Page 11 of Snared Rider

Chapter Four

Sixteen years earlier…

“How’reyou getting on over there, B?” Tap asks as he rolls his pint glass between his hands.

He might be tutoring me but that doesn’t mean he’s doing it dry. His propensity for drinking is how he became ‘Tap’ in the first place; he’s known for only drinking on-tap beer, usually by the barrel.

“I think I’ve sussed it,” I say, staring at the evil equation in front of me.

I came to Tap for help because he’s a maths wiz. This means he’s my go-to when I’m stuck on something. Tonight, it’s algebraic equations. I can’t get my head around them (all that a times b plus a equals c makes me want to put a pen in my eye), but Tap is a hell of a teacher. He got me through Pythagoras and trigonometry. If he can get me through this latest torture I will buy him a very expensive Christmas present.

“The fucking frown on your face says otherwise.” He laughs, his dark red hair falling into his eyes.

Am I frowning?

“This is just my thinking face,” I counter stiffly, which earns a full belly laugh this time.

Like most brothers in the Club, Tap is tattooed from head to foot, clad in leather and denim and swears like a sailor (although he’s trying really hard to curb this in my presence, as he always does).

“Then you’re thinking too hard. You’re going to bust a vessel in your forehead at this rate.”

He’s not wrong. My brain feels overstuffed and heavy with tension, but this is the maths effect. Numbers scare me; give me words any day.

“What the hell do I need algebraic bloody equations for anyway?” I complain. “It’s not like there is ever going to be a situation in my life in which I’m going to think, ‘You know what? This needs algebra to solve it’.”

I collapse on top of my books, which are scattered over the top of the bar and let out a groan worthy of an award.

Tap chuckles, which only makes me groan louder. “Kid, you just need to learn this shit to pass those exams of yours.”

Exams.

Lord. They’re coming up fast.

“Yeah, in two years’ time, Tap. I’m never going to remember this crap by then.”

“Yeah, you will. You know why?” He points his pint in my direction and smiles. “Because you’re fucking smart.”

I don’t pull him up on the swearing; he’s doing better than usual and I appreciate the effort. Too much time around Tap when he’s cursing has a knock-on effect on my language.

My mobile vibrates on the bar top and I reach for it, hoping it’s Dean or Mackenzie, so I can legitimately step away from the homework.

“I might be smart,” I tell Tap as I unlock the keypad, “but I’m not maths smart.”

I open the text message and my heart sinks. I read the words without taking them in but knowing what it says anyway. It’s always the same shit—shit I do not need tonight.

“You okay, little girl?”

Tap’s words bring my gaze from my phone to him. I see concern in his eyes and tightness around his mouth as he watches me. I force a smile. “Yeah, Tap, I’m cool.”

“You don’t look cool.”

I slide my phone back on top of my books and heave a dramatic sigh. “You wouldn’t either if you were dealing with Dean’s latest girl drama,” I lie.

The tension leaves Tap as he grins. To my knowledge, Dean has only ever had girl drama once before, but that had been enough drama to last a lifetime. The whole Club witnessed Charlotte Morrison losing it on him outside the clubhouse and very publicly dumping him. What he did to her, I don’t know, and he wouldn’t tell me, so I guess it was bad.

Come to think of it, he’s been dating a lot less since then…

I push up from the stool. “I’m taking a snack break. Do you want anything while I’m up?”

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