Page 41 of Snared Rider

Uh, what?

No, no, no!

This is my worst nightmare. “I don’t need babysitting, Dad.” The hint of desperation in my voice makes me sound like a whiny brat and not a grown woman. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. I can just go back to the house and lock the doors until you get home.”

And try not to think about the many ways I want to throttle Logan.

Dad leans down, his hand smoothing my hair back so he can kiss my forehead. “I know you will be fine, but I’ve got shit to sort and I can’t sort that shit if I’m worrying about you. Besides, this is what Logan does. He’ll keep you safe.”

“Dad, it was Dean that man was shooting at; not me. Shouldn’t he be the one with the babysitter?”

Bringing up the shooting might have been a bad move because Dad looks two-steps from blowing his stack. I can see the physical effort it costs him to keep his control, but he manages long enough to grind out,

“Dean can protect himself.”

And I can’t? I did ten months of karate at university. I’m practically a black belt. I don’t use this as my argument, however. I doubt it will help.

“Dad—”

He cuts me off with a raised hand. “This isn’t a discussion, Beth. Logan’s your shadow until this situation is resolved. You understand me?”

Unfortunately, I do. I also know from experience that arguing will not help. However, desperation is a good motivator, so I argue anyway.

“I’ll stay with Clara and Slade. Or Dorothy.”

Pleading.

Now, I’m pleading.

Dad’s eyes narrow in a way that makes my palms moist. Too much protestation on why I don’t want Logan around is hitting his suspicion-bone. Before he can say anything, I jump in with, “Fine, if this is what you think is best.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping a little as he runs a hand over my hair. “Yeah, it is. Trust your old Dad to take care of you, okay?”

“I do,” and really, I do. I trust Dad more than I trust anyone, but if he knew my history with Logan he would never put me in this position. Then again, if he knew my history Logan would no longer be breathing to be in this position.

Hmm…

“Lo,” Dad says, breaking through my musing, “a quick word.”

Logan’s eyes, which I had not realised were locked on me, pull away as he follows Dad beyond the curtain. I watch as they huddle together, talking quietly.

What the hell are they even discussing? If it’s about me I should be able to hear. If it’s about what happened today I should also be able to hear.

Logan’s head lowers towards his chest as Dad speaks, his hands on his hips as he nods along. I wish I could hear their conversation, but these men seem to have perfected the art of talking without being heard.

“Beth, I’ll be back soon,” Dad says suddenly and before I can protest he’s gone, leaving me alone.

With him.

I stare at Logan’s back, and it really is a good back. The Lost Saxons’ insignia stares back at me, the kutte fitting his large frame perfectly. The leather looks worn, although it’s shiny, indicating he takes good care of the material. This does not surprise me. These boys treat their kuttes with reverence.

From the back I can see how broad his shoulders are. Logan was always a big man, even as a teen. He was nearly six-foot by the time he hit fourteen and he didn’t stop growing for another few years.

From the look of him, he’s hitting the gym more than is necessary, or he’s abusing steroids because his body is built. This is probably why the Club made him Sergeant-at-Arms. He’s intimidating. He’s also beautiful and everything below my naval tingles as I stare at him.

I blink away tears, hating that he still affects my body. I hate that even after all this time and after what he did, I still want him. I bring my eyes to the ceiling. Maybe if I ignore him he’ll ignore me. This seems to work until he says my name.

“Beth.” I’d forgotten how much I love the sound of my name coming from him. I ignore the shiver that works through my body, ignore the stir of passion deep in my belly. Physically, I can’t stop from reacting; mentally is another matter.

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