Page 87 of Snared Rider

“Dean, stop! For fuck sake, stop!”

I sound desperate, pathetic even. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop this madness.

Wade is suddenly at my side, trying to get between the two men, but it’s hopeless. They’re determined to inflict as much damage as possible on each other.

Wade is a fraction taller than Logan, which is a feat, but he’s not as brawny. Still, he gives a good fight. He gets between both men, taking a fist to the jaw for his trouble. He barely stops to acknowledge the hit, even though his head snaps to the side with the force of it.

“Break it up!” he yells. “Fucking hell!”

I’m so focused on Wade that I don’t see the elbow come towards my face until a split second before it lands. I’ve been hit once or twice in my life. I am the daughter of a biker, after all; I’ve had my share of catfights with bitchy girls (my mother also brought her share of shit to my door), but nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever prepare me for the force of being hit by a man at full power.

The sheer strength of the hit propels me backwards into the wall, and my face feels like it is on fire. But the pain in my face is nothing compared to the searing agony that works through my chest. It is breath-stealing and disarming.

Plaster at my back, I use one hand to stabilise myself against the wall, the other wraps around my chest. I gasp and yelp as sharp, stabbing paroxysmal waves roll through my torso, making it difficult to draw breath.

My legs give out and I start to slide down the wall, my descent picking up pace. My bum doesn’t meet the floor, though, because Wade is suddenly in my space. His huge hands grip my upper arms, stopping me from going down.

My breath hitches as I stare up at him. He’s dishevelled. His hair has pulled free from his low bun and strands dangle around his face. The headphones around his neck are askew and one side looks damaged. He also has blood streaming from a cut over his eyebrow. Despite all this, his attention is locked on me and all I see in his expression is concern.

“Beth, are you okay?”

I blink and try to meet his gaze through my hazy one. It’s like looking through a rainy window. Everything is watery and wobbly. In fact, I suspect his grip is the only thing keeping me upright. I’m sure he knows this because he doesn’t release me.

“B?” Dean pants from behind him. Clearly beating the hell out of someone is exhausting work.

I roll my heavy-lidded gaze towards him, then towards Logan. Both men are bloody—no doubt they will have bruises tomorrow. I want to throttle the pair of them.

“Beth,” Wade speaks again, bringing my attention back to him. “Are you okay?” The softness of his voice is a complete contrast to the hardness of his face, and I have to admit I’m a little scared of his barely veiled anger. I don’t know Wade well, but like most men in the Club, beneath that laidback exterior is a tough, hard biker.

I try to form words, but none come, so I shake my head because I am not okay and I need him to know that. Tears sting the back of my eyes, clogging my throat, as I breathe through the intense pain clawing at my side. My nose, which took the brunt of the elbow hit, is also beginning to throb viciously. This makes my eyes water even more.

Great.

The last thing I want to do is cry, or appear to cry in front of these men.

I close my eyes instinctively to ward off the pain. This, by the way, does nothing, but at least I no longer have to look at any of them.

Slowly, he lowers me to the floor, the wall at my back.

“Do you two fucking clowns want to explain what the hell that was about?”

Neither Logan nor Dean answer, which makes Wade shake his head furiously. “I don’t care if you idiots beat the piss out of each other, but you got Beth hurt.”

I hear movement, and I’m so on edge my eyes flicker open immediately, sensing the heavy danger still in the air. I see Logan move towards me but Dean stops him, throwing an arm out.

“Haven’t you already done enough damage? Leave her the fuck alone.”

Wade, who is crouched in front of me, twists on his heels to face him.

“How about you both take a walk—in opposite directions,” he adds.

The tension, if possible, grows even thicker as Logan cocks his head to the side, his nostrils flaring.

“You remember the part where I’m an officer, Wade,” Logan growls. “I outrank you.”

Wade doesn’t flinch at his words. “Yeah, you do. I also don’t care. You think I’m leaving her with you two dickheads when you’re wired as tight as you are?” He snorts. “Not a fucking chance.” Wade turns back to me but speaks to them. “Now, both of you piss off.”

I slide my gaze over Wade’s shoulder and watch as Dean reels off a bunch of curse words that make my ears bleed, then (to my surprise) takes off down the corridor. He kicks over a bin as he passes it, and I flinch at the loudness of it.

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