3. Jett

3

JETT

“ A little to the left,” Domino tells me and a pledge as he directs us where to hang the shelf behind the bar in the new clubhouse.

“That’s what she said,” Diesel shouts from across the room. A few snickers break out across the clubhouse while Domino rolls his eyes.

“Are you talking about your right hand again?” I reply, earning me some chuckles from the other members. We may be rough, tatted, scarred sons of bitches, but even as hardened bikers, our sense of humor rests at the twelve-year-old boy level.

“We can’t all be in a silent relationship with a waitress,” he shoots back at me. I glare at Diesel, narrowing my eyes at his big, dumb grin. I know he’s just giving me shit, but I’m feeling extra protective of Rowan since our interaction yesterday.

I knew something was wrong the instant she walked into the diner. Her pale skin, trembling hands, and wide, terrified eyes showed me everything I needed to know. She’s definitely running from something or someone.

When she pasted on her smile for me, I couldn’t stand the thought of her hiding her true feelings. Ironic, since I haven’t been able to express anything to her all week even though my mind is constantly racing with thoughts of her.

God, and when I held her shaking hands in mine… just that small touch drove me fucking wild. Not only did it send my heart into overdrive, but it also cemented my need to find whatever is making her so afraid and end it for good.

“Settle down,” Domino says, commanding the attention of the room. “Let’s hang this damn shelf and then we can all go to Gracie May’s and visit Jett’s not-girlfriend.”

Several shouts and whoops are heard from my brothers, who are all finishing up their own projects around the clubhouse. We’ve come a long way in the few weeks we’ve officially owned the place. Domino’s girl, Calista, found the perfect location, only to have some of our ex-members come in and vandalize the property.

Our newly appointed Prez, Domino, chose to buy the place anyway and enlisted every single one of the Deviant Souls members to help clean, restore, and redecorate. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice at first. After those first few brutal days of scrubbing graffiti off the walls and hauling out the destroyed furniture, however, I started to see the genius in his plan.

We’ve all sacrificed our blood, sweat, and tears for this new clubhouse, and we’re all invested in seeing it thrive. The club, as well.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pouring out into the parking lot of the clubhouse and getting ready for the short ride to the diner. Domino pulls Diesel and me off to the side, letting the other guys rev their bikes and peel out before speaking.

“I saw something last night I want you two to be aware of,” he says in a hushed tone. “I saw some men in the same leather cuts Zeke, Tank, and Rocky were wearing when they came here to destroy the place. Two pistols crossed over a large flame.”

“Fuck,” I say at the same time as Diesel. “I thought they’d be long gone by now. We handed over all the evidence of Zeke and his merry band of assholes vandalizing this property to the cops. Did they not do anything with that information?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I was hoping they’d track Zeke down and either arrest him or scare him enough to skip town. The weird thing is, I didn’t recognize these particular men. Never seen ‘em in my life. So what were they doing with the same leathers?”

“Did you get the name of the club? It was too blurred on our camera footage, but I can do a lot of digital digging if I just get a name,” Diesel says. He’s not only our best mechanic, Diesel also has the hacking skills of a CIA operative, I swear.

“Actually, yeah,” Domino replies. “Hell’s Scoundrels.”

“I’m surprised Zeke knows what a scoundrel is, let alone how to spell it,” I grunt.

“He doesn’t need to spell it to wear it on his back. He just needs to live up to the rep,” Diesel says.

“Scoundrel is far too good of a word for what that motherfucker is,” Domino growls. Diesel and I nod in agreement. Zeke used to be the Prez of Deviant Souls until he got the club all mixed up in drugs and all sorts of messy shit no one asked for. We thought he fled to Mexico, but he and his new gang keep showing up here.

"Let me work my magic with the information I have," Diesel says, bringing us back to the present moment. Lord knows the three of us could get caught up in bitterness and betrayal for hours if we let it seep in. But Domino wants us to move forward, and that's exactly what we're trying to do.

“Thanks,” Domino replies, giving a nod to Diesel. “Now, let’s go see your girl,” he says, turning to me and slapping me on the back.

“Whatever,” I grumble, though it’s half-hearted at best. I’m not subtle about how much time I’ve been spending at the diner lately. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why.

By the time Domino, Diesel, and I get to the diner, half the place is filled with our MC brothers. We must look a little intimidating, but the staff here knows we won’t start shit and we tip well.

The only table available isn’t in Rowan’s section, which pisses me the hell off. In fact, I don’t see her behind the counter or taking orders in her normal section. That shouldn’t make my blood pressure skyrocket or my hands clench into fists, but not seeing her here is definitely making me feel some kind of way. Agitated. Restless. Anxious, even. I’ve seen her every day since our eyes first locked, and now…

Domino nudges me on the shoulder and I look over at him. He tips his head toward the back of the diner, where Rowan is sitting at a table wrapping napkins around bundles of silverware. My feet take off in that direction, making Domino laugh. I don't give a fuck. I just need to see Rowan.

I stop short when I get within a few feet of where she’s sitting. I’m not sure how to approach her or what to say. I’ve never been great with my words, and apparently even less so with Rowan. Just be fuckin’ normal , I tell myself. Hi, hello, good to see you, how are you… so many ways to start a conversation.

Instead of using any of those ideas, I clear my throat and then choke on my own spit, sputtering out a cough and startling the beautiful, curvy goddess.

“It’s me,” I rasp, sounding like a swamp monster who hasn’t spoken in decades.

“Jett!” she exclaims, handing me the glass of water next to her on the table.

I take a few sips, trying not to get more flustered than I already am. Jesus, could I make myself look like any more of a fool?

“Here, sit, sit,” she says, scooting over and patting the seat next to her. I do as she says, glad for any excuse to be closer to the object of my obsession. “Are you okay?”

“Great,” I say with a wheeze. Fuck me sideways, this has to be the least suave interaction in all of human history.

"I can get you some more water if you need it," she offers, her violet eyes wide with concern. God, I want to hold her against me and kiss the worried look from her face.

“No,” I say, clearing my throat one last time. “I’m good. Sorry. I, um… I didn’t see you. But then… I did, over here. So I just, uh, wanted to say hi.” I finish off my rant by waving. Fucking waving my hand like a little kid.

If a bolt of lightning could please strike me at this very moment, I’d be forever grateful. What kind of incoherent idiot have I become?

I’m about to excuse myself and drive my bike off the nearest cliff, but then something incredible happens. Rowan laughs.

Her purple eyes glitter as she throws her head back and lets the laughter roll through her body. I don’t even care if she’s laughing at my expense. I’d make myself look like a fool for her all day, every day if it meant I got to hear her lighthearted laughter. I get the sense she hasn’t had a lot of joy in her life, especially lately.

I grin, admiring the beautiful woman sitting next to me. It’s taking an awful lot of willpower not to toss her over my shoulder, plop her on the back of my bike, and ride off into the sunset.

“Sorry,” she says once her laughter is mostly under control. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”

“I don’t mind,” I tell her, resting my arm on the back of her seat. “Anything to make you smile.”

Rowan’s features grow serious, those eyes locked on mine. She tilts her head to the side, her gaze turning speculative. “You mean that,” she says more to herself than to me. I nod. “Why?”

“Why do I want you to be happy?”

Rowan shrugs and nods before looking away from me as if my response will be too much for her to handle. I take a risk and reach for her hand under the table. When our fingers touch, she immediately intertwines our fingers and squeezes my hand.

“Look at me, beautiful,” I murmur, my lips mere inches from the shell of her ear. She does, turning her head so we’re face to face. I rest my forehead on hers while rubbing my thumb gently across her knuckles as she continues to squeeze my hand. “I don’t know what you’ve been through or what brought you here, but you have people who care about you now. We look after each other, especially me and my MC brothers.”

“I’m fine,” she whispers unconvincingly. “Besides, it’s not your personal responsibility to make me happy,” Rowan says with more confidence. I feel her walls coming back up, not only in the way she speaks but how her body tenses.

Rowan leans back, breaking our connection.

“If I can’t make you happy, can I at least make you safe?” I blurt out. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but it’s an honest question.

“Why?” she asks again.

I untangle our fingers and lift a hand up to her face, gently swiping my thumb across her jawline and down her neck. Christ, her pulse races beneath my touch, her cheeks glowing the most adorable shade of pink.

“Everyone deserves a safe place to land. I don’t think you feel very safe right now. Am I right?”

Rowan doesn’t say anything, she just blinks a few times, tears gathering in her hypnotizing eyes.

“Order up for table twenty-six!” the cook yells, interrupting our conversation.

My girl gasps and curls in on herself as if trying to disappear. When she realizes there’s no threat, Rowan straightens up, pretending like nothing happened. I saw it, though. The fear in her eyes. The instinct to hide in the face of danger. I hate whatever happened to her to give her that reaction.

“Row, can you grab that for me? I’ve got a mess to clean up at table eighteen,” one of the other waitresses asks.

“Sure,” Rowan says, taking a deep breath and plastering on her fake smile. She rolls out her shoulders, brushes off her apron, and stands from the table, ready to go back to work.

I stand with her, unsure how to end this conversation. She showed me a tiny piece of her pain, her truth, her soul. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find out everything about her and lock her precious heart away, keeping it hidden deep within mine. No one will break it ever again.