When he pulls back from my mouth, I don’t let him go far, keeping him tethered to me with my hands fisted into his clothes. I manage to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—warm skin beneath the leather. He feels solid, real.
“Were you okay staying here last night?”
I bedded down in his room at the clubhouse, mostly to allay his fears while he was gone. The last thing I wanted was him on the road, his mind on me. I have no idea what he was doing last night, but I need him focused while he’s out there, so he comes home safely, and he was adamant he didn’t want me home alone with Dylan still at large. I wasn’t keen on the idea myself, given what he did to Wade and Paige. I could have stayed with one of the girls, but I didn’t want to impose, not for one night.
I would have been a burden.
But staying at the clubhouse was a nightmare. It was about as fun as having a bore-hole drilled in my skull. It was Friday night last night, and the boys partied. I’ve been tired and a little cranky myself all day.
Still, I’m not about to lay that on Logan under the current circumstances.
“It was fine.”
He kisses me again. “I need to shower and dump my shit.”
Holding out his hand, I take it without question, our earlier snit put on the backburner for now.
Together, hand in hand, we make our way through the clubhouse. We stop en route to pick up my laptop from the common room where I left it. Sofia, Weed and Jamie are still at the pool table. Logan gives them a brief glance, but doesn’t say anything—although his eyes narrow as his sister giggles at something Weed says. If there is something going on there, Weed best think carefully. Sofia has three brothers who will dump his body in the nearest canal if he hurts her—although I suspect it’s Weed we should be looking out for. Sofia is hardly a wallflower.
Lo and I make our way to the stairs at the back of the building and up to his room. Once inside, he dumps his holdall near the door, and I slide my laptop on top of the chest of drawers. Logan’s room is clean, utilitarian and rarely used. There’s a double bed, the usual bedroom furnishings and an attached bathroom. As a Club officer, Lo has decent sized digs, but it’s hardly homely in here. I’ve tried to make it less grotty, but I can’t work miracles.
“Do you want to tell me what you were talking to Slade about?” he asks.
I stare at him a moment, trying to work out what is going on in his head, but I can’t get a read on him at all, and that’s unusual. He’s usually an open book to me.
“Honey, what’s going on?”
“What were you talking about?”
I drop my hands to my hips and stare at him a beat before admitting softly, “Tap.”
I watch his jaw tighten as he moves over to the drawers. I step aside to get out of his way, mostly to avoid being bowled over by him, and watch as he tugs the top drawer open with more force than is necessary.
Jesus.
“You shouldn’t be talking about any of that. Not with him.”
“Why not?” I demand. “He’s hurting, just the same as all of us, and no one else wants to talk about it.”
I watch as he snags a clean tee and a pair of joggers out before slamming the drawer shut.
“Yeah, and if he wants to talk about his issues, he has Clara for that. He shouldn’t be laying that shit on you.”
“First of all, he didn’t ‘lay any shit on me’ and second he can talk to me about anything he bloody well pleases, Logan. He’s family, or have you forgotten that?”
The grunt he makes when I say this has my stomach twisting.
What does that mean?
What the hell has Slade done to have Logan acting like this?
I let out a breath. “All this anger and animosity between you boys has to stop.”
“There’s no anger or animosity.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff.
“Slade fucked up and he’s going to have to deal with the backlash of that.”
A chill works up my spine at his words. Slade fucked up?
I knew something was going on because all the brothers have been acting weird towards Slade—Derek, too, for that matter—but no one has said why.
“What’s Slade done? And what backlash?”
Logan’s eyes go to the ceiling as he realises he’s said far too much.
“The kind you don’t have to worry about.”
Oh, no. He is not getting out of this that easily. I’m tired of the half-truths, the lies. My father is halfway across Europe, hurting because of all this. Logan is freaking out because I’m talking to a man I consider my uncle, and a man I loved my entire life is dead—branded a traitor for selling me out to a maniac. I want answers. I want to know who is friend and who is foe.
I close the space between us and grab his arm, turning him to me.
“Logan?”
He eyes me, his mouth drawing into a line. “I’ve said more than I should have already.”
This response drives me insane, and I clench my jaw to keep from spitting fire at him. “I don’t think you’ve said even close to enough.”
Warning flashes across his face, and I know what is coming before he even opens his mouth. My patience is wearing thin, though, and if he says those words I may just throw him into the nearest canal myself. With concrete shoes. “Beth—”
“Don’t you dare even start with that Club business line. This isn’t just Club business, Logan, this is family business.” I swallow down the lump growing in my throat, threatening to block air from getting in and out of my lungs. “What did Slade do? Is Derek involved as well, because I know something is going on. The two of them had a hell of a fight with Dad at Weed’s birthday party—enough to put Dad on his bike and out on the road. And don’t say nothing is happening, Logan, because I swear to fuck if you do, I’ll walk out of this room right now and I’ll ask Slade myself.”
He stares at me a beat, trying to discern if I’m being serious.
“Fuck.” His fingers go into his hair. “I’ll tell you but this is between us, B. And I mean it. This isn’t gossip. It doesn’t go around the old ladies. It stays in this fucking room.” He points both forefingers to the floor.
This makes my stomach fill with ice. He tells me a lot of things, and although confidence is always presumed, he never demands it. That he’s asking it now has the back of my neck getting clammy. What is he about to tell me?
“I promise I won’t say a word.”
He eyes me and then moves to the edge of the bed, sinking onto the mattress, his legs spread wide, his hands clasped together between them.
“Derek and Slade knew we had a mole in the Club long before Dean and Wade exposed Tap and Dylan.”
The floor beneath me tilts on its axis. I feel wobbly, unhinged, dirtied. My ears ring as the news settles over me like a shroud. I can’t have heard him right. I can’t have, because them knowing means they let me walk around downstairs knowing there was someone there who tried to have me harmed.
Bile crawls up my throat at that realisation. Derek is my godfather. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not exactly the bounce me on his knee and kiss my forehead kind of godfather, but he’s never done anything cruel to me. In his way, Derek has always loved me. All these men have. Even when I ran away and kept my distance, my family tried to care for me from afar. Somehow, this betrayal cuts as deeply as Tap’s.
I stare at Logan as I try and fail to draw in a breath.
My voice sounds ragged when I ask, “What?”
He grabs my wrist and tugs me between his legs. “Babe, this is a colossal clusterfuck, but them knowing this shit makes it so much worse.”
I stare down at him and try to formulate a response but I can’t.
They knew…
They knew.
“How long?”
“How long, what?”
“How long did they know for, Lo?”
“Fuck knows. I’m guessing from the moment the clubhouse got shot up. They had to have suspicions then that
someone helped Wilson get inside the grounds.”
“Were they trying to find out who the traitors were? Were they looking for Tap and Dylan?”
“They say so.” His thumb swipes over my wrist in a soothing motion, and I get the impression he would really like me to sit, but I’m too wired. “They didn’t say anything, because they didn’t want to tip off whoever it was—Tap and Dylan. Personally, I think they didn’t want to cause a panic in the Club. I don’t think there was anything good intentioned about their decision at all and neither do any of the other brothers, which is why there’s so much tension at the moment. We can’t have lies. Lies are death in a club like ours.” He stares up at me. “Love, are you all right?”
Am I all right?
I’m not sure what I am.
Numb, maybe.
Everyone I’m supposed to trust, to love, is stabbing me in the back, and fuck, if that doesn’t hurt.
“Are they out? Derek and Slade—are they out?”
For keeping something of this magnitude back, the Club may have decided they no longer trust them at the head of the table.
I scan Logan’s face, not sure which answer I want from him. I’m steaming mad that both men, men I trust with my life, kept something this big under wraps, but despite that, despite everything, they’re still family and I can’t lose anyone else.
There’s a long pause that does nothing to alleviate my fear before he says, “No, the Executive Committee voted to keep Derek in his seat. Despite everything, he’s still a good president who was in an impossible situation.”
“And Slade?”
“Is more complicated and I really am not getting into why that is with you, love. I’ve already spilt far more than I should have.”
His tone tells me that I should definitely quit while I’m ahead. I run my fingers through his hair and he pushes my top up slightly to kiss the skin above the waistband of my jeans.
“I’m worried about Dad.”
“Jack’ll be okay; you know your father, B. He’ll come back when he’s good and ready.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s in Germany.”
“Slade tell you that?”
“Yeah. Did you know?”
He raises his head to look up at me. “If I’d known that I would have told you. I had no idea where Jack was.”
I stare down into the eyes of my man, my beautiful man. “I want him here for the wedding, Lo.”
I love my father. We have a strange relationship, no doubt, but I want him here to see me get married. I don’t want to do it without him here, but no one can get in touch with him. Does he even know I’ve set a date? Does he even care?
If it was a patching in party, I have no doubt he’d be here…
I cut that thought down. I hate that I’m angry at him, but I’m pissed off he just took off like this. It’s bringing up memories of the past, memories I thought I’d left behind. I’m thirty-years-old. I shouldn’t care what he does, but I can’t help but feel like the abandoned nine-year-old girl waiting for her father to come home, wondering if he would be here more if I was Jem or Dean. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I can’t help it.
If Jack misses my wedding, I’ll never forgive him.
“Then we’ll get him here,” Lo tells me.
“How?”
He pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him, one arm wrapping around my back to keep me securely in place, the other going to the back of my neck to tangle in my hair. “I’ll reach out to whichever Club he’s staying with and get a message to him with the date.” He guides my mouth to his and kisses me and when he pulls back, he runs his nose along mine. “Your father will be here, love, I promise.”
He twists us both, manoeuvring us until I’m on my back on the mattress, Logan’s big body on top of me, surrounding me, enveloping me completely with his bulk as he peppers kisses across my forehead.
“You didn’t have to ask Derek or Slade. I would have asked around for you.”
“I know.”
“I’m your old man; you should have come to me.” There’s a hint of censure in his voice that I don’t fail to miss.
“I know that too.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you have enough else to deal with.”
He stares down at me, his powerful frame looming over me. He’s so big, so broad, he practically drowns me with his body. I know he could hurt me and I’d be helpless against him, but I’ve never felt even a hint of fear in Logan’s presence in my entire life. He’s not a man who would ever bring violence against a woman, although I’ve seen him dole out his share of violence against men in the past.
“I don’t care what I have to deal with. You’re always my first priority, love. If you don’t know that by now, then I’m doing something wrong.”
I run my fingers over his face, scraping the tips over his stubble. “You carry so much around on your shoulders already. I don’t want to add to that burden.”
He flexes his elbows and lowers his body, so he can capture my mouth and I feel the hard planes of him as he presses against me. He feels so good; even that hint of weight he places against me makes between my legs pulse. My hands go to his chest as he presses down, my thighs parting to accommodate him better between my hips.
“You’re not a burden. Not ever, do you hear me? And I don’t ever want to hear you say that.”
Playfully, I roll my eyes at him. “You’re a bossy bastard.”
His lips lift. “And yet you still don’t do as you’re told.” He sobers and then he surprises the hell out of me by saying, “Stay away from Slade, love.”
“Why?”
Considering I’ve known Slade my entire life, his statement seems bizarre.
“Just humour me, okay?”
I push at his chest, making him lift slightly off me, so I can see his face more clearly. This isn’t because of my superior strength, but because he respects my boundaries, so when I push him, he moves.
“I won’t ‘just humour’ you. Why am I staying away from Slade?”
I watch his jaw tick. “Because he’s dangerous.”
This makes me snort. “Honey, Slade’s a grumpy bastard, but dangerous? Come off it.”
Logan takes my chin in his finger and thumb, forcing me to look at him. His grip isn’t hard, but it is firm.
“I mean it, Beth. Stay away from him. You don’t go anywhere with him alone.”
Jesus Christ, he’s serious. This makes my heart rate speed up. This isn’t about hiding information from the Club. Derek did that too and he’s not warning me to stay away from him. This is about something else.
“What’s he done?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just, please, do as I ask.”
“Logan…”
I want to point out that the last time he told me not to worry I ended up in the hands of a crazed lunatic, but he just got home and I don’t want to fight with him again.
Besides, I trust him to have my best interest at heart. If he’s telling me to avoid Slade, there’s a good reason.
So, I sigh and finish, “Okay. Fine.”
“Thank you, love.”
His hand moves to my breast and rubs through my top and bra. I close my eyes as I whimper. It’s only been twenty-four hours without him, but I missed him so much.
Clearly, he missed me too because he says, “I hate sleeping without you.”
“I hate it, too.”
“I need to shower, babe.”
Disappointment floods me as his hand disappears from my tit. Then he says, “Join me.”
Now that’s an invitation I can’t refuse.
Chapter Five
“Are you sure, darling, that six weeks is enough time?”
I glance up at my soon to be mother-in-law and a woman I consider the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother.
After the death of her husband, Frank, Mary Harlow raised five kids (plus, a few stragglers like me) alone for years, and she did it with a tenacity I always admi
red as a kid. As an adult, I envy it even more. If I’m even half the mother she is, I’ll be ecstatic. The woman is amazing.
She’s also a complete pragmatist and my intention to marry her eldest child in six—well, five weeks now—is giving her palpitations. She’s a woman who needs to plan, to arrange, to know what will happen at every moment of the day. I imagine this is because she did raise five kids alone—one of whom was Jem. She had her hands full.
I don’t point out that a week has passed since I announced my wedding date, so we have less time now, but instead fix her with a smile as I cover her hand with mine.
We’re sitting at her kitchen table, surrounded by wedding magazines that she pulled out the moment I walked through the door. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’m probably not going to have time to do the whole big wedding thing, so for the past hour we’ve been sitting looking at all the gorgeous dresses, and I have to admit there are a lot I would just about sell my soul to wear. I think it’s suddenly dawning on her that she may not be getting the fantasy wedding she thought she might get as mother-of-the-groom.
“It’s plenty of time,” I assure her.
Her eyes, eyes that are so like Logan’s, assess me before they lower back to the stack of magazines. “Honey, is there something you need to tell me?”
This statement has my entire body freezing. I watch as she folds her hands together on the table, much like she used to when I was fifteen and she was about to deliver a telling off to one of her kids. Except I’m not a child. I’m thirty-years-old, and about to be married to her son, but old habits—and dynamics—die hard. Guilt for a crime I haven’t committed assails me.
“About what?” I ask carefully.
“About why you’re suddenly anxious to get married lickety-split.”
My frown deepens. What is she on about?
“Mary, I don’t—”
“Are you pregnant?” she blurts.
I blink. Then I blink again. Pregnant? What in the ever-loving hell is she on about?! I’m not pregnant! Does she think this is why me and Logan are having a quick wedding?
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