Page 40 of Snared Rider

Chapter Twelve

I gawkas Logan steps into the cubicle. As usual, he fills the space completely with his hulking frame. His dark hair is curly, falling across his forehead in an adorable way that makes me want to push it out of his eyes. I trample down this feeling immediately. I want nothing to do with him and I definitely do not want to be pushing my fingers through his soft, gorgeous hair. Not now. Not ever.

I try to steel my expression as his brown eyes come to mine. I’m not sure what look I’m going for: annoyance, indifference, rage. In the end I go for impassive, but even this is not an easy task, particularly with my faculties addled with painkillers.

It’s made even more difficult just by the mere presence of him.

Oh God.

He’s perfect. He’s so beautiful with those long eyelashes and rugged good looks. Like all the Harlow men, Logan inherited a strong jawline, and he has webbed laughter lines around his eyes.

His black jeans fit like a glove, belted at his narrow waist, the contours of his muscled chest visible beneath the black long-sleeved top he’s wearing. Like Dad, he has on his kutte, but where Dad’s says ‘Secretary’ on the left breast, Logan’s says ‘Sergeant-at-Arms’.

Even after all the hurt he put me through, he’s a hard man not to love and not just because of his looks. Logan Harlow might be a biker but beneath that hard facade is a gooey centre—at least when it comes to the people he cares about.

His eyes move from mine to take in the rest of me and I feel exposed under his scrutiny. I squirm and pull the blanket up my chest, wishing the paramedics hadn’t cut me out of my leathers and put me into this ugly hospital gown. The pale puke yellow colour is not at all flattering.

Ten days.

That was all I had to get through. Ten days. Then I could go home and forget about Logan Harlow for another ten months, or until I have to come back to Kingsley. I can’t forget about him when he’s standing in front of me. He muddles my mind more than the drugs racing through my system. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it does nothing.

“Hi, Beth.”

Two little words.

Two little words that nearly break my composure. I swallow. Hard. Then I swallow again.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

Showing any emotion, any weirdness in front of Dad and Dean will result in poking for answers, and answers will result in bad things. Very bad things. The next few minutes are imperative to get right. As mad as I am with Logan, I don’t want him maimed, and Dad (and Dean) will hurt him if they know what happened between us all those years ago.

“Logan,” I manage to get his name to come out of my mouth even though my tongue rebukes the idea. I’m annoyed that my voice wobbles. I’m hoping Dad and Dean think it’s because I’m emotional over my near-death experience, which, right now, doesn’t seem that important. In fact, dying would have been easier than facing Logan.

Dad doesn't seem to notice the tension in the air is so thick it’s like syrup. He moves to Logan and holds his arm out. The two men grip hands in greeting.

“Thanks for coming,” Dad says.

“Any time, brother,” is Logan’s response. He is also doing a stellar job pretending everything in the room is perfectly normal when it’s absolutely not.

Logan peers around Dad to Dean, scanning his face. His gaze stops on the bandage over his temple for a moment.

“You all right?”

Dean huffs out a breath. “Yeah, it didn’t even need stitches.”

Logan doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push. This is because whatever happened today is ‘Club business’, and since I’m not Club I’m not allowed to be involved in discussions. Even though I was the one run off the road and I’m the one lying in a hospital bed.

“Slade’s waiting in reception with Prez,” Logan tells Dean. “They want a debrief.”

“I figured they might.” Dean shifts back towards me and squeezes my hand before leaning down to kiss my cheek. His mouth moves to my ear and he says softly, “I’m sorry you got caught up in my shit, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

I force a smile because the last thing I am is okay. I’m freaking the fuck out. Being attacked and having Logan in my space is too much to take in one day. I am a hair’s breadth from screaming the hospital down while trying to escape out a window.

Dean lets out a breath as he straightens from the bed. He gives me a lopsided smile and then ducks around the curtain. Dad watches him go, his brow furrowed in a look I recognise: concern. He may have torn into Dean, but he’s still worried about him, and this makes me worry.

“I need to speak to Slade and Derek as well,” Dad says. “Logan’s here to make sure you stay safe, sweetheart. He’s going to be with you until we get to the bottom of whatever the fuck happened today.”

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