Chapter 4

Four

Fletch

I zone out while Axel fumes about the raid the other night. "Fletch," snaps Grizz, nudging me.

"Huh?" I ask, breaking from my thoughts of Gemma.

Axel is glaring at me. "Nyx mentioned you took the copper's car in at the garage."

I nod. "Yep. She broke down right outside. How's that for sod's law?"

"You think she did it on purpose, or it was for real?" asks Smoke.

"Nah, it's fucked, not even roadworthy. I met her for a drink too." I feel Axel's eyes burning into me. "What?" I ask innocently. "You told me to apologise to her, soften her up."

"Did she give anything up?" asks Grizz.

I shake my head. "Of course not. Although I did find out her father is Chief of Police."

"Mark Stone?" Grizz questions.

"Isn't he the new one?" asks Smoke, and Axel nods.

"A right miserable fucker, apparently," says Grizz. "Not interested in meeting us to discuss anything. He's nothing like the last guy."

"I never met the man, but she was terrified of him back then," I tell them. "We'd meet in secret."

"Man, if I was dating someone as ugly as you, I'd keep it secret too," jokes Ink.

"What's the plan here?" asks Axel.

"You tell me," I say. "You and the VP told me to make things right. I did."

"You think she'd spill secrets?" asks Grizz.

"I doubt it, brother. She doesn't seem the type to break rules these days."

"These days?" repeats Axel. "Which means she used to?"

I grin. "She was a rebellious teen, what do you think?"

"Find that inner rebellious streak and break it. We need her off our backs."

I salute him as he bangs the gavel on the table and then I head out.

Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I dial Gemma and she answers on the second ring. "It's Fletch," I tell her. "It's about the car."

"Right," she whispers, "hold on." I hear her moving and then a door open and close. "Okay, hit me with it."

"I don't think you'll be surprised to know it's not good news."

"You can't fix it?" She sounds disappointed.

"I didn't say that. I'm a good mechanic, I can fix anything, but it's an old car and probably not worth putting the new parts in. For what you'll spend, you could get a new car."

"Really?"

"Gem, it ain't worth shit. Scrap it, you'll make more."

She sighs heavily. "I can't do that. It's sentimental."

"A car?" I ask, laughing. "Take a picture, it'll last longer and cost nothing."

"Is that about the car?" barks a man's voice. It's harsh, and she doesn't even answer before he's clearly taken the phone from her. "Hi, I'm Gemma's husband. If you're feeding her some crap about fixing that heap of junk, save it."

"Actually," I say, frowning, "I was just telling her it's not worth spending the money on it."

"Right," he mutters. "Well, good. We've had enough mechanics rip her off. She's holding on to it for dear life, and it's time she let it go."

"I'm right here," I hear her mutter.

"So, scrap it," he continues.

"Pete," she screeches, "give me the phone."

"I'll handle it, Gem."

"Actually, sir," I say clearly, "your wife is the customer, so I'll need to speak to her about it. And I'm not a scrap man. You'll need to arrange that yourself."

Gemma comes back onto the line. "Sorry about that. Are you in the garage now?"

"Just about to head that way," I tell her. "You want me to pick you up?"

"Erm . . ." She's hesitant, and I imagine it's because her fiancé is nearby. "Same place as before?"

"Miller's Barn?"

"Yep, great. Thank you." It reminds me of our secret conversations when she was younger and didn't want her father to overhear. I disconnect and head out to my bike.

I slow outside the bar, where she's standing waiting. She eyes the bike as I hand her the spare helmet. "I've never . . ." I take the helmet from her and push it on her head, pulling her closer so I can fasten the chin strap.

"Climb on," I order, and she slides on behind me. "Feet there," I say, tapping her ankles and guiding them to the footrests. "Hold on and move with me." Her hands grab my kutte, and I smirk, taking them and tugging them until she's so close, I can feel her heat at my back. "Hold on," I repeat, revving the engine and turning back out into traffic.

It's a short ride to the garage but one of my best so far. Having Gemma this close, clinging to me, makes me hotter for her. The fact she's engaged to that cock makes things worse. My want is becoming a need.

We climb off, and she follows me to the office. I unlock it, and we go inside. "Nice to hear he's changed."

"Huh?"

"Your fiancé," I say, lifting the partition and stepping behind the counter.

"Oh," she gives a small laugh, "he just hates that car."

"It's a death trap, and I agree it needs scrapping."

She folds her arms over her chest. "It was my first car," she admits. "I know it's stupid to get attached, but I got it with my first wage from the force."

"Snap, I know your father is loaded, so why did you buy that heap?"

"I'd never ask him for anything," she mutters. "But you're right, I know you are, so I'll get a scrap man to collect it."

"I'll deal with it," I say.

"You sure?"

I give a nod. It's the least I can do, and she's clearly struggling to let it go. "You want to empty it?" I ask, and she nods. "Come," I say, unlocking the side door that leads into the workshop. "I've got some boxes too," I tell her, grabbing a couple from a shelf.

She unlocks the car and slides into the driver's seat. I open the passenger side and get in. "It's a cute little car," I say. "I took you for more of an Audi kind of girl."

"Really?" she asks, arching a brow. "I got the Mini Cooper because my father hated them," she admits, and I laugh.

"You were always trying to rebel. What's he think of the surgeon?"

"Loves him," she almost whispers. "They get on really well."

I frown. "Strange."

"Is it?"

"That you'd meet a man who gets along with your father, yeah. What do you think he'd make of me?"

She grins, resting her head back but keeping her eyes trained on me. "He hates tattoos."

I smirk. "I bet he does."

"The fact they're on your face would send him over the edge."

"Yeah, a nice addition, don't you think?"

Her hand reaches out, brushing over my cheek. "Is it true what they say?" I wait for her to continue, enjoying the soft touch of her fingers as they trace my tatts. "Do these represent the people you've killed?"

I twist my head from her touch, and her hand drops to her lap. "I'll let you pack your shit up." It's easy to forget the real reason she's acting all nice, but she never fails to remind me.

I climb from the car, slamming the door and heading back to the office.

Half an hour passes before she reappears. I'm already with a customer, so she takes a seat as I rip off the receipt and hand it to the blonde who's spent the last ten minutes flirting. Any other day, I'd probably have her out back sucking my cock, but something about having Gemma here puts me off.

"So, that number?" she repeats, taking the receipt.

I glance at Gemma, who quickly looks away. "Sure," I mutter, grabbing a business card and scribbling my number on the back before handing it to her.

I wait for her to leave before lifting the partition and stepping through to where Gemma sits. "I called the scrap man. He's gonna give you two hundred."

"Wow, is that it?"

"Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it. I'm just waiting for a ride home," she says. "I left the boxes in the garage," she adds. "I didn't realise how much crap I kept in the car." She stands. "It's the perfect business . . . for meeting women."

I stare out the window, watching the blonde who is now chatting to Nyx, and I smirk. "Free and single these days, remember."

"I wasn't . . . judging. I'm just saying it's surprising you're still single when there are women throwing themselves at you like that."

"There was a time when I'd have taken her out back," I mutter. "Probably with Nyx," I admit. "But . . ." I shake my head. "Never mind."

Gemma steps closer. "Thanks for all your help with the car."

"Am I likely to see you again?" I ask.

She smirks. "Depends."

"On?"

"If your club is as clean as you say it is."

"You're wasting your time," I tell her. "The last copper who thought she could take us down ended up becoming part of the club." I close the gap between us, and she tips her head back to look up at me.

"I'm not her," she whispers, her eyes burning with need.

I run my lower lip through my teeth, and before I can change my mind, I kiss her. It's soft, and although she hesitates, the second I wrap my hand around her throat, she relaxes and allows my tongue to explore her mouth. It's a few seconds before she comes to her senses and pushes me back. "What the fuck are you doing?" she snaps.

"What you wanted," I tell her, smirking.

"I didn't want that," she spits. "I'm getting married."

A car horn beeps, and she spins to look outside at a sleek, shiny BMW. I grin. Of course, he drives a dick's car. "Your chariot awaits."

"Don't fucking come near me again," she warns, stomping off out the exit. I open the side door and lean against the frame, watching as she scoops one of the boxes into her arms. "You want me to help? Cos it doesn't look like lover boy is gonna."

"I can manage," she hisses, carrying it out towards the car. The boot opens automatically, and she dumps it in before heading back towards me.

"What a catch. Does he slam doors in your face too?"

"Don't be a prick."

"I'm not the one watching my fiancée haul boxes around. Is it his hands he's protecting?"

She pauses in front of me. "He's worth ten of you."

I smile. "Ten? Wow."

"What do I owe you for looking at the car?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. That kiss was more than enough."

She scoffs. "You're a prick." And she stomps back towards the car.

"Never claimed to have changed," I call after her before storming into the office and slamming the door closed.

Seconds later, Nyx follows me in. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I kissed her," I blurt, and he arches a brow.

"Was that the plan?"

I run my hands through my hair in agitation. "What fucking plan? There is no plan, but I just kissed her and, fuck, I . . . I enjoyed it way more than I should have."

"You're overthinking. What's this chick got that all the club whores don't have? Nothing," he says firmly. "Go fuck someone else and forget about her. She's a copper, and we don't mix with that sort."

I give a stiff nod and crack my neck from side to side. He's right—Gemma is old news, and before this week, I hadn't thought of her in years.

Gemma

"How much did they rob you?" asks Peter as he pulls out into traffic.

I stare straight ahead, my mind racing from what just happened. The kiss felt . . . nice. I scrub my hands over my face. Who the fuck am I kidding? The kiss was hot and made me feel like a goddamn teenager again. I growl, and Peter laughs, glancing over at me. "That much, huh? Told you they'd rip you off."

"Where were you all night?" I ask, sounding harsher than I mean too.

"Working, like always. Why?"

I sigh heavily. "Nothing. It's just, well, you're working a lot lately."

I feel his eyes on me briefly. "I'm a fucking surgeon, Gem. I work when I'm needed, and last night, I was needed."

"And was she on shift?" I brace myself for the temper tantrum I know will follow. It always does when I mention his past affairs.

He doesn't disappoint me, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. "Why does it always come back to her?" he yells angrily.

"Well, because I can't help but be curious when you're gone all night. It brings back memories," I snap. He slams his foot down, swerving in and out of traffic and causing other vehicles to beep at us. "Slow down," I hiss.

"I'm so fucking tired of hearing it, Gemma. You said you'd forgiven me. I thought we'd moved on."

"We have," I mutter, gripping the door handle of the car as he swerves to avoid a vehicle slowing in front. "Please, Pete, slow down."

"Scared one of your colleagues will pull us over?" he sneers.

"Well, you'll get the ticket," I retort.

"All you care about is that job and your image."

I narrow my eyes. "You're one to talk." He turns onto our road, and I let out a sigh of relief. "And don't think I didn't realise you never answered me."

He pulls onto the drive, pressing for the garage door to open. I frown when he turns off the car engine and climbs out. I follow his lead, wondering why he doesn't put the car away, and pause when I see a new car already in its spot with a huge ribbon on the bonnet.

"Yes, Gemma," he hisses, "Carla was on shift. Did we fuck? No. Did we even speak? No. Because you made it quite clear what would happen if I did." I keep my eyes on the white BMW, its red ribbon blowing gently in the breeze. "I'm tired of going over the same shit, Gem." I notice just how exhausted he sounds. "And by the way, I got you a car." Then, he stomps up the steps and into the house, slamming the door behind him.

I go into the garage and run my hand over the shiny paintwork. I hate white cars . I laugh to myself, allowing a tear to roll down my cheek. And I fucking hate BMWs .

When I go inside, I hear Peter upstairs. "I love the car," I call out, slipping off my shoes and dumping my bag. I head upstairs to find him in the shower. "I said, I love the car."

"Liar, you hate BMWs." It begs the question why he'd buy me one if he already knew that.

I lean in the doorway and smile. "I like that one because you got it for me."

"We have dinner with your father in an hour," he informs me, and I groan. "He called last minute, so I couldn't say no."

I go into the bedroom. "You could. It's an easy word."

I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the bed just as Pete's phone flashes with a text message. I bite my lower lip and glance back towards the bathroom. The shower is still running, so I quickly go over to his bedside table and stare at the screen. I shouldn't check it. I haven't done it for so long, not since I first found out about his affair with a nurse at work. It lights up again, and the fact he has it on silent makes me more suspicious. My hand hovers over it, and I groan, snatching it up and opening it. There are two text messages, and as I scan them, my heart breaks all over again.

C: I can get out at ten tonight.

C: Maybe we can get some food and then I can treat you ;)

Tears fill my eyes as a third message comes through. The picture of silk underwear laying on a bed mocks me, and I don't even realise the shower has turned off until Pete's voice fills the room. "What are you doing?" he asks.

I turn to him with silent tears rolling down my cheeks. "You didn't even have the decency to come up with a better name," I whisper, and his expression changes from confused to guilty. "What was the plan? You'd get called away from dinner, leaving me to face that bastard alone?"

"Gem," he mutters, his tone pleading.

"Why couldn't you just be honest?" I ask, dropping his phone onto the bed. "You could've just left the first time, but you asked . . . no, you begged for me to give you another chance, and again, I did."

"I tried to stop," he explains.

"But she was just too tempting."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh god, you're so fucking pathetic when you're ridden with guilt. Get the fuck out."

"What?"

"You heard me, get the fuck out of my house."

"We're getting married. Come on, don't act crazy."

My eyes widen. "Are you serious? Get the hell out!" I march over to his wardrobe and pull it open. His clothes are hanging neatly and it pisses me off. He's always so fucking tidy. I begin to rip them from the hangers and throw them into a heap on the bed.

"Gemma, we've paid for some of the wedding and the invites have gone out."

I ignore him as I grab a suitcase from under the bed, fighting with it when it gets caught. "Were you with her last night?" He sighs again before nodding. "You prick. You made me think I was being unreasonable."

"I swear, I was gonna end it before we got married."

"Lies," I call out, throwing his clothes into the case. "Yah know what happened today?" When he doesn't respond, I laugh while tugging the zip closed. "A man kissed me."

"What?" He has the audacity to look pissed.

"I know, it's almost unbelievable that a man actually looked at me like I was the hottest thing in the room and then kissed me. And it was a good kiss," I rant, hauling the case from the bed and shoving it against his chest. "And I pictured him bending me over the desk and fucking me." I give a loud, crazy-sounding laugh. "And Christ, I wanted him too so badly. I wanted that feral sex I used to have before I met you." I shove him again. "But do you know what I did? I pushed him away. I told him to stay the hell away from me because I was getting married." I laugh again. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"This isn't like you," he mutters.

"It is," I yell. "It's exactly like me, but keeping hold of you was just another thing I was trying to do to please my fucking father. He said I wouldn't keep a good man like you." I groan out loud, throwing my head back. "A good man." I shake my head with a huff. "I really thought you were, but it turns out you're just like the rest. Now, get out, I never want to see you again."