Page 116 of Snared Rider

“Do you want to tell me why you’re really getting drunk off your face in the middle of the day?”

I really don’t.

“Nope.”

I have the worst taste in men: first Logan, then Alistair.

Oh, God… Alistair. I can’t believe my relationship is done. How can I be planning my life with a man one minute, then homeless the next?

Life sucks!

Logan recaptures my attention as he holds out a hand for the bottle. I clutch it tighter. No chance in hell am I letting him take it from me. I need the drink. The drink is helping.

As if reading my thoughts, he says, “I’m not going to take it, I want some.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You want Gin?”

“I want Gin,” he confirms.

“I didn’t have you down as a Gin guzzler,” I mutter and cautiously hand it to him. I’m unsure if this is a ploy to steal the booze from me and cut me off. I probably need cutting off, but I will lose my mind if he tries. I’m not nearly drunk enough yet.

I watch, fascinated as he lifts the bottle to his lips and tips his head back. Hats off to him: he chugs it like a champion. I’m impressed. It took me at least quarter of a bottle before the burn in my throat stopped enough to throw it back like that. Then again, Logan is a biker with a serious amount of experience boozing. He could probably drink this entire bottle without flinching.

My thoughts are distracted by his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swigs the liquid.

I swallow hard myself.

Christ.

I need to put some distance between us. Him in my space when I’m drunk is dangerous.

He finishes drinking and hands the bottle back to me. I take it without a word, tapping my fingers against the neck.

“Back to my question,” Logan pushes as he drags a hand over his mouth. And God, if that doesn’t make me hot all over as well. “Why’re you getting shit-faced in the middle of the day?”

“It’s Happy Hour somewhere right now,” is my flippant reply. It goes down like a lead balloon.

“Beth.” There is a hint of irritation and admonishment in his voice. I don’t know how he manages to give me both, but he does.

“I gave you five reasons, Logan. How many more do you want?” I bring the bottle to my mouth and take a deep swig. It still burns, although not as much as it did when I first opened it. I wish it did; the pain was grounding.

“Let’s start with your first point: Wilson isn’t something you need to worry about anymore. The lads will take care of it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Take care of it how?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at me. This is unsettling, not to mention annoying.

“How, Logan?”

“You know I’m not going to answer that. All you need to know is that until we catch him you’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

I snort. “You mean like nothing’s already happened to me?”

The look on his face at my words makes me feel guilty as hell for saying that. I wish I could take them back, but I can’t.

“No one expected that to happen, Beth. Now that we know Wilson is out there and clearly off his head, we can take measures. But you’ve got to know we’re all cut up that you got dragged into this shit.”

I can’t even be mad about getting dragged into this anyway because Dean did it to protect a vulnerable woman. How in the hell can I be pissed off about that?

---