Page 60 of Snared Rider

Logan allows me to use his arm as an anchor, but he also supports me as I stand. He doesn’t let go of me once I’m upright and we stand in our strange embrace, staring at each other—him down at me, me up at him. This close, I’m sure he can hear my heart thrumming beneath my sternum because it sounds so loud in my own ears. He reaches down and my entire body stills in preparation for whatever is coming next. He surprises me by tucking a piece of hair that must have come free from my ponytail behind my ear. It’s a gesture so tender I lean into him without thinking.

“Let’s get you inside.” He speaks so quietly I barely hear the words, but I notice his eyes scan the compound, and this makes me nervous enough to let him grab my elbow and steer me towards the main entrance of the clubhouse. I also don’t argue when he grabs my plastic bags containing what was salvageable from my riding leathers and the medicine given to me by the doctor.

Unlike the first night I was here, I’m not greeted with loud rock music, but eerie silence. The clubhouse is never quiet, even during the day. Usually there are brothers milling around along with any girls they picked up the night before, yet the common room is empty when we enter. This has the hair on the back of my neck standing to attention.

“Where is everyone?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Logan glances down at me.

“Busy,” is all he says. I don’t press him, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure they’re probably out looking for Dean’s shooter.

Logan leads me into the bowels of the building, passing the offices, the kitchen and the dining room. At the back of the clubhouse is a set of stairs that lead to the upper level in the warehouse. This floor houses the bedrooms used by patches when they stay overnight, or out-of-towners when they visit.

I expect he will lead me to the stairs, to his room, but he doesn’t. Instead, he steers me into one of the recreation spaces.

It looks like a living room in any home. It’s painted white with one wall in dark charcoal. The floor is carpeted with thick shag pile that urges you to squish your bare toes into it. Against the main wall is a large flat screen TV, and either side of that are floor to ceiling shelves filled with DVDs. I have no idea who buys these (I can’t envision Derek heading to the supermarket once a week to add to the entertainment collection), but the lads are better stocked than the average video shop was back in the day. There’s also a couple of two-seater sofas and a three, so a group can watch TV together.

In my formative years, I spent a lot of time in this room after school with Dean, Adam, Kenzie, Jem and even Logan before he patched in.

I’m so busy scanning the decor I don’t notice Logan’s proximity to my back. I do notice when his hand goes to my neck, sweeping my long ponytail over one shoulder before clamping around my nape in a gesture so possessive it makes me do a full body shiver.

I stop instantly, my back snapping straight.

“What’re you doing?” I try to hiss at him, but it comes out a husky moan when his fingers rub either side of my throat.

Oh hell, that feels good. Too good.

He ignores my words, continuing to massage the side of my neck with his hand. I can’t help it, my head tips forward onto my chest to give him better access to the sensitive area, my nape exposed. This feels amazing.

“I’ve missed this,” he says quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

I should rebut his words, rip my neck from his grip and put some distance between us, but I don’t; I can’t. I’m lost in his touch. Truthfully, I’ve missed him too, more than I want to admit. More than I think it is safe for me to admit. I need to step away, I need to regain that distance between us. This can’t happen. We can’t happen.

It takes all my will, all the strength I have to drag myself away from his magnetic pull, but I manage it somehow. I have no idea how, but I do. I step back from him, and then I take another two steps for good measure.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” I tell him.

“I know.”

“I mean it, Logan.”

“I know,” he agrees again.

My arms fold over my chest as I struggle to meet his gaze. He has no such qualms because his eyes lock right on mine.

“I know you don’t believe me, love, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

If I’m being honest with myself I do believe him. Logan is a lot of things, but vindictive is not one. That’s why his sudden ending of our relationship had been such a shock. I didn’t see it coming. We were happy, planning for the future. Then bam! It was done. It made no sense. It still makes no sense.

“I want to believe that you didn’t mean to hurt me, Logan, but the way you acted was cruel.”

And it had been. He never allowed me to have my say, to fix whatever the issues were between us, and that was what hurt the most. Did I mean that little to him?

“Yeah, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret that.”

I don’t want to feel bad for him, but I can’t help it. I don’t see the man before me, I see the teenager who made my world come alive when we were young, the boy who stood between me and my demons. Is that enough to gain forgiveness? I don’t know, but holding onto this hate, avoiding him all the time is too hard. I need to come home without fear, particularly with Grandad’s health deteriorating. There will be family occasions—weddings, engagement parties, christenings—I need to be here for and I want to be here for. I need to find a way to be around him without losing my mind.

“You’re right; I need to stop punishing you for the past. And I’ll do my best to do that, but things between us will never be the same again. We can’t be friends.”

His hand goes to the back of his neck. “Beth, don’t shut me out.”

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