Page 151 of Snared Rider

These men… They are gossipy bitches.

“Boy, does news travel fast.”

He grins at me and I can’t help but mirror it.

“I’m happy for you, girl. Lo’s a good man—although you tell him I said that I’ll deny it.”

“I won’t say a word,” I promise through a toothy smile.

Tap’s eyes flick towards Wade. “You’d better get moving.”

“Yeah,” Wade agrees. Then, he turns to me, “Come on.”

He’s such a conversationalist.

I start to follow after Wade, but I pause. I don’t know why, but I turn back to Tap. He stares at me bemused as I step back to him and throw my arms around his neck.

I feel him stiffen momentarily in my embrace before he relaxes. His hand comes to the back of my neck, while his mouth moves to my ear.

“Everything’s going to be fine, love. Don’t worry.”

I pull back from him and flash him a wobbly smile that is more a grimace and follow Wade towards the lifts.

He pushes the call button and waits, his gaze scanning. This makes me nervous because I didn’t really believe Wilson would try anything here, but I’m reassessing that thought right now. Wade’s anxiety makes my own spike.

“We’re parked in the underground car park,” he tells me when the lift pings and the doors slide open. A couple gets out and then Wade’s hand comes to the small of my back as he steers me into the metal box. As the doors shut, he adds, “When we get out of the lift, follow me close and don’t stop until we’re at the vehicle, understand?”

I nod even as a tendril of fear works through me. “Do you really think Wilson’ll come here?”

“I think he’s desperate, and desperate people do crazy shit,” is all he says, but it’s enough.

He absolutely thinks Wilson might try something.

Shit.

Simon Wilson has already made it clear he has no fear of taking on the Club and that he has the means to inflict damage. Guns aren’t something you can just walk into a shop and purchase. This means he has contacts in the murky parts of Kingsley’s underbelly. If he can get guns, what else can he do?

Ignoring this terrifying thought, I watch the numbers above the doors light up: G, B1, B2, B3. I’m glad the lift doesn’t stop until it hits our floor because the thought of sharing this small space with other people is enough to make me want to hyperventilate.

When the doors finally slide open again I’m greeted with row upon row of cars and the smell of motor oil is heavy in the air. The carpark is dingy and the light barely chases the shadows away.

Wade takes my elbow and steers me across the concrete, his eyes scanning ceaselessly.

The closed in space is claustrophobic. There are so many places to hide down here and the vehicles are crammed so tightly together it is impossible to see any danger that may be lurking.

My heart pounds frantically as we move and I feel like a cork is stuck in my throat as I try to draw air.

“We’re in the white Kia,” Wade tells me, although he might as well have said nothing because I don’t know what a Kia looks like, and to make matters worse there are about ten white cars in the immediate vicinity.

“Miss Goddard?”

The sound of my name has my body twisting automatically towards the voice. Then, Wade jolts next to me, as if he’s taken a bolt of electricity to his chest. This is followed almost simultaneously by a deafening noise that reverberates around the enclosed parking garage.

My hands flash up from my sides to cover my ears, to protect them from the loudness.

“Beth…”

Wade’s hushed voice carries over the noise and as I turn he blinks sluggishly at me. Then I see the trail of crimson trickling from the corner of his mouth.

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