Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4

by Ames, Jessica

I squeeze his hand. “Yeah, honey.”

  “Why’d you ask that?”

  “I just wondered. Things have been so crazy lately and let’s face it, the road to get here wasn’t exactly easy. I just wondered if I was worth the wait for you.”

  His dimple comes out in full force as he says, “Babe, you drive me around the fucking bend, but you’ll always be worth the wait.”

  I drive him around the bend…

  I stare at him a beat before I mutter, “Thanks, I think.”

  I have no idea if that is a compliment or not.

  His head goes back a little and he chuckles. “You’re the most contrary woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Again: thanks, I think.”

  “Beth, the only regret I have is the time we wasted. That’s all.”

  And that’s my regret, too. I hate that I spent so much time with Alistair the dickhead, miserable, when I could have been with Logan. Life is short. I should have heeded that well-known adage. I should have sorted my shit out with Logan a long time ago and not let it fester for so long.

  I glare at our combined hands. “Well, if you hadn’t been so pig-headed…”

  He scoffs. “Me? You were Little Miss Silent Treatment for a decade.”

  I was. I sigh. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  He kisses my hand. “And we won’t. We’re getting married in five weeks’ time.”

  Mary’s words from this afternoon ring in my ears. Does everyone think we’re rushing this because I’m knocked up, or because I’m desperate to get my claws into him?

  I bite my bottom lip, fidgeting in my seat as I scan his face, searching for any sign that he’s not happy.

  “You are okay with this, right? I mean, your mum asked me if we were doing it so fast because you put a mini-Logan in me.”

  His reaction is not what I expect.

  I watch as his eyes go molten and dip from my face to my tits before lowering to my stomach, which is half-hidden by the table. The heat in his gaze makes me squirm hard enough my thighs rub together to alleviate the ache there. He looks like he wants to devour me, take me right here on the table.

  Lord, how can he make me so needy with just a look?

  “Stop it,” I breathe out the word, glancing around to see if anyone else in the restaurant has noticed the inferno practically pouring off us.

  “Stop what?”

  “That… smouldery thing you’re doing.”

  His lips quiver with a barely contained grin that makes me want to kiss him until I can’t draw air.

  “I can’t. I’m imagining you pregnant with my baby.”

  And from his face, I’m guessing he likes the idea.

  “Well, you can imagine it for a while longer, when I’m not trying to start up my business and we’re not planning a wedding.”

  And we haven’t just buried Tap and Dylan isn’t on the lam planning God knows what.

  He returns his attention to my stomach and his gaze goes heated again. “Quiet, love. You’re breaking my concentration.”

  I blink. “Did you just tell me to be quiet?”

  He tilts his head to the side as his eyes move between my tits and belly. “Shit, I really want to fuck you,” he says softly. He’s looking at me like a man starved, even though we just ate a first-rate meal.

  My stomach dips at his words, lust roaring through me as my abdomen gives a shivery roll. But we’re in a very busy, very public restaurant. Getting me horny and turned on here is not remotely fair.

  “Logan! Eyes up here!” I snap my fingers in his face.

  His expression is unapologetic as he lazily gives me his attention.

  “I really hope you don’t want dessert, love.”

  I actually don’t think I do, but not because I want to leave to fuck him, although I really do want to do that, but because I ate far too much. Carbs are not my friend and pasta is carb-heavy.

  “Logan, we can’t just—”

  He leans across the table, his finger coming to my mouth to cover my lips. I resist the urge to dip my tongue out and lick it. “No arguments. I’m going to pay the bill, then I’m going to take you home and I’m going to fuck you. Any objections?”

  I shake my head because, really, why would I ever object to that?

  “Good girl.” My pussy quivers at his dominant words and I clamp my thighs together as wetness pools down there.

  When he pulls his finger away, I mutter, “Just so you know, the bossy thing is kind of a turn on.”

  He grins, his dimple coming out again. “It’s only a turn on when you’re getting shagged at the end of it. Any other time you’d be digging your heels in like a stubborn old mule.”

  This is absolutely true, but what the fuck? “Like a stubborn old mule?” I lift one brow as he catches the attention of the waitress who has been looking after us all night.

  “A beautiful, stubborn old mule.”

  “Nice backtrack, honey,” I tell him.

  Logan pays the bill and hands clasped together we walk out to the car park. It’s a cooler night tonight, the mid-October air feeling more like December. He tucks me close to his side as we cross the tarmac towards his bike, and I nestle close, stealing his body heat as I shiver.

  “You were okay about the baby thing, right?” he asks. “Mum didn’t put any pressure on you or anything.”

  I glance up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “B, I know what she’s like. She’s beside herself because we’re getting married; if she brought up babies…” He breaks off with a curse.

  “Relax. I know how to handle Mary, and she didn’t say anything anyway. She just wondered if that’s why we’re rushing things.” I frown. “Are you feeling weird that we’re rushing things?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  We stop at the side of his bike and he reluctantly releases me so he can free our helmets from the lock on the back. I would usually wear my full riding leathers, but given we were coming out for dinner, I’m just in my riding jeans, boots and my leather jacket tonight.

  He hands me my helmet and even the simple act of his fingers scraping over mine sends butterflies dancing in my belly. I fire him a feverish look as I move the straps aside.

  “Kids…” he says softly, his hands coming to my hips. “We haven’t really talked about them.”

  “Well, we haven’t exactly had a chance.”

  And we haven’t. Not the first time we were together, when we were too young to think about a family, and not now when we’ve just been enjoying getting to know each other again.

  But I can sense the change in his tone, the seriousness of his question and I can tell he’s no longer playing. I tip my head to look up at him.

  “I want kids, Logan. Not in the next five minutes, mind you, but I do want them. With you. I want everything with you.”

  The relief in his face makes my stomach twist. Did he think I wouldn’t be on the same page as him? I know how important family is to him; he grew up surrounded by brothers and sisters, and while I’m an only child, I didn’t exactly grow up feeling like one. I had a plethora of siblings, whether I wanted them or not. Dean still thinks of himself as my brother, despite the fact we are not blood related and Jem practically imposes himself into my life as a pseudo-big brother, too.

  “Do you want them because you want them or because you think I want them?”

  I give him a look. “Have you ever known me to say something just to please someone else?”

  His lips twitch. “Good point.”

  I keep the helmet gripped in one hand while my other goes under his kutte and under the hem of his leather jacket to find the soft skin of his hip.

  “I love you and I want us to be a family, Lo. But maybe in a year’s time.” Or two. Probably three, but I keep this to myself. “I want to enjoy me and you for a bit first because you were right; we did miss so much time.”

  He nods and then he captures my mouth. “I want that too, B.”

>   I squeeze his hip as he cups my face and lowers his mouth to mine. It’s a soft kiss, one filled with the promise of a future I’ve always dreamed of with Logan. His tongue slides along the seam of my lips and I open without question to grant him access. I don’t care that we’re standing in the middle of the car park and that he’s sucking on my tongue. I don’t give a shit who sees, although I probably should. All I care about is the man giving all this good to me, and it is good.

  I cling to his hips to steady my legs as I wobble beneath the intensity of his kiss, shivers racing down my spine as his fingers move from splayed on my cheeks to tangled in my hair.

  “We need to stop,” he murmurs, finally pulling back, but he doesn’t go far.

  His mouth is a hair’s breadth from mine, and I can feel his warm pants against my lips as he tries to regain control.

  “Why?”

  “Because if we don’t, I’m going to fuck you right here.”

  “Dinner and a show,” I say. “Satchi’s has added a lot to its services since I was last home.”

  He releases his hold on my hair and kisses my forehead. “You drive me wild, B.”

  “That works both ways.”

  He seems to physically shake himself before he puts his helmet on and climbs on the bike. I do the same, getting on behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist, my face burrowing into his neck. On the back of Logan’s bike, tucked behind him, is one of my favourite places to be. I love it. Then again, I just love him. Everything about this man makes me feel right, whole, complete. I meant what I said to him when I said I want it all with him; the marriage, the babies, the white fucking picket fence. I may have grown up a biker brat, but I want that family life and so does Logan, because that’s what the Lost Saxons is about first and foremost: family.

  I watch over his shoulder as he navigates through the traffic, wishing we could just hit the road and ride endlessly for days and leave all the turmoil, all the noise behind us, but it wouldn’t solve anything. The shit would still be here when we got back.

  By the time he guides the bike into our street, I’m twitchy with need. I want him; no, I need him and he doesn’t disappoint me. We barely make it inside the flat before he’s tugging my top over my head and shoving my jeans off my hips.

  And as he promised in the restaurant, Logan fucks me for the next hour before we both fall asleep, tangled around each other like a pair of vines.

  Chapter Seven

  I wake to an empty bed. This does not make me happy because morning sexy time is one of my favourite parts of the day. There’s nothing better than waking up with Logan between my legs or at my tits. So, finding him gone makes my mood plummet spectacularly, particularly when I feel the sheets next to me are cold enough to suggest he’s been gone for a while. I didn’t even realise.

  Lord, I sleep like the dead.

  Hazy and a little sluggishly, I sit up and slowly push the covers back with an award-worthy groan. I’m not a morning person, which is why Logan’s morning antics are appreciated; it makes the rest of the day at least bearable—for everyone else.

  I reach for my robe and pull it on over my naked body. I don’t bother with clothes. I’m hoping I can convince Logan to head back to bed, and if not, I’ll take a shower.

  As I reach the bedroom door, I hear low rumbly voices—one of which I recognise immediately as Logan’s, the other takes me a second to pinpoint as Jem’s.

  This is not unusual. My brother-in-law, or soon to be brother-in-law, visits frequently. In fact, Logan’s flat—our flat, I correct—is often a steady stream of visitors. This has been less since Dylan’s been on the run and most of the Club has been on partial lockdown, with the women and family members under escort as much as possible, but it still is happening. I don’t mind, not really. I love seeing everyone. I forgot how much I missed my family while I was down in London, but I’m not going to lie, Jem’s timing this morning sucks. I need to have a word with him about appropriate visiting times.

  I’m about to step through the bedroom door and start down the hallway to the living room when something stops me.

  “…really want to keep Slade at the table?” Jem’s voice sounds serious, more so than I’ve ever heard him. I’m used to him playing the joker, so it stops me in my tracks.

  “What do you propose?”

  “I don’t know. That we do something. That we don’t just sit back and let him think it’s okay to go off and dole out whatever the hell vigilante justice he wants. He’s not Slade Wayne.”

  I shouldn’t listen. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I back up slightly into the bedroom and close the door over, leaving just a small opening, so if either of them come up the hallway, I can dart back into the room.

  And then I hold my breath as I listen. I have to strain because they’re talking quietly, but the flat isn’t that big, and the high ceilings and thin walls means the acoustics are really good; their voices travel further than they perhaps think. Maybe Logan isn’t aware of the fact.

  “I don’t even know what that means, Jem.” Logan sounds tired and cranky.

  “It means he can’t just go around killing people and burning their bodies because he’s got a temper. Tap should have faced Club justice, not Slade’s. I’m sick of his shit, Lo. I’m tired of him thinking he can just throw his weight around all the time without repercussions.”

  His words make me recoil.

  Burning bodies?

  What the hell?

  Bile climbs up my throat. Is that what Slade did to Tap? I mean, I was furious with him for his betrayal but… burning? Slade burnt him? Was he alive when he did it? How much did Tap suffer? I hate him for what he did, but to do that to him…?

  Oh my God.

  Nausea sweeps through me and my abdomen tightens as it rolls. I’ve never had a particularly strong stomach. Weird, right? Surrounded by the men I am, I should have a cast iron belly, but I’ve lived a sheltered existence. Even my mother’s filth rarely touched me, so hearing this makes my world tilt off its axis.

  I slam a hand against the bedroom wall to steady my legs, feeling like I’m on a boat, bobbing on the ocean. My thoughts are firing at a thousand miles an hour, but I can’t latch onto any single one, other than one of my uncles has murdered another in a horrific manner. This is some real dark revenge shit right here. I know the Club isn’t good, I know they do bad things, but this… this is something else entirely.

  Even if Tap did hand me over to a maniac, a maniac who nearly murdered me… A maniac who left Wade bleeding out in that parking garage… A maniac who beat Dean while I listened, helplessly… A maniac who battered Liv in her own home while she was pregnant…

  Did Tap deserve to die torturously for his part in this?

  I swallow frantically, trying to stop the vomit from making an appearance, my hand pressing against my belly.

  Oh God.

  No wonder Logan didn’t want me to talk to him; after hearing this, I’m not sure I can ever look Slade in the face again.

  “I know, but again, what do you want me to do, Jem?” Logan’s voice reaches through my ringing ears.

  “Make it clear this isn’t his domain. He’s our VP; he acts like an out of control child.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “I don’t like how unpredictable he is. He played judge, jury and executioner with Tap. Ghost didn’t even get a good go around with him. For all we know that rot in the Club might not have ended with Tap and Dylan.”

  That statement makes my stomach roil even more. Does Jem really believe that?

  “Again though, what do you want me to do?”

  “You know what I want you to do.”

  There’s a pause. A really long pause that has my heart beat quickening before Logan finally says. “It’s Slade, man.”

  “He’s a liability.”

  “It’s Slade,” he reiterates.

  “He killed a brother without due diligence. Imagine if he’d done that with Wade before we h
ad the right proof he wasn’t police. Imagine if we hadn’t been there, Logan, and Slade took matters into his own hands and let his temper rule again. Imagine if we were burying Wade instead of Tap.”

  There’s another long pause.

  Then Logan says quietly, “I know.”

  “I don’t want to bury any brother he’s put the sword to and find out after the fact that brother didn’t do shit wrong.”

  “Tap was guilty,” is Logan’s pointed response.

  “I’m not arguing that fact. We all know Tap sold the lot of us down the river, but Slade never gave the Club the chance to reach that conclusion. Him being guilty doesn’t change the fact Slade shouldn’t have gone off half-cocked. He waited for Ghost to leave the shed and he took matters into his own hands, Logan. I mean, what unhinged loon does what he did?”

  “Jem—”

  “Seriously, you’re going to tell me he’s right in the head?”

  “No, but come on; we’ve known Slade a long time.”

  “Does that make him less unhinged?”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “Then what are you saying? Do you think what he did is acceptable?”

  “Obviously not, but what happens around the table is Derek’s call, Jem.”

  I lean against the bedroom wall, trying to reclaim my equilibrium as I listen to the two Harlow brothers arguing in hushed voices. As much as I love my man, I’m leaning towards Jem’s side on this one.

  “Yeah, and what’s Derek doing about it, Lo? He’s off in London doing fuck knows what. His Club’s falling around his ears and he’s in London. Jack’s in Germany. You’re it, Logan. You can bring it to the table.”

  “I’m not going to stage a coup while half the Executive Committee is away. Don’t you think we’ve got enough shit to contend with?”

  My heart rate quickens at these words. Is Jem seriously trying to talk his brother into going up against Derek and Slade?

  “I’m not saying stage a coup, but something needs to happen. He can’t get away with what he did.”

  “I agree, but again, what the hell do we do, Jem? I bring this up, I’m going against Derek. If we do put it to a vote and we take Slade’s patch we cause bigger problems down the line anyway, because do you honestly think he’s going to go without a fuss? He’s been sitting at that table half his life. He doesn’t know anything else but this Club. Would you let someone take it from you?”