Page 69 of Snared Rider

Chapter Eighteen

I blink. “You didn’t know?”

“Slade failed to mention that small, yet very significant detail.” She folds her arms over her chest, her tone hard.

I wince because no doubt Clara will mention to Slade the fact she didn’t have this information. The last thing I want to do is cause problems between them. Still, their relationship is not my business and I am not getting between a brother and his old lady. I’ve got more sense than that.

So, I change the subject.

“Do you know why that man is trying to kill Dean?”

Clara shifts her shoulders but looks down into her coffee mug as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

My eyes narrow. “You know,” I accuse.

She rolls her eyes, then leans forward conspiratorially. “Okay, so I know and I’m going to share that with you, but you tell anyone I told you, I’ll deny it.”

“I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

And I do. Unlike Clara, I’ve lived in this world my entire life. I know the rules.

She considers me as she leans back in her chair, cradling her coffee mug in her hands. “Wilson—that piece of shit who shot at you—is pissed off because Dean hid his wife.”

Her words don’t penetrate for a moment, but when they do I can hardly believe what she’s saying. “Dean did what?”

Clara waves a nonchalant hand in the air, the other clutching her mug. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“It sounds pretty bad, Clara.” It sounds worse than bad. Dean hid somebody’s wife? What does that mean? Is that what the kids are calling affairs these days?

No, I don’t believe Dean would have an affair with a married woman. He’s not that kind of man.

At least I didn’t think he was.

But I’ve also been out of the loop for a long time. Maybe I just don’t know Dean as well as I think I do.

“I’m afraid I’m explaining this rather badly.” Clara sucks on the inside of her cheek for a second, collecting her thoughts. Then, she says, “Wilson is a nasty piece of work.”

“I already figured that out,” I tell her. “The homicidal tendencies were a pretty big clue.”

She chews on her bottom lip before saying, “He is showing an unusually high level of sociopathy lately,” she mutters. “And that’s saying something because the man is a certified maniac.”

“So, how did Dean get involved?” I ask before she goes off on a tangent. She shakes herself, refocusing her attention on me.

“Because Simon Wilson has a temper—one he likes to take out on his wife.”

My stomach drops as her pointed words settle unpleasantly in my gut.

“He hits her?”

“Oh, he didn’t hit her, honey, he kicked the living daylights out of her every single day of their marriage. At least he did until she got herself free of him. It took tremendous courage, but she did it. She moved away and tried to make a new start in Kingsley. That new start put her right across the street from Dean.

Clara sits forward, sliding her mug onto the table and lacing her fingers together. “Olivia covered her tracks well, but Wilson found her. Dean brought her to the hospital. I was on shift that afternoon, so I saw what that bastard did to her—not that she didn’t give back as good as she got, but she was no match for a grown man.”

My heart clenches. I’m sure she sees a lot of cases like this because Clara works in Kingsley’s accident and emergency department as a nurse.

“Dean was out of his mind,” she continues. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

“What happened to Olivia?” I can’t help but ask the fate of this brave woman I’ve never met. Listening to her plight makes me feel sick to my stomach. She must have been so scared and felt so alone.

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