Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4

by Ames, Jessica

  “If I did the crazy shit he did? Yeah, I would.”

  “Fuck off, would you.” Logan’s voice drips with scepticism. “You’d fight to keep that kutte on your back to your dying breath. We all would.”

  “We do nothing and he does this again and maybe next time he does it to someone who isn’t guilty. Do you honestly want that pyrotechnic lunatic sitting next to you, sitting next to your old lady, your sisters, your fucking family?”

  “Fine, fuck!” I hear the exasperation in Logan’s voice. “I’ll talk to Derek, and Jack when he’s back, but we don’t do anything without the full approval of the committee, Jem. And I mean that. Whatever we do, it has to come from the Club—not me. I’m not leading a rebellion.”

  “The guy shouldn’t even be wearing the VP patch. He’s a joke.”

  “Well, joke or not, it’s his seat and until he’s voted out of it, his arse is staying in it.”

  Figuring I’ve heard enough, or too much, really, I carefully close the bedroom door and then make a show of opening it as naturally as I can, but loudly so they know I’m awake. I head over the hallway to the bathroom and lock myself in. And then I sag against the door.

  What in the seven hells is going on?

  Slade killed Tap…

  I mean, I knew Tap was dead and I knew the Club most likely had a hand in that, but hearing what Slade did to him… Uncle Slade… who picked me up as a kid, who gave me my first bike. He burnt Tap. I just hope like hell Tap was at least dead when he did it.

  My stomach rebels at the thought and I have to swallow down the bile crawling up my throat.

  I’m completely with Jem on this; if Slade did those terrible things, he needs to be out of the Club. How can he be trusted after that? How can we have him in our family, knowing what he’s capable of?

  I’m not naïve. I know the Club isn’t sunshine and rainbows, but I don’t believe they are bad men. Jem’s reaction to what Slade did to Tap tells me I’m right about that. They have their own moral code of what is right and what is wrong. They don’t hurt women, they don’t hurt children. They don’t judge without evidence.

  I try not to consider what they would have done to Tap if they had gone through their due diligence, because I just can’t reconcile the men I know with that image. Logan isn’t that man, the one who murders and sets fire to people. He’s not. He’s loyal and good to me. I’m not saying he’s not capable of violence, because I’m sure he is, but… that level of viciousness?

  No. Not even a little.

  I’ve known Logan my entire life and he couldn’t ever do something like that.

  Right?

  I ignore the fact Jem isn’t pissed off at the act itself, but at the fact the Club didn’t get a say.

  Closing my eyes, I do what I’ve had to do my entire life; I shut it down and put it away in a box somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind. I can only take these men as I find them, and they’ve never been anything but good to me. Until I know otherwise, that’s all I can do.

  Slade… now, I know differently, and that changes things.

  I reach for the faucet as I catch sight of my pale face in the mirror. Fuck, I look terrible.

  “Beth?”

  Logan’s voice sounds on the other side of the bathroom door, making me jump.

  “Just a sec,” I manage to get out.

  “You okay in there?”

  Great, the last thing I need is him worrying about me, too.

  “Yeah,” I mumble and reach for the lock.

  As soon as the bolt slides free, Logan is waiting on the other side. His smile fades as he takes me in.

  “Are you all right?”

  His hand goes to my face and I resist the urge to pull away, needing distance for a moment, and I hate that I do. I hate that I’m looking at him differently right now.

  “I just need coffee.” I force a smile.

  “Love, you’re pale and clammy. Are you not feeling well?”

  He pushes inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The space feels smaller with us both in it and usually I would love him crowding me, but right now I feel claustrophobic. I wish he would leave me alone for a second, so I can breathe.

  “I think I should have gone easy on the meatballs last night.”

  He doesn’t take my attempt at levity for the ice-breaker I intend, but instead continues to look concerned. “Do you need me to stay home with you today?”

  And the worry in his face makes my fears dissipate because how could he care so much for me and do terrible things? No, Logan could never do anything like he described Slade doing.

  Then again, would I have thought Slade capable of that?

  Truthfully?

  Yes.

  Slade’s always been a hot-head. His temper is something of a running joke, but he’s never had much control of it. I was surprised when he and Clara got married. She’s so different from him. She’s the sunshine to his night.

  God. Clara. This is going to destroy her if she finds out.

  “No. I’m okay, Logan. I’m going to work myself.”

  His expression suggests he thinks I’m crazy. “B, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

  “I just need caffeine and something to eat.”

  He scans my face, clearly trying to discern if I’m telling the truth. I hate lying to him and I hate that he can read me so well. Usually, the fact he’s so in tune to me is a blessing, but this morning, it’s not such a good thing.

  I run my hand over his bristly jaw. “Honey, I’m okay.”

  “Jem’s here,” he tells me something I already know, but I smile.

  “Then I better go and put some underwear on.”

  His hand slips under my robe and slides through my exposed folds. “Hmm, I could just go and kick my brother out.”

  “You could.”

  His smile fades a little as his hand withdraws. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah, Lo. I’m okay.” I roll to my toes to kiss him. “I’ll go and get dressed.”

  He rubs a hand over my arse as I move past him. “I love you, B.”

  I give him a smile, but for the first time, I force it. “I love you more.”

  I take my time dressing, trying not to think too hard about what I learnt, but my brain is whirling, so when I finally make it into the kitchen, I feel even more nauseated. I find Logan and Jem, the latter sitting at the small kitchen table, the former leaning a hip against the counter.

  Logan hands me a cup of coffee as I approach him. It’s hot, so freshly made. He gives me a worried look as I take it from him, but I brush it off.

  “Thanks, honey.” I turn to Jem. “Morning.”

  “Hey, Beth.”

  That he doesn’t joke or fire something silly at me has me frowning. Jem pushes to his feet instead and with both Harlow brothers in the space I feel small.

  “Think about what I said,” Jem says to Logan, who nods.

  “Yeah, I will. Will you be at the clubhouse later?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jem moves over to me and kisses the top of my head. “See you later, Little Bee. Lo.”

  I watch him leave, Logan following him to see him out. My head feels over stuffed, because now I understand why the boys are struggling with things. It’s not just that Tap betrayed them; it’s that Slade did, too. He took their chance at justice from them and he made them worry about the man leading them from Derek’s right hand.

  Just when I think this whole mess can’t get any bloody worse…

  Hell’s bells.

  Chapter Eight

  “I don’t need to be bleedin’ coddled.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes into the ceiling because I have no doubt my grandfather doesn’t need to be coddled. I also have no doubt he’s never been coddled a day in his entire life. Still, I don’t want to argue with him, so I let out the irritated breath I’ve been holding in by sheer force of will for the past ten minutes, and when I turn back to him, I’m all smiles
.

  Too bad I can’t say the same for him.

  He’s sitting in his armchair by the window in his living room, his arms folded over his lap, his gaze positively murderous.

  Lord.

  This is going to be a long visit.

  I’ve tried to see Grandad as much as possible since I’ve been back in Kingsley; I pop up at least a few nights a week to check he has food in, that he’s eating, that his house hasn’t fallen into rack and ruin. Between me and the other old ladies, women and patches we keep him afloat.

  I do it because I love him and not out of obligation, and I’d come even if no one else did. I love the man to my very bones, but he seriously tests my patience.

  This week, he’s testing more than my patience; he’s also trying my emotional wellbeing. Since I overheard that conversation between Logan and Jem about what Slade did, I’m struggling to keep it together.

  For the past five days it’s all I’ve been able to think about. I’m hardly Tap’s biggest fan right now, but thinking about him potentially being burnt up is giving me more than a few sleepless nights. Again.

  At this rate, me and Logan are not going to make it to the ‘I do’ part of our wedding ceremony. He’s going to leave me before we ever reach it. I’m a complete mess, although I’m doing everything I can to at least look like I’m keeping it together, because I’m a Goddard and Goddards don’t fall apart.

  I thought I was doing a good job. Clearly, I was wrong because Grandad eyeballs me.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me. Now, do you want a brew? I’ll go and put the kettle on because I don’t know about you, but I could really do with some caffeine.”

  “Don’t lie to me, girl. I’ve known you from the moment you drew your first breath. I can tell when you’re lying to me and right now, I can tell something is bothering you. Start talking.”

  I drop my hands to my hips and stare down at my grandfather. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember the man founded a motorcycle club. Other times, I can envision completely where that outlaw streak came from, because my grandfather can switch on the biker vibe in an instant. Then again, he rarely loses that.

  “Nothing is bothering me, Grandad.”

  Lie.

  He doesn’t buy it either.

  “Do you think I came down with the last shower?”

  Well, not really no. The man might be seventy-four, but he’s still got all his faculties—as far as I know anyway.

  “Do I look like a complete moron to you?” he continues his tirade.

  I clamp my mouth shut because there is nothing I can say here that is not going to get me into trouble.

  “Talk to me, darlin’. What’s wrong?” He says this last part softer, and this makes me sag a little.

  What’s not wrong?

  I start with the lesser of all evils.

  “Have you spoken to Dad?”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then he lets out a long drawn out breath. “I have.”

  What the fuckity fucking hell? Is he serious? I throw my hands in the air, mostly so I don’t throttle him. Granddaughter strangles elderly grandfather is not a good headline for a new business woman.

  “Great, so it’s just me he’s ignoring.”

  “He’s not ignoring you, Bethany.”

  I scowl at the use of my full name. “Really?”

  Okay, maybe I should dial back the sarcasm because the amount dripping off that one word hurts even my ears.

  It definitely annoys Grandad. The look he fires back at me is not amused. “He’s your father; he’s never ever going to ignore you.”

  “Sure. Except he’s seemingly spoken to every single member of the Club except me.” Hurt lances through my chest, settling in my stomach. It’s the same story as when I was younger. “You know what? If that’s how he wants to be, fine. I managed without him when he was off doing fuck knows what when I was a kid; I definitely don’t need him here now I’m a grown-assed woman.”

  Whoa, where did that repressed rant come from?

  Grandad’s face contorts. “What the hell, girl?”

  Maybe I should have dialled back the teenage strop, but now that it’s out there, I’m not taking it back. I’m grateful for everything my father has done for me over the years, but this shit he’s pulling isn’t unique. In fact, it happened a lot more than I care to admit over the years. At thirty, it’s fine; I can look after myself. At nine-years-old, I didn’t really understand why my dad took off without a second glance back.

  And I’m not talking about Club runs, events that were planned—the Club’s Road Captain deciding the route, the journey length, the stop-overs, when they would be back. I’m talking about Dad just randomly dumping me on whichever old lady or brother would take me and hitting the road for days, sometimes weeks, at a time.

  I love my father, but things were not always easy.

  “Do you want a cuppa, Grandad? If not, I’m going to get off. I have things to do.”

  His eyes bore into my face, his mouth pulled into a tight, disapproving line. The tension grows between us, the air stifled with it. I guess I’m supposed to just put up and shut up, right? I probably should, given my own disappearing act for a decade, but I thought this was a new start for all of us. I didn’t expect Dad to ditch us right off the bat.

  After a moment, I say, “Okay then. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

  I move over to him and lean down to kiss his cheek, but as I go to straighten again, he seizes my wrist.

  “Your dad’s hurting.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s doing the only thing he knows to do when he’s hurting. He’s riding.”

  “I know that too,” I tell him. “It doesn’t mean he has to shut me out.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but if he speaks to you, he’s going to want to come home. He’s not ready to. He’s not worked out the shit in his head yet.”

  That makes sense, I guess.

  “I’m getting married in just over three weeks’ time.”

  “He’ll be there.”

  Will he?

  “I want him to walk me down the aisle,” I say, pointedly.

  “He’ll be there,” Grandad assures me.

  “He better be. Some things can’t be forgiven, Grandad.”

  Missing your own daughter’s wedding among them.

  I free my wrist and give him a small smile. Before I leave Grandad’s house, I make him a brew and I leave him a glass of water near his bedside table in the downstairs room that was recently converted into a bedroom for him; the stairs are too difficult for him to manage now.

  When I step outside, I pull the front door closed and check it’s locked. Then, as I always do, I cast a glance in the direction of Hazelwood Colliery—the place me and Dean almost lost our lives. I only give it the briefest look and I hate that I even give it that much. It doesn’t deserve even that acknowledgement. I suspect it will remain a feature in my memories for a long time to come.

  With a shiver running up my spine, I force my feet to move towards my car. As I do, my gaze scans the road, looking for Lucas, the prospect who is tailing me tonight. I don’t see him, which is weird since he was with me when I arrived an hour ago.

  Maybe he got called away...

  Not that I need a bodyguard, but the lads have been strict about everyone being protected. Translation: they’re driving us daft having us followed. I’m more forgiving than some of the others, since I was abducted and moderately tortured. I understand how dangerous things can be. After seeing the aftermath of what Dylan did to Wade—and to a lesser extent Paige—I understand why the brothers are being overcautious.

  So, Lucas being gone makes ice settle in my belly.

  I pick up my pace and fumble with my keys to get into the car. Once I’m inside, I lock the doors and grip the steering wheel, glancing around. The sensible thing would be to go back into Grandad’s, but the man is seventy-four with a chronic lung conditio
n. He should not be involved in any trouble.

  I pull my phone out of my bag and quickly pull up Logan’s number.

  He answers after a couple of rings.

  “Hey, love. Are you finished with Prophet?”

  Prophet is my grandfather’s road name. Not that Grandad does any riding these days, no thanks to the emphysema.

  “Yeah, I just left. Uh, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble, Lo, but when I came outside Lucas isn’t here. Should I wait for him or drive home?”

  Logan lets out a string of curses that makes my right eyebrow cock. Colourful.

  “That fucking kid. He doesn’t listen to shit!”

  I’m guessing Lucas isn’t winning any prizes for ‘Prospect of the Month’.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, worrying at my bottom lip.

  “I don’t like you just sitting there.”

  “I don’t like me just sitting here either.”

  “Can you go back into Jimmy’s?”

  “Grandad goes to bed about now, honey. I don’t want to throw his routine. Besides, an hour is about as much as I can deal with. He wasn’t exactly in the best mood tonight. It’s not far. I can just drive back to the flat.”

  And it isn’t far. It’s a fifteen-minute drive at best over to the north side of Kingsley.

  “Fuck.” The anxiety in his voice burns a hole through my guts, so I do what I always do; I try to reassure him.

  “I get that you’re worried, but we also can’t live like this forever either. Life has to go on. The Club can’t keep chauffeuring everyone around. It’s not realistic.”

  “While Dylan’s still out there, we can,” is his stubborn response.

  “Honey, it’s not realistic to have everyone followed all the time,” I repeat, hoping this time my words might actually penetrate his hard head.

  He goes quiet for a moment and I can practically feel his irritation coming at me down the line, but when he speaks, his words are soft.

  “I don’t want someone to get hurt because I took my eye off the ball.”