Page 70 of Snared Rider

Clara takes a long, steadying breath.

“While she lay in that hospital bed, praying she had no permanent damage, we packed her stuff and transferred her to another hospital far from Kingsley to continue her recovery.”

Clara’s smile is sad as her eyes shift to the windows lining the opposite wall. “I hoped that would keep her off his radar, but somehow, Wilson knew Dean helped her.”

I wonder how he knew that. Judging from Clara’s expression, she is wondering the same.

“And you’ve got to know, Beth, there’s no way in hell Dean would have been out on that road with you on the back of his bike if he thought Wilson was a threat to him, or to you.”

I do know this. I know it because I’ve known Dean my entire life. He would never intentionally put me in harm’s way.

“I think he was watching Dean.”

She frowns at me. “What do you mean?”

“Dean took me to the garage. There was a strange car waiting. He brushed it off as nothing, but… I don’t know. Something wasn’t right. I thought I saw the car again a few days later, outside Grandad’s.”

Clara’s brow nearly disappears into her hairline. “You didn’t tell anyone?”

“Dean said it was nothing to worry about, and I couldn’t be sure the two cars were the same. I’m not a car person. They all look the same. I’m guessing it was Wilson though.”

“I’d say so,” she agrees.

“To be honest, Dean probably didn’t take it seriously because none of us thought he would have the balls to go against the Club. We won’t make that mistake again.”

“Have you and Dean spoken to the police?”

Clara gives me a look that tells me how stupid my question is. Of course, the police aren’t involved. The Club handles its own affairs.

“Even if they were involved, the police won’t be able to do a bloody thing. They don’t have the power, nor the balls.” Clara’s derision is clear in her voice. “I’ve seen it more times than I can count: a woman tells the Old Bill she’s being knocked around, the police issue a warning, and the next thing you know that woman’s dead. What good’s a warning to a person who has no compunction about taking a hand to someone else?

“So, no, honey, the police aren’t involved because the police can’t do shit. Not like those boys can and will. And this has gone beyond that anyway. Wilson was already a target because of what he did to that girl, but now? Now he’s really in the hole. He shot at a brother. Knowing what you know about these boys, about this Club, do you think any one of those patches will let that slide?”

Definitely not. The MC is family and Dean is a brother. No way in hell will they let this go—Clara’s right about that. This worries me though. It has the potential to get dangerous and messy.

Death isn’t the only risk factor here: prison is. Over the years I’ve seen more brothers than I can count taking new accommodation behind bars. This is not an outcome I want for Dean—or any of the men.

“They can’t do that. What if they get hurt, or locked up?”

“What if they do nothing at all?” Clara counters. “If people start thinking it’s okay to take pot shots at a brother we’ll have open warfare right across Kingsley. And if they’ll risk attacking a brother what’s to stop them targeting an old lady or a brother’s kid?”

This is a terrifying observation, and I hate that she’s right.

Clara sighs. “A message needs to be sent and what that message will be—I don’t know, but I can tell you right now I would not want to be Simon Wilson.”

Neither would I. I love my father, and I love all the men in this Club, but I’m not blind; they are dangerous, all of them. Crossing them is not a good idea.

“And Wilson has really shot himself in the foot, honey. It was bad enough he tried to kill a brother but hurting you?” Clara lets those words hang and I feel dread as they settle over me.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I don’t need them to unleash hell on my behalf.”

I don’t want anyone fighting because of me. I definitely don’t want the Club doling out retribution.

Clara doesn’t agree because she says, “You were hospitalised.”

“For, like, a couple of hours at most.” A couple of excruciating hours, and not because of the pain. Logan’s presence had been an unwelcome side effect.

“You have broken bones, Beth. You think your dad is just going to wave that off? You think he’s going to forget about it?”

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