Page 94 of Snared Rider

Chapter Twenty-Four

The raucous soundof men’s voices hours later is welcome. After so much silence it is a relief, in fact. I haven’t seen Dean or Logan since last night; I haven’t gone looking for them either. Instead, I hid in the TV room like the coward I am. While I spoke to Dean after the fight, I haven’t attempted to seek Logan out.

Should I have? Probably.

The man took a kicking because of me, because Dean has this warped sense of chivalry that leads him to believe my honour needs defending, as if this is the seventeen-hundreds.

I push up from the sofa and step into the corridor. It’s easy to work out where the voices are coming from; they’re making such a racket.

I follow the sound to the main bar area and am greeted by several Lost Saxons kuttes. Among the men wearing them I see Slade, Derek, Tap and, most importantly, my father. Adam and Jem are at the bar already with Weed, Rabbit, and to my dismay, Wade. I hope he keeps his mouth shut about last night’s escapades, although the lump on his head is drawing attention from his brothers.

Shit.

Both Logan and Dean are absent. This is good news and loosens some of the tension gripping my lungs. At least, until I take in the rest of the room. No one is drinking and everyone seems wired tight. I wonder how much sleep the guys have got since Dean and I were run off the road.

My attention goes back to Derek. The President of the Lost Saxons MC might be in his fifties, but he looks at least fifteen years younger. Truthfully, if I hadn’t grown up with him he would scare the holy hell out of me.

He has salt and pepper short hair and a goatee. He’s not a tall man like Logan, nor is he broad like many of the other brothers. He’s lean without a hint of a paunch. This is because unlike Slade, who drinks far too much, Derek hasn’t touched a drop of booze since his wife died.

But, despite his stature, Derek Chambers exudes power. He has this look about him that suggests he could shred any adversary without throwing a single punch. I learnt early in life that strength isn’t the be-all and end-all; what wins wars is brains, and Derek is smart. He’s well known for his shrewdness, his diplomacy and his management skills. If his life had gone a different way he would have made a formidable CEO of some big corporation, probably making millions by stomping on the toes of smaller firms.

It’s these skills that make Derek Chambers respected. When he eventually steps down (even bikers retire), I don’t know who will replace him. Slade, as VP, is the obvious choice, but he is also a notorious hothead. Clara has mellowed him out somewhat, but not enough. This makes me wonder if the brothers—patches and officers—would vote him in. Considering how close in age he is to Derek, it is unlikely he’ll ever get that coveted role anyway—not unless Derek retires early or, heaven forbid, passes away.

I hover in the doorway, unsure whether to enter or not. That choice is removed when Derek notices me. I expect a smile from the man who is not only the president of the Lost Saxons, but also one of my father’s closest friends (and essentially my uncle). I get nothing. His eyebrows come together and his expression is hard as he nudges Dad. My father turns towards me, and his jaw tightens so hard I worry for the enamel on his teeth.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and for a moment I’m completely baffled by his response. That is until he spits out, “I’m going to kill that bastard!”

Without invitation or consent, Dad cups the side of my neck and pulls me closer to him. He peers at the bruising to my face, the bruising that was not caused by my near-death experience, but by Logan and Dean brawling.

With everything that happened last night I haven't looked at my cheek. Given how much it stings I’m guessing it’s bad. Even if it didn’t feel bad, Dad’s reaction to seeing it (and Derek’s glaring) tells me it is.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, pulling my chin gently from his fingers. Keeping Dad calm might prove challenging, judging from the homicidal rage emanating from him.

“I wanted to kill that fucker before. Now, I want to rip his guts out.”

I don’t correct him on how I got injured, but my eyes slide towards Wade who’s leaning one hip against the side of the bar, his arms crossed over his chest. I don’t miss his raised eyebrow, nor the censure in his expression. I ignore both.

I should come clean. Secrets do have a way of coming out, Dean was right about that, but I’m not ready to expose myself yet.

“Are the lads taking care of you?” Derek’s question draws my gaze—and my attention.

I force a smile, my face feeling brittle and my nerves frayed.

“Yeah. They’ve been great hosts.” Aside from one of them smacking me in the chops. I glance at Dad. “Any luck finding the guy?”

“Not yet, love,” Dad says, “but we’ll get him.”

“I have a train to catch and a life to get back to,” I remind him. Not that I’m particularly enthralled at the prospect of going back to London and facing Alistair, but Logan is not in London.

Nor is Dean.

“I doubt that’s going to happen, Beth,” he tells me, his tone serious. It’s a warning shot fired across the bow. It tells me not to argue, to do—for once—as I’m told, but I’ve never been good at obeying and I’m not about to start now.

“Dad, I can’t stay here. I have to be back for work.”

“Not while this guy is still out there.”

Exasperation hits me and I resist the urge to throw my hands up into the air.

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