Page 142 of Snared Rider

“I don’t know. Anything out of the ordinary.”

Like Simon Wilson scaling the fence with an assault rifle? Like one of the brothers letting an armed whack-job through the gate?

Yes, this thought has crossed my mind more than once. I hate that it has but I don’t see any other way he could have got inside the perimeter fence. Someone must have let him in. I know it wasn’t Logan, because he was with me the entire night. Dean wouldn’t and I doubt Clara would either. Wade… well, I don’t see him being the culprit either. That just leaves the prospects, and I can’t bring myself to think about any of them betraying the Club.

“I didn’t see anything.” This time, it’s me who scans his face. “You think he had help.” It is a statement, not a question.

“I think you don’t need to worry about it.”

His response is supremely irritating.

“I beg to differ. It’s me he’s attacking.”

Dad’s eyes go to the ceiling. “Kid, he thinks you’re linked to Dean. That’s the only fucking reason you’re on his radar. Simon Wilson’s a problem, but he’s the Club’s problem, not yours.” He squeezes my knee as he sits on the chair next to me. “We’ll find him, sweetheart. It’s only a matter of time.”

“He shot at Logan and me.”

“Yeah, I know, but Logan’ll be fine.”

Speaking of Logan…

I need to tell Dad about us, about our past (and maybe our future, if this works out). This is not something I want to do, but too many people know that there was—and is—a me and Logan. This means before long it will get back to Dad. I don’t want him to hear about it second or third hand. I owe it to him to tell him myself, even if he is going to hit the roof.

I glance at my clasped hands in my lap and let out a long breath. “I do have something to tell you, and you’re probably not going to like it, but I figure it’s better you hear it from me than through the grapevine.”

He sits a little straighter, his salt and pepper eyebrows pulling together. “You can tell me anything, sweetheart, you know this.”

I do know this but putting that into practice is different from knowing it. I shift in the seat and fidget. Suddenly, I’m not a thirty-year-old woman but I’m a sixteen-year-old girl, telling my father I’ve done something wrong.

Bugger, this shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Bloody hell, girl. What is it? You’re making me nervous.”

“I—I broke up with Alistair,” I blurt. Now, why in the hell did I say that? Because admitting that is easier than telling Dad about Logan and me.

Dad blinks at me and then raises his brow. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

His hand goes to the back of his neck, rubbing. “Well, I can’t say I’m cut up about that darlin’, although I’m upset for you. I never did like that stuck up little shit.” This does not surprise me; I’m more than aware of my father’s feelings towards Alistair.

His eyes narrow. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, no. We just… didn’t fit,” I hedge, because no way in hell am I getting into what Alistair actually did with my father. He’ll rearrange his face.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

I think about it, and conclude that I actually am. “Yeah, Dad, I’m good.”

“Are you moving back then?” This was not a question I expected, but in hindsight it’s one I definitely should have.

“Dad—”

He holds up his hands. “No pressure, darlin’; it was just a question. And just to say if you do move back you’ll have work. The Club’ll be happy to be your first client.”

I narrow my eyes at him. I knew he was scheming with the garage’s ‘on-the-line’ bollocks.

“Dad—”

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