Page 42 of Snared Rider

I choose the path of least resistance and probably the most childish one. I don’t respond. This should tell him loud and clear I don’t want to talk to him, but he doesn’t get the message because he continues his attempt to bridge the lines of communication.

“Beth, look at me.”

The urge to do as I’m commanded is overwhelming, but I don’t. I keep my gaze locked on the ceiling. I’m doing well giving him the cold-shoulder until he steps into my space, the white paint overhead giving way to black leather. It’s next to impossible to ignore him when he’s right there, so I don’t try to. Instead, I blink and try to focus on his hulking frame.

For a moment, he just stares at my face, as if he’s trying to memorise every line, every contour. Then he says, “How’re you doing?”

All things considered, I think I got off lightly. My ribs would not agree, nor would my entire left side, which was used to clean the road, but it could have been a lot worse. In a battle between a motorcycle and a car the former always comes off worse. The fact I’m still breathing without extensive injury is a miracle.

“I’m fine, Logan,” I bite out. “Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to rest.”

I close my eyes, hoping he’ll go away. However, I don’t hear footsteps retreating. Instead, I hear Logan’s deep huff.

“I’m getting a little tired of this avoidance game, love.”

I open my eyes to find him still standing over the bed. Internally, I curse his pig-headed stubbornness. Why won’t he just leave? I let out my own equally annoyed breath.

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just tired.” This is a lie. I’ve been avoiding Logan for years, and he must know that. I’ve hardly been discreet about my avoidance tactics. I’m amazed the entire Club hasn’t cottoned on to the fact I’ve done everything possible in the past decade to avoid setting eyes on Logan Harlow. This makes me think I’m either spectacular at subterfuge and should consider a change in career to MI5, or that the Lost Saxons boys really aren’t that observant.

“Really?”

His scathing disbelief pisses me off, even though he’s right on the money.

“Really.” I respond in the same sarcastic tone, although I draw the word out longer than he did.

I can see the exact moment his patience frays by the twitch in his jaw. Logan always did have good control of his temper, so I figure he’s been stewing over this for a long time.

“You’re so full of fucking shit.”

I recoil at the venom in his tone. Angry Logan is not something I’m used to experiencing and the fact he’s pissed off now should concern me. It should make me back down and try to calm the situation. It does not. Because like Logan, I have my own inner rage waiting to be unleashed.

“No, Logan, I’m not full of shit, but what I am is really tired. In case you didn’t notice I was nearly killed today by an insane person with a gun. That kind of thing is a little draining. I do not have the energy to deal with you on top of that.”

He takes a shaky breath, his hands dropping to his hips as his gaze goes heavenward.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in that. It should never have happened. Dean shouldn’t have gone that far outside Kingsley without brothers at his back. He knew that and believe me, Derek, Slade and your father are going to kick his arse for taking such an unnecessary risk with your life.”

Dean’s going to get into trouble over this? I shake my head. “Dean wasn’t at fault, Logan. I asked him to take me out.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have agreed.” He shakes his head, anger flashing across his face momentarily before his brow knits. “If something had happened to you…”

Something did happen to me. I’m lying in a hospital bed, after all. Even so, his words annoy the crap out of me because in all this time he’s never shown any feelings towards me—good, bad or indifferent.

“What? You’d be devastated?” I make an indelicate snort. “Give me a break.”

This is not the right thing to say. I know this when he bangs a fist on the side table at the edge of the trolley. I jump out of my skin. Logan would never hurt me (at least not physically), but my reaction is involuntary; I’m still on edge from this afternoon’s escapades.

“Yeah, Beth, I’d be devastated. Of course I’d be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. I’m not a completely unfeeling bastard, despite what you obviously think about me.”

I can’t stop the sceptical tone bleeding into my voice, because come on, really?

“You’ve never cared about me, Logan. If you cared you wouldn’t have—” I break off because I’m not strong enough to rehash the past. He seizes my momentary weakness to try to inject into the conversation.

“Babe—”

“Don’t fucking babe me!” I growl, not willing to let him talk his way out of anything. “I’m not your babe. I’m not your honey or your sweetheart, or any other endearment you want to lay on me. I’m nothing to you and you’re nothing to me. Let’s just get through the next few days, then I can return to London and we can go back to ignoring each other.”

“And not speak for the next ten years? Is that really what you want?”

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