“Depends. I’m always on the side of caution.”
“You mean paranoia.”
“Yeah.”
Miller leaned forward. “Christ, Jett, you can’t tie your life together like that. Not every bad thing is somehow connected. A chick got into a fight or something and was left on your ride. Or maybe her old man smacked her around a little. I mean, what does it have to do with us?”
Jett could pull twenty reasons out of his ass, but staring into Miller’s strong and defiant eyes, he knew the President of Back Down Devil MC was right. The club didn’t need to get into the middle of anything else right now. There was enough going on with the day to day operations of the MC and now the brewing war with whoever fucking bombed the compound and tried to take out Erik.
“Yeah, I got it,” Jett said. “Look, I’ll talk to her. Get her out of here. No heat on us.”
“There’s always heat on us,” Miller said. “I just want her the fuck gone. Bloody shirt, sweet pussy and all. Okay?”
Jett stood up. He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Hey,” Miller said. He lifted his coffee mug. “I’m glad you scored yourself something fun though. I can tell by the look on your face it was good pussy. You’ve been needing that for sometime now, Jett. Now get her the fuck out of here.”
Jett walked to the end of the table and then stopped. “Miller. If she’s getting smacked around…”
“Yeah?”
“What if I can’t just toss her aside… put her right back into harm’s way…”
“There’s harm everywhere right now,” Miller said. “We can make a phone call or two and get her some help.”
“If the guy is connected…”
“Are you in love with her, Jett?”
“What? No. I fucking said two words to her.”
“Good,” Miller said. “Then this shouldn’t be this hard.”
That was the final word in the conversation.
Jett left the room and went to the bar. He got a plate of food, a refill on his coffee, and he set his sights back on the damn room. Everything Miller had said was completely right and true. Lena wasn’t his fucking problem. She wasn’t a Back Down Devil MC problem either. She was some chick that was drunk, or beat up, or whatever.
When he got to the door, it opened and Blaine stood there.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jett asked.
“Checking on sleeping beauty,” he said. “She wake up at all?”
“Why?”
“She’s awake right now, man,” Blaine said.
“Really?” Jett asked. He started to push by Blaine. “What did she say…”
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Blaine said.
“It’s my problem, whatever it is. Just fuck off for now, man, okay?”
“You’re digging this chick. I love it. Must be good pussy between those legs of hers, huh?”
“What the fuck…”
“I lifted the shirt. Had a little peek. That’s smooth… like a good scotch.”
“Blaine,” Jett growled.
“I’m out,” Blaine said and lifted his hands. “I’m out, I’m out, I’m out. Take it easy, man. Don’t do anything stupid with this.”
Jett went into the room and saw Lena sitting up. Her hair was a little messy and it drove Jett wild. He took the food and coffee to the nightstand and then crouched down a little. He touched Lena’s shoulder and she quickly shook him away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Lena looked at him. She looked around the room again. Then she looked at the food. “What is that?”
“Food,” Jett said. “Coffee.”
“Can I have some coffee?”
“Yeah, take it.”
Lena took the mug. She sniffed it then sipped it. Jett stood up and made fists.
Something’s wrong.
“We have to talk about last night,” Jett said. “I need answers right now.”
“Answers to what?” Lena asked. She put the coffee mug down on the nightstand and looked up at Jett. “What happened last night?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jett asked. “Don’t play bullshit with me. Should I show you the shirt? Refresh your memory?”
“What shirt?” Lena asked. “I’m wearing a shirt.”
Jett opened his mouth and stopped. He looked into Lena’s eyes.
Bullshit…
There was a knock at the door.
Jett backed up and didn’t turn until he was at the door. When he opened it, Blaine stood there holding a mug of coffee and a small bottle of whiskey.
“Figured you’d need this by now,” he said.
“What?”
“Did she tell you yet?” Blaine asked.
“Tell me what, man? I’ve got to get this sorted out…”
“Yeah, good luck. She doesn’t remember a fucking thing, Jett. She doesn’t even remember her own damn name.”
six.