An hour after Sydney left, Chief and Olin finished the reworkings on the Harley and rode away from the house. Jett stood in the driveway alone. Keyed up over Sydney leaving, it'd taken everything in him to not show how upset he'd been when she left.

She was in no danger. Hell, if there were even a hint of someone after the club or any of the members, Chief wouldn't have allowed Johanna off Brikken property. Rationally, he knew that to be true, but he still wanted her by his side.

Looking down, he flexed his hand. No matter how he squeezed, the two damaged fingers remained curved and unmoving. If he threw a fist at someone, he'd break his fingers, and the next time the doctor would probably amputate them.

Stretching his thumb, he tried to hook the knuckle of his index finger and failed. With his other hand, he bent the unmovable fingers, pressing them down. A deep ache traveled throughout his hand. He held them in position, ignoring the pain. The scars from the two surgeries still red and tender.

He let go of his injured hand and fingered his cheekbone. The scar from his first incarceration long ago took a year before a faint white line about four inches long marked his face. He wore that scar with pride, having taken out three men when jumped.

Today, if anyone jumped him, he'd only have his left hand for protection. Half his strength to protect Sydney.

His right dominate arm tensed. If only he'd injured his left hand, he wouldn't be standing here without his woman, feeling pissed off at the world.

He questioned his importance to Brikken. Would he be able to step up into his father's place within the club not running at one-hundred percent?

Could he protect his MC brothers?

Could he intimidate others?

Could he ride?

He walked into the garage and circled his motorcycle. Chief adapted the handlebars. The throttle was on the left side. The front brake disconnected. He peered down at the side of the Harley. The clutch was now on the left foot peg with a jockey shifter on the right side—manageable with a fucked-up hand. While not ideal because of having to take one hand off the handlebars, it would allow him to ride.

An urge to try the motorcycle out and see if all the work would make it possible to ride again filled him. He walked over to the rollaway, found Duct tape, and using his teeth, bit off slim strips about five inches long.

He taped all four fingers side by side on his right hand. The stiff position and pressure on his knuckles pained him, but his determination pushed him through the discomfort. He fisted his hand, feeling the pull from the weakness, but managed to close his hand enough.

Enough to hold on to the handlebar.

He swung his leg over the bike, grabbed on with his good hand, toed the kickstand, and stopped. Starting the bike had always come naturally, he never even thought of the steps. Until those steps were changed and moved.

Balancing the weight of the Harley on his other leg, he put his left foot on the peg. From there, he started the bike.

The vibration as familiar and welcoming as coming home. He sat the bike and closed his eyes. The rumble of the engine a sweet caress. He could feel, hear, see, smell, and taste freedom.

The emotional release he'd needed after prison came back with a vengeance, hitting him hard.

His hand was not a memory he wanted to carry. He wanted to be the man Sydney needed, the man the club respected, the man who could take down any motherfucker asshole that threatened to take what was his.

He reached up and put his injured hand on the handlebar. His thumb, ring finger, and pink curled around the grip taking his two useless fingers with it because of the tape.

He felt no pain.

He was home.

Jett opened his eyes, used the clutch with his foot, hit the shifter with the palm of his hand, and gave the Harley some gas. Riding out of the garage, he looked up at the clouds.

All he needed was Sydney.

***

SYDNEY HELD THE HAND mirror in front of her watching the hair stylist trim the ends of her hair. Paranoid that Linda would do more than cut off the inch she'd requested, she'd accepted the mirror to keep an eye on her. Jett would hate it if she cut her long hair.

Another woman, Babs, towel dried her feet. If she concentrated on what was happening around her head, she could handle the ticklish sensation on her soles.

"I wish I had more time in my life to get pampered," said Johanna, on Sydney's right.

"I've only had a pedicure once before," said Kylie, on her left. "My foster mom took me for my sixteenth birthday."

Stuck in the middle of the two, there was no use trying to keep up with the conversation. They both talked as if they'd known each other their whole life. She was glad to see Kylie accept Johanna, and in turn, Brikken.

Kylie had a chance to be herself, and now that she was an adult, she spread her wings more and more each day.

"What about you, Sydney?" asked Johanna.

"Hm?" She looked to her right, having spaced out.

"Don't you wish you could have this done all the time?"

She looked down at her scrubbed and softened feet. "It's the first time I've had it done."

"Really?" Johanna reached over and patted the arm of her chair. "We'll have to do it again."

Babs held up a tray of nail polish. "What color are you in the mood for this afternoon?"

Her eyes zeroed in on one. "Black."

"Black?" said Kylie. "Pick something sexy and wild."

"I want black." She held up the mirror but stared at herself instead of Linda pulling on the back of her hair.

Black would irritate Jett. As soon as the thought came, she ran with it. "Could you hand me my purse, please?"

"Sure," said Babs.

She dug through the contents until she found her bag of makeup. Using the hand mirror, she outlined her eyes in black.

"Flashback." Kylie laughed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting what I want." She glanced over at her sister, raised her brows, and smirked. At times in her past, her makeup and dying her hair black were the only things that gave her the confidence to pull off cons and manipulate others.

Kylie giggled. Sydney's neck warmed knowing Johanna took the situation in without giving her opinion. No one knew Jett better than her.

She'd attracted him once when she was sixteen, looking like she was twenty. Now that she was older, and they'd both gone through hell, she wasn't afraid of what putting makeup on would do to Jett.

He could yell.

He could demand she scrub her face.

He could hold her down and wash everything off himself.

And, she'd call her decision a success.

"Sis?" whispered Kylie.

She looked at her sister. Kylie gawked at her. She held the mirror up and looked at her face again. "What's wrong?"

"I remember when we used to watch You-tube tutorials on how to apply makeup and then practice on each other." Kylie's voice softened. "We both looked silly. But, you..."

"What?" She ran her finger under her eye. "Did I overdo it?"

"You look beautiful," said Kylie. "You're so much prettier with your natural hair color, and the makeup doesn't stand out the way it used to. You look older."

"She looks her age," whispered Johanna. "You could be a model."

She glanced over at Johanna needing another opinion. Johanna nodded and smiled. "Gorgeous. Why don't you wear makeup more often?"

"When Jett met me, he hated me wearing makeup." She shrugged. "So, I stopped."

Of course, that was a long time ago. At JDH, they forbid her from having make-up. After she got out, she'd been wrapped up in dealing with Jett in prison, she'd put her life on hold. Then, she'd found her old duffle bag in the closet.

She used her lip stain and mascara, but nothing else knowing Jett liked her without makeup.

Maybe that was Jett's problem.

She'd stopped being herself and concentrated on him. She rubbed her lips together, looking at herself in the mirror. Could she have changed too much trying to please him?

Since he'd been home, she'd followed him around like a nurse, trying to make him comfortable. She hovered like a mother, forbidding him to hurt himself again. When he exploded, she ran like a scared child. Somehow, she'd forgotten to be Sydney Hawkins.

"Oops, hold still." Babs lifted the brush from Sydney's toes. "I'm almost done. Two more toes to go."

Linda put her hands on Sydney's shoulders. "Your hair is finished."

She lifted her gaze in the mirror and warmth filled her. Her hair looked healthy and fell in waves past her shoulders. She shook her head. The lighter weight left her hair practically floating before falling back in place.

"Thank you so much. I love it." She handed Linda the mirror and put her makeup back in the bag, shoving it in her purse.

She couldn't sit still any longer. The moment Babs finished with her toes, she maneuvered herself out of the chair and walked on her heels in front of Johanna and Kylie. She was ready to go home.

Home.

To Jett.