Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4

by Ames, Jessica

  Dean grins and pulls me to him, kissing the top of my head. If any other man did this, Lo would flatten him, but Dean is practically my brother, so my man merely watches the exchange.

  “Love you too, B.” Dean releases me, and pats Logan’s shoulder saying, “We’re good now?”

  “Yeah, Dean, we’re good.”

  Dean nods, before saying, “Good luck, pal. I think you’re going to need it.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I ignore that backhanded insult (although I’ll find some way to make him pay for it at a later date) and turn my attention to my man, tipping my head up to look at him. He really is beautiful, with all that dark, curling hair that just begs for my fingers to weave through it.

  Logan clears his throat. “You uh… wanted to borrow me,” he reminds me.

  I shake my head, forcing the Logan fog from it. “I did.”

  “Do you want to share why?”

  “Let’s get married.”

  His brows come together, but this time in confusion. “That was sort of the point of the ring and the property patch, love.”

  “No, I mean, let’s get married soon. Like, really soon.”

  I can see the cogs turning in his head as he tries to work out where the hell I’m going with this.

  “Woman, I’ll marry you right now, but… do you want to tell me why?”

  My breath rushes out of me. “Because our family is falling apart, Logan, and I want to remind them why we’re a family. They need something good, something to look forward to. We’re arranging a baby shower for Liv and that’s a start, but we need to begin doing family things again; normal things. We got engaged and it passed with a whimper. Christ, Liv and Dean didn’t even celebrate theirs. We have to start living again, we have to start coming back together if the Club is going to survive.”

  He rubs up my arms. “And you think a wedding is the way to do that?”

  “I think it can’t hurt to give everyone something to focus on that isn’t backstabbing brothers and horrible things.”

  “But… B, what about your wedding and what you want? Don’t you want, I don’t know, big dresses, cars, and all that shit? I mean, when in the hell are you thinking about having this? Are we going to be able to organise something that fast that will be what you want?”

  I pull him towards me by the front of his kutte. “I don’t care about dresses and whatever else. I just need you, me and everyone here with us on the day. I just want everyone to have something good in all this bad, you know?”

  He stares at me a beat and then says, “When?”

  I think about the minimum amount of time we would need to get the basics together to get married and say, “Three weeks today?”

  His breath blows out and he stares down at me as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him.

  “Is it too soon?” I ask when he says nothing.

  Dipping his head, his mouth claims mine in a hot, wet kiss that makes my knees tremble. I cling to his biceps to keep from hitting the deck as he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss, and everything around us disappears. We’re no longer standing in the middle of the clubhouse grounds, surrounded by our friends, by our family. There’s only him and me. My breasts feel heavy and achy in my bra and my pussy throbs. I press against him, as he kisses me senseless.

  When he stops, it’s only because we both need to come up for air, although oxygen is overrated in my book. I’m drunk on him and I sway a little, so he steadies me.

  Pressing his forehead to mine, he lets out a small laugh.

  “You’re my crazy, beautiful, smart, kind girl, and I love you.” He presses his mouth to mine once more. “Three weeks…” He shakes his head. “Let’s get married.”

  Chapter Four

  Three weeks actually becomes six because of the legal stuff we have to do. In the Club’s eyes, I’m already Mrs Harlow; in UK law, I have to jump through civilian hoops. It’s not a bad thing; it gives me a little more time to organise everything, although I meant what I said to Logan. I really don’t care about the pomp and ceremony.

  I lived with Alistair for two years ramming ceremony down my throat. He dressed me up like a doll and paraded me in front of his friends like some Stepford wife; I hated it. Logan said he would marry me there and then, in my jeans and a T-shirt; I feel the same, but I think the Club needs this reminder that we are family—if not officially but by choice. If I have to walk around in a dress and throw a party to remind them of that fact, I’m happy to do it. Christ, if the Lost Saxons are good at one thing, it’s partying. Besides, I’m more than happy to celebrate marrying Logan. I’ve wanted the man since I was twelve-years-old.

  There’s only one small problem.

  My father.

  And where the fuck he is.

  I’ve texted him and called him multiple times, but his messages remain unread and his calls go straight to voicemail. I’m starting to get worried. Is he in trouble? Has he laid his bike down and is he lying in a ditch somewhere?

  A million scenarios race through my head the longer I don’t hear from him and each one is worse than the one before. I can barely stand it.

  I’m sitting in the common room on Saturday morning, doing some work on my laptop while I wait for Logan to get back from a Club run. The clubhouse is surprisingly quiet, although Weed is at the pool table with Sofia and Jamie. King and Charlie, two of the prospects, are also hanging around. Some of the other brothers have been in and out today, but it’s been pretty dead.

  I glance up as Sofia shrieks when Weed grabs her around the waist, pulling her back from the table and preventing her from making a shot.

  “You can’t do that, you bastard! It’s cheating!” she squeals, hitting at him.

  “Babe, does this look like a face that would cheat?” he fires back.

  And I nearly roll my eyes out of my head.

  Sofia is gorgeous. She inherited all the good parts of the Harlow DNA tree, and she’s not afraid to flaunt it. She’s also loud and obnoxious at times, which can get her into trouble. Not that I’m remotely concerned about her safety here. I trust every single man in this building.

  Then again, I trusted Tap and look how that turned out…

  I push that horrible thought away and close my laptop.

  I need to know where my father is.

  With a glance at the group, I get to my feet. They are not paying me any attention, so I manage to slip out of the common room without being seen and make my way through the maze of corridors towards the officers’ area. I hate bothering Derek with anything, but I’m worried enough about Dad’s whereabouts and his current radio silence to ask. Derek is President and as pissed off as Dad is, surely he would have told Derek where he is, right?

  I’m not afraid of Derek, not even a little, even though I know on some level the things he’s done, the things he’s sanctioned, are no doubt horrendous. He’s the head of an outlaw motorcycle club, and he didn’t reach that position by being sweetness and light. To me, he’s never been anything but the patriarchal grandfatherly figure. The man is my godfather—in the biblical sense, not the Mafioso.

  So, the fact I find myself pausing outside his office door, my gaze lingering on the ‘President’ plaque screwed to the wood, surprises me. It also annoys me. I shouldn’t have to fear my family, but I do because there is still so much uncertainty, and this is what I’m hoping the wedding will fix. I don’t know what is going on with the men in this Club, but they are a melting pot of tension. The Derek I know may not be the one who opens the door, and it is this that gives me pause.

  “He’s not in.”

  I startle at the voice behind me and spin to see Slade leaning against the door jamb of the meeting room.

  “Hell’s bells! You nearly stopped my heart!”

  He pushes off the jamb, his kutte rucking with the movement and my eyes are drawn to the Vice President patch on his breast. Slade has been VP for as
long as I can remember, sitting at Derek’s right hand. Him, Derek, Dad and Tap—they were friends for years. Tap would have had Jem’s seat at the officer’s table as Treasurer if he could have kept his sobriety over the years, but he just couldn’t do it.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well, it’ll take more than that to see me off,” I tell him with a smile.

  He eyes me. “Are you okay?”

  I feel like I should be asking him this. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes, and his salt and pepper hair looks more unkempt than usual. Clearly, whatever arguments are going on between the boys, Derek, and Slade are taking a toll.

  “Yeah, Slade, I’m good.”

  “Did you need something?” he rephrases, nodding towards Derek’s door.

  Oh, right.

  “I wanted to…” I wave a hand at him. “I’ll catch him when he’s back. Do you know when that’ll be?”

  “Him and Ghost have gone to London.”

  Shit.

  “Bethany, do you need something?” he repeats.

  For a moment, I debate saying no, but Slade might have answers. Derek might have spoken to him.

  “I was wondering if Dad has been in touch with Derek. I haven’t heard from him. I’m getting worried.”

  Slade stiffens, then sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck, the gold rings adorning his fingers catching the light as he moves. “Not for a couple of weeks, but last we heard he was in Germany, heading for the Devil’s chapter in Berlin. I don’t know if he’s still there, but that was the last report we had.”

  My eyes flare and anger bubbles in my gut. “He’s in Europe?”

  Oh my God. I try to keep myself calm, but I want to throttle him. What in the hell is he doing in Europe? I thought he might have gone to London or Manchester, but Germany? I’m going to kill him when he gets back.

  “He just needs time to process what happened with Tap.”

  This time I freeze because this is the first time anyone other than Logan or one of the women has mentioned Tap openly.

  Slade’s mouth pulls into a parody of a smile.

  “What?”

  “It’s just… weird to hear someone mention his name. Everyone’s acting like saying it will make the world end.”

  Slade shrugs and sinks back against the wall, tugging his kutte down as he does. “I understand that. People are hurt.”

  So do I, to an extent.

  “I just can’t act like he didn’t exist either.”

  I watch as Slade’s head tilts to the side, his eyes locking onto my face. “Neither can I. Don’t get me wrong, what he did was unforgivable, but I can’t just erase decades of history between us, of brotherhood.” His eyes go a little distant. “I loved that man like he was blood. I fought beside him, bled beside him. Learning how he betrayed me, the Club, you and the boys, it killed me.” His expression is distant as he speaks, his brow drawn down, and his words are flat. I want to go to him, to hug him, but Slade’s never been much for affection—until Clara, anyway. He straightens and clears his throat. “I felt that betrayal in my soul, Beth. Felt it like I’ve never felt any hurt before, but never speaking his name is fucking ridiculous, especially since he’s never going to hurt anyone again.”

  The finality in his voice sends a chill up my spine. I know Tap is dead; we all know Tap is dead. None of the brothers kept that from us, but I have no idea how Tap died. The only thing Logan told me was he was gone. I put two and two together and surmised the Club had a hand in his death, but the how is a mystery.

  “Good,” I say, and I’m surprised by the vehemence in my voice.

  Clearly, Slade is too because his eyes widen.

  “Good?”

  “Yes, good. I’m glad he can’t hurt anyone again. He destroyed our family. He betrayed our trust, he came at the people who would have died for him. Whatever end Tap met, he deserved. I’m sorry, but he did. And I know that sounds cold, but I lay in the mud staring up at the face of a man determined to strangle the life out of me, a man who only had hold of me because of Tap and Dylan. I could have lost everything because of them. We could have lost Dean and Logan. We nearly did lose Wade. And for what? Tap deserved whatever he got. Dylan deserves whatever is coming to him, too.”

  Slade’s brows raise towards his salt and pepper hairline before he says, “You would have made a hell of a brother, Bethany Goddard.”

  This is a kick to the gut, because growing up I wanted nothing more than to have a kutte on my back. I know Dad loves me, but I don’t doubt there are times he wishes I’d been a son. I don’t think he knew what to do with a girl. There were times growing up I was passed around from pillar to post while my dad was off doing whatever Club shit needed to be done. Had I been male, would that have been the case? I doubt it. Lo, Jem, Dean… they were rarely left at home once they hit double digits.

  “Change those archaic bylaws of yours to let girls in and I’ll prospect in a heartbeat,” I tell him.

  I roll to the balls of my feet and press a kiss to the side of Slade’s stubbly cheek.

  “I don’t know what is going on with you boys, Uncle Slade,” I say, calling him a name I rarely use anymore. He hasn’t been ‘Uncle Slade’ since I had skinned knees and pigtails, but he seems like he needs this. “But I’m going to fix our family, even if it kills me.”

  When I pull back, he has a strange look on his face, one I can’t read, but I don’t get a chance to probe because my name is snapped out from behind us.

  “Beth.”

  Both my eyes and Slade’s cut up the corridor towards Logan who is standing at the end, his arms folded over his broad chest. He’s wearing his kutte over the heavy leather jacket he wears for long rides, so he must have just got back in from his Club run.

  But it’s his face that has my stomach twisting. His mouth is pulled into a thin line, his eyes hard, his jaw tight.

  What the fuck? What’s his problem?

  I glance back to Slade whose brow lifts slightly. Clearly, he has no idea why my old man is giving us stink-eye from the end of the corridor, which makes two of us.

  He doesn’t think I’m doing something with Slade, does he? Because seriously… ew.

  Slade is old enough to be my father, and he raised me alongside all the other men in this Club. He’s the gruff uncle I never wanted. He’s family. Gross.

  “Stay out of trouble,” I mutter.

  He snorts. “Always.”

  I make my way up the corridor to Logan, aware of the fact my man’s eyes are not on me, but are locked on Slade and they’re boring holes into him.

  What the fuck?

  Only when I’m right in front of him does he finally lower his gaze to me. It softens slightly, but not enough, and I have to admit, it takes a lot to keep my feet from stepping back from the hardness he’s directing at me.

  A door shutting behind me garners my attention and when I twist to glance over my shoulder, I see Slade is gone—maybe into his office or the meeting room; I’m not sure which.

  “What was that about?” Logan demands, asking the question that sits on my own tongue. I’m not used to this level of hostility from him, ever.

  Logan is rarely angry with me, and I have no idea why he is now. Slade is family, and talking to him has never been an issue before. If he thinks I’m going to stop just because he put a ring on my finger and his patch on my back, he’s nuts. Being engaged, eventually married, doesn’t mean he owns me, and he knows better than to try putting that shit on me. I’m not some meek, mild woman he can boss around. I’ve never been that way and I’m not about to start.

  Not that I think that’s what is happening here. Logan isn’t that kind of man. Bossy, yes. At times obtuse, absolutely. A complete pain in my arse… well, aren’t most guys from time to time? But he respects me, and I respect him. Whatever is going on here is something else. I’m just not entirely sure what. Sure, he’s tired, and my man is like almost every human on the planet—he acts
like a moron when he’s tired—but this isn’t just fatigue talking. There was a real sense of tension in his body when he saw me with Slade, an underlying fear that I’ve never seen from him before. I’ve known Logan my entire life. I grew up with him, watched him go through puberty, become a man. I watched him fall apart after his dad died, watched him pull himself back together and step up to become the man of the house. I know him inside and out, and while we had a ten-year period where we were apart, I still know the guy standing in front of me well enough to know something is going on—something transcending normal irritability. It’s this that stops me from losing my shit completely—at least until I get answers about his behaviour. I’m not giving him an entirely free pass, though. I’m really not happy about the tone he’s using and as much as I’ve missed him, he’s sure as shit not getting away with being rude to me.

  I fold my arms over my chest and cock a brow at him.

  “It’s nice to see you, too, jerk face.”

  His expression softens in the wake of my irritation, and the anger drains from him.

  “Babe, fuck, sorry.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. Lifting our joined hands to his mouth, he kisses my knuckles. “It’s good to see you, love. I missed you so much, and I’m sorry for being a grumpy fuck. I’m just tired.”

  And he does look exhausted. There are dark smudges rimming his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept the entire time he’s been gone. His skin is pale and washed out, and he has mud splatters on the side of his face, where the bandana probably hasn’t covered him.

  I resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair and to touch the stubble covering his jaw.

  God, I’ve missed him.

  I don’t even care that he’s being a cantankerous bastard; right now, I just need him.

  Clearly, he feels the same. He tugs me to him and his lips move over my mouth. It’s a soft kiss, wet, warm, and I forget our cross words. I’m pliable in his arms as his hands go up the back of my top to stroke my skin. He smells of the road, leather, engine oil and a hint of sweat mixed with his deodorant, but I don’t care. I melt against his chest as he gathers me close, my hands going inside his kutte, digging under his jacket, needing him closer. I’d crawl inside there if I could. He’s only been gone overnight, but it may as well have been a month.