuelled orgies. Besides, if the media finds out I’m running around with a biker gang, it will ruin Grant’s reputation, and my stepfather will murder me—right after my mother kills me.

  Even so, I bristle at his accusation, even if he’s mostly right. “I haven’t treated anyone like shit, Jem. I don’t know any of you well enough to treat any of you badly.”

  I have purposely avoided talking to anyone long enough to get to know them, though, which is probably worse.

  He leans forward on the table and says, “Precisely. I’d love to untangle those knickers of yours, angel. They’re twisted into one big fucking sad knot.” His words make the apex between my thighs dampen, and I have no idea why. Maybe it was the talk of my underwear or the use of ‘angel’, but when he sits back again and considers me, his arm draping lazily over the back of the seats, my heart rate kicks up a notch. “You don’t laugh a lot, do you?”

  “I don’t really have much reason to laugh right now. Brother… in the ICU… at death’s door. You do remember that, right?”

  “I don’t have a memory problem, sweetheart. I haven’t forgotten, but in case you have, let me remind you of the details. Wade’s one of my best friends. He’s like blood to me, Piper, but crying over him isn’t going to change things. It isn’t magically going to heal him or bring him back to health. All we can do is carry on and hope he pulls through. I’m not going to spend however long that takes dragging my fucking jaw around on the floor like some sad depressed bastard.”

  In a weird way, I almost understand where he’s coming from, but for God’s sake it’s only been a few days. Can I not have a little time to feel sorry about the situation?

  I huff out a breath. “Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Joking around? Insensitive. A first-class wanker.”

  A highly attractive first-class wanker. I shut that thought down.

  He shrugs. “Life’s too short to take it seriously. And for the record, I’m plenty sensitive.”

  I pick up my sandwich and start to eat it. Arguing with him is fruitless, given h
is level of delusion. The man is infuriating.

  After a moment of feeling like an animal being watched from behind a glass wall, I scowl at him.

  “If you would like to know, my reasons for not staying at the clubhouse are not what you think.”

  “Oh?” He brushes his blond hair back from his face.

  “My stepfather is a local councillor, Jem. If the media even get wind I’m here it would ruin his precious reputation and he will drown me in the River Trent. I can probably damage control a hospital visit, but staying at the clubhouse… there’s no way to control that. The headlines will be savage.”

  This is mostly a lie. I don’t want to stay there because I don’t like his stupid little Club, but I’m also aware my brother said I need to show respect to these people, and Jem is looking at me like a wounded puppy. A little embellishment of the truth won’t hurt if it removes that expression.

  Besides, it isn’t entirely a lie. I don’t doubt Grant would remove me from the equation if I was harming his election campaign. I’m certain I mean less to him than his position in government—despite the fact he’s been in my life since I was six-years-old.

  “Fair enough, but that offer stands anytime you need it. The clubhouse is always there for you.”

  I force a smile. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to say thank you, Piper. Wade’s Club. That makes you family.”

  Great. Just what I need—to be in an outlaw Club’s inner circle.

  “You don’t have to sit with me. I’m more than capable of eating a sandwich on my own.”

  He doesn’t make a move to leave the table. He sinks lazily back against the chair.

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “Yet you’re still sitting here like a guard dog, watching my every move.”

  “Unfortunately, no matter what my thoughts are on the matter, your brother might consider you precious cargo. Until Wade says otherwise, the Club’s going to do everything in its power to keep you safe—whether or not we should.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  This response infuriates me. I place my sandwich back on the tray and give him my full attention.

  “If you have something to say, then say it.”