Page 45 of Snared Rider

Chapter Thirteen

Ten years earlier…

I’m in trouble.

For me, this is unusual. Trouble is not something I seek, nor do I usually find it, unlike Dean who can find trouble in an empty room—or so his grandmother, Dorothy, is fond of telling me. In fact, I’m so used to not getting in trouble the old ladies joke that the Goddard trouble gene must only exist in the male line. That was true until tonight because right now I’m in a whole new world of shit.

This is the kind of trouble that will see Dad pitch a fit and spend the next month following me around every time I leave the house. I’ve fucked up; massively. And what’s worse I know it.

I stare at the worn floral carpet, trying to come up with a plan of action, but my mind is blank. I have no idea what to do. I don’t have any money and my phone is in Ryan’s car, which, if I’m not mistaken, is probably half way back to Kingsley by now.

I’m completely and utterly screwed.

I grip the edge of the bed and swallow my panic. I need to think and stressing will not help with that. I can’t call Dad (although that is definitely what I should do) because the moment he discovers I lied to him he will hit the roof. The last thing I need right now is a lecture.

This leaves Dean.

Not that he won’t yell at me too, but not like Dad. And he’ll keep this between us. His loyalty may be to the Club but he’s also loyal to me.

I pick up the phone on the bedside table, the mattress dipping beneath me as I shift. I dial his number, grateful I have a good memory for phone numbers.

It rings and rings. It rings for so long my panic is mounting again.

Fuck.

What if he doesn’t answer? What if he’s busy? Dean was fully patched in as a member of the Lost Saxons a year ago, after completing his prospect term. As a full patch his time is often taken up with Club stuff. He probably will not have time to fix this for me.

I hang up and stare at the phone, trying to work out my next move. I should call Dad, just rip the plaster off in one move, but I can’t bring myself to do it. So, I dial the only other person I know won’t tattle on me: Logan.

The call connects after two rings and I regret the decision to call him as soon as I hear his voice, “Yeah?”

“Logan?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

Crying for the past hour clearly has wrecked my throat if he can’t recognise my voice.

“It’s Beth.”

There’s a pause then, “Beth? You okay?”

I should just ask him for help right away, but I don’t. If Dean is with him I can sidestep Logan altogether. “I was looking for Dean. I tried calling him, but he’s not answering.”

“He’s on a run.”A run, despite the name, has nothing to do with exercise. It means he’s doing Club business and probably can’t answer. This also means I have no choice but to ask Logan for help. “Do you need something?”

Oh boy, do I need something. I don’t know how to explain the mess I’m in, so I fall silent as I run a finger over the edge of the bedside table. This situation is bad. Really, really bad.

“B?”he says again. “Do you need something?”

A time machine.

A do-over.

Since neither will happen, I say, “Will he be long?”

“Yeah, darlin’. He probably won’t be back in Kingsley until tomorrow night.”Usually, I would turn into a gooey mess at him calling me darlin’. It’s a testament to how bad this situation is that I barely notice. “B, what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to speak to him about something. It can wait.”

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