Page 163 of Snared Rider

I close my eyes, tears leaking from beneath my lids as I try to swallow the pain.

“Wilson?” I rasp. My voice sounds wrong and my throat feels like I swallowed glass. “W-where… is… he?” I dissolve into a hacking cough even as I try to sit up.

Logan stops my movement with a hand to my shoulders. It’s embarrassing how little pressure he exerts to keep me down.

“Your throat… fuck, Beth, don’t try to talk.” I meet his ravaged look and feel guilt roll through me, even though this was not my fault. I can’t help it. He looks destroyed.

Unable to stand the look on his face, I shift my gaze to the dark canvas overhead. There are no clouds and the sky is awash with pinpricks of light, like stunning little diamonds on an inky backdrop.

The roar of pipes draws Logan’s attention, but I keep my eyes locked on the sky because I don’t need to look to know what I’ll see.

Motorcycles.

Lots and lots of motorcycles.

I let my body relax, let myself tumble towards the abyss of sleep because Logan is at my side and the Club is riding. That means I’m finally safe because if there is one thing the Lost Saxons are good at, it’s taking out the trash.

And Simon Wilson definitely is trash.

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