And he would feel that way because as Sergeant-at-Arms, it’s his job to look after the safety of everyone in the Club. It’s a big job and one he takes seriously. But he’s also one man and he can’t be everywhere at once.
“You do a great job, Logan, but you can’t account for every eventuality. All you can do, all we can all do, is take precautions and be smart. As long as we don’t take risks or put ourselves in unnecessary danger, we should be fine. Besides, Dylan’s not going to make a move in Kingsley. He’s not going to risk coming back and getting caught by one of you boys.”
Not after what happened to Tap at any rate.
He might be an idiot, but surely he’s not a suicidal idiot.
If Logan agrees or disagrees with me, he doesn’t say. He just mutters, “Drive straight to the flat. Don’t stop or pull over. Anything shifty or shady, you call me. You call me as soon as you’re inside.”
“Okay, I will.”
“I love you, baby. More than life. If anything happens to you, I wouldn’t survive.”
My heart melts at his words. “I feel the same, Logan, but nothing is going to happen to me. Or to you.”
He doesn’t deny or assure me, he just says, “Drive carefully.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hangs up with a growl that is not directed at me, but suggests Lucas might be about to get a tongue lashing off my old man. Fuck. I really did not want to get him into trouble, but prospects aren’t meant to think outside the box; they’re supposed to just do as they’re told. And I didn’t want to leave and Lucas turn up, thinking I’d been snatched.
I shove my key in the ignition and turn the engine over.
Then I start the drive home.
It may just be the most paranoid drive home of my entire life. I find my eyes gravitating to the rear-view mirror and my wing mirrors, watching the headlights as they close in behind me. In the dark, everything seems more suspicious, more frightening. I’m glad when I reach the flat and pull the car through the gate into the private car park.
I guide the car into the space allocated to our flat and cut the engine. And I just give myself a moment to breathe. Logan’s bike isn’t in his space, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s probably still wherever he was when I called him. I don’t expect him to drop everything for me.
Snagging my handbag off the seat, I step out of the car. Quickly, I lock it and cross the parking area. It services a number of different flats on the road, including our little block, which has six flats across three floors. Logan and I live on the second floor. I don’t check the mailboxes in the foyer, I just rush straight up the stairs and don’t stop until I’m inside the flat, the door locked behind me.
Only then do I relax, sagging against the wall.
I hate this.
I hate that we’re all still so scared and on edge.
Bloody Dylan.
I dig my phone out and toss my handbag on the edge of the sofa. Then I call Logan and tell him I got home safely.
Chapter Nine
“We must be crazy,” Jamie mutters as she taps her pen against the huge pad of paper in front of her. “Organising a wedding and a baby shower within weeks of each other.”
She’s probably right, but given we’re hardly arranging a State wedding and Liv’s baby shower will only be a small affair, she’s being a smidge dramatic.
“Booze, cake, balloons and music. Minus booze for the baby shower,” Sammy adds. “It’s not exactly rocket science, sweetie.”
Silently, I thank Ghost’s old lady for keeping a level head. She’s about the only one who is.
We’re sitting in one of the recreation rooms in the clubhouse going over details for both the wedding, which is T-minus three weeks away, and Liv’s baby shower which is supposed to be next Saturday. All the girls are here—except for Liv—and the panic is setting in. I understand it, but given how often these women arrange parties and gatherings, I don’t think it’s necessary.
“We can always do Liv’s shower after the wedding,” Clara says, thumbing through her diary. “What about a couple of weeks after, closer to Christmas?”
I avert my gaze from Clara. I’m struggling to keep eye contact with her at all today and I hate that I’m being weird with her. I can’t help it though. I know that her husband murdered and set fire to Tap’s body and it seems bizarre to be sitting here talking about baby showers and weddings when I know this.
I have to be normal though, because while us girls have to stick together against the men, this is one occasion where that mantra doesn’t count. How can I ever tell Clara what Slade has done?
I can’t and I won’t.
But I’m finding it really difficult to look the woman in the eye.
“She’ll be nearly birthing that kid by then,” Sofia jokes.
“She’ll barely be eight months,” Clara contends. “It might be a better idea.”
I shake my head. “We’ve told her this weekend. We’re not pushing it back. That makes it seem like she’s not important and she is.”
They all fall silent.
It’s Sofia who breaks through the quiet. “Well of course she’s important. She’s one of us.”
Paige shifts in her seat. “Are we having it at the clubhouse then? Or Lace? I don’t mind which, but if we’re having it at Lace, I’ll need some warning to make sure it’s fit for human habitation.”
“You mean you need to pick up all the tit tassels and thongs off the floor?” Sofia shifts her brows up and down suggestively.
Paige laughs. “Something like that.”
“I’m guessing that’s more fun now none of them are yours.”
Her shoulders shift. “I didn’t mind dancing.”
Mackenzie sits forward, her hands moving. “You weren’t embarrassed? I would die having to take my top off in front of people.”
Sofia translates, and Paige shrugs. “I guess at first it was a little… well, a lot mortifying. And Wade didn’t help matters. He was all, ‘if you think you can get up there night after night and shake your tits at total strangers then you’re deluded’.” She deepens her voice, and it’s not a terrible imitation of him.
The girls all laugh.
“You do have good tits, Paige,” Sammy says, appreciatively. “You should flaunt those puppies!”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Okay, and before we spend the next two hours talking about Paige’s incredible breasts,” Clara interrupts, “can we get back to the fact we have a to-do list that is longer than my arm?” She glances at her watch. “I have to be at work in an hour and a half, so we need to get this wrapped up.”
A hint of guilt stirs in my belly. I ignore it.
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “For Liv’s thing we need a cake, balloons, some table decorations, and everyone needs to bring a gift. Sammy and Jamie, you girls sort games—nothing too out there, remember she’s pregnant. Mackenzie, do you think you could ask your friend about the catering? Just some sandwiches and nibbles. Nothing spicy. We don’t want to induce labour.”
She signs back, “I’ll speak to her today.”
“Brilliant. We can come up here early Saturday and decorate. Logan said we can use the dining room. The boys will set up the tables for us, and with some tablecloths and the decs, it’ll look beautiful.”
“Okay, that’s Liv’s shindig sorted,” Sofia leans back in her seat, “but we still have the small matter of you marrying our brother in three weeks. Girl, you don’t even have a dress. Are we going to have everything ready?”
Despite how fast the date is coming up, I feel calm about everything. Mainly, because I’m not going overboard, but also because I’m marrying my best friend and soulmate. Cheesy? Probably, but it’s true. I don’t feel any stress about it.
“The registrar is booked, your mother is sorting the marquee—apparently we need a covered outdoor area in case it pisses down. Paige and Wade are sorting the booze, and music… we’ll plug i
n someone’s phone. And dress… we’re doing dress shopping the Sunday after Liv’s baby shower, providing we haven’t killed her with all the excitement.”
The girls all gawk at me.
“Bloody hell, you’re really organised with this,” Jamie mutters.
“There’s not really a lot to organise,” I counter.
And that is true. Once you strip away all the noise of a wedding, it’s easier.
“What about food?” Clara asks.
“Dorothy, Mary and Jeanne are sorting the catering. It’ll probably be a buffet.”
Not the traditional sit-down wedding breakfast. If I’d married Alistair, we would have had a five-course sit down meal. It would have been beautiful, but not me. Some of the best memories I have growing up are of parties with finger-food. I’m not the done-up-to-the nines girl; I’m the drinking lager from a bottle at the back of the room girl.
And although I tried to be the woman Alistair wanted me to be, although I tried to run from the life I had before, I never fitted into his world. I am a biker brat, through and through. I’ll always be a biker brat. I don’t give a crap about poofy fucking dresses and wedding cars and huge elaborate meals. I just want to celebrate my day with my man at my side and my family behind me. And I want to do that in the Saxons way. That means no airs, no graces, just us.
However, I do need to wear something.
And I don’t think my future mother-in-law—or sisters-in-law, for that matter—are going to let me get away with walking down the aisle in my jeans.
“Okay, so what’s left to do?” Clara asks.
“Just some last-minute things. I need chairs on the day for everyone to sit on for the ceremony, and I need the boys to sort out what they’re wearing. I have no idea if Logan is on top of this, and I don’t want to ask in case he’s not planning on dressing up—”
Mackenzie holds up a hand then signs. “I’ll find out what they’re doing.”
“Thanks.”
“What about flowers?” Paige probes.
“Oh. Uh, I was just going to get some arrangements done at the florists in town. I don’t need anything fancy.”
“No, but you do need something, sugar,” Clara interjects. “Do you have colours in mind? Any favourite types?”
“Um, pinks, purples, I guess, and no.”
“Leave the flowers with me.”
I think about arguing, but honestly, anything the girls can do to help is fine by me.
“Do you have any idea what kind of dress you want to wear?” Jamie jumps in.
“I don’t know.”
And I really don’t. If Logan’s planning on wearing jeans and his kutte with a shirt then I’m not going full bridal. Although I don’t think he’d care if I waltzed down the aisle in a ballgown as long as I say ‘I do’ at the end of it.
“You must have some idea of whether you want a big dress or what style,” Sofia says. “I know exactly what dress I want to get married in.”
Somehow, that does not surprise me.
“I’m not sure. I don’t want to be over the top.”
“Honey, you’re getting married,” Mackenzie signs. “It’s all about being over the top.”
Maybe, but it’s about so much more than that—for me at least.
“Just try on a few and see,” Clara suggests. “When I was getting married to Henry, I think I tried on at least ten different types before I found the right one.”
It’s weird to hear her calling Slade by his given name, and a slither of ugliness works through me that I’m sitting here knowing about the dark things he’s done and not telling her.
What would it achieve to tell her, though? Would I want to know about the skeletons in Logan’s closet?
No, I don’t think I would.
She went into her marriage knowing the man Slade is. She’s not that naïve. Although I’m not sure I want to believe any of the men in this Club are capable of burning up a man.
“Same,” Sammy says. “I still put mine on now and again when Ghost is out of town on a run. That thing is too bloody pretty to be sitting in the back of my wardrobe for eternity.”
This earns a round of laughter.
“Girl, that is so sad.” Jamie giggles. “At least invite the rest of us round and we can make an evening of it.”
We pack up and tidy the recreation room before everyone heads off. I make my way through the corridors to find Logan, but instead run into the last person I want to see: Slade.
“Are you girls done?”
I force myself not to recoil. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I heard about his pyro-activities, and I have to be honest, looking at him now, I’m seeing him in a completely different way. I don’t see the grumpy, hot-headed uncle; I’m seeing the unhinged murderer.
“Uh, yeah just finished. I’m looking for Lo, is he about?” I keep my distance while trying to look like I’m not.
“He popped down to the garage, I think.”
The Club has two garages—Moor Street, which Dean manages and is located about five minutes from the clubhouse—and a second garage, which is around the back of the clubhouse. I’m assuming he means this one because usually Moor Street is referred to by its full name.
“Oh, I’ll go find him.”
“Was Clar headed this way?”
Clara… shit.
Does she know what her husband is capable of? Does she know what the man she lies next to each night has done? Am I just as in the dark about Logan? Has he done things that are just as bad, I just don’t know about them? Are we all deluded?
I jump down on those thoughts, just as I have done my entire life.
“She looked like she was heading towards the common room with the others.”
“I’ll go see if I can round her up.” He says this but doesn’t move. “Are you doing okay, kid?”
His words surprise me and a chill races up my spine. Does he know that I know? My lips twitch into a smile that must seem fake as fuck, but he doesn’t call me on it.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Oh my God. Way to play it cool, Beth.
“Well, the big day’s coming up soon, right?”
This makes me relax slightly. “Oh. Yeah. Three weeks’ today, actually.”
And there’s still no sign of my father.
Slade sags back against the wall of the corridor, folding his arms over his chest. I understand, looking at him, why Clara’s enamoured with him. He’s older than her by a good seventeen years, but the man doesn’t look it. That salt and pepper hair of his has aged him a little, but not in a bad way. He’s distinguished, and firmly in silver fox territory.
“When I first heard about you and Logan, I’m not going to lie, I was a little weirded out, but now? I don’t know. You pair just… make sense.”
“Yeah, he’s great.”
Inwardly, I wince. He’s great? What an endorsement.
“I can’t wait to see him make an honest woman of you, kid.”
And this is where I have a problem reconciling what he’s done with who he is, because this is the guy I know, this is the guy I love. My Uncle Slade.
“It should be a good day.” Pain clogs my throat. “I better go and round up my old man.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you later, darlin’.”
I hate this. I hate that I know this stuff. This is why I keep my bloody self out of Club business, and this is why I should stop listening in to conversations I’m not invited into. I could have gone my entire life without knowing any of this stuff about Slade. I could have died quite happily knowing he was not a psychopath. But now I know it, I can’t unknow it. The horse has bolted from the stable; there’s no putting it back in.
I’m starting to wonder if a wedding can fix the damage in our family or if we’re just too far gone to put back together. How do you make a half whole again when there are pieces missing?
In my haste to get out of Slade’s path, I walk headlong into a wall of muscle as I round
the corridor. I rebound and nearly go onto my arse, but strong hands grab me, stopping me.
“Whoa, easy,” a deep voice rumbles.
Wade.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Heat rises in my cheeks as he finally releases me. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“It’s fine.”
I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze because Wade, like Logan, is tall. In fact, I think Wade has at least an inch on him—not that I’d ever tell Logan that—but Logan definitely outdoes him in the brawn department. Wade isn’t even a fraction as broad as Logan is, but he’s still a big guy. It’s hard to imagine Dylan getting the drop on him, because that arsehole is not big. He did have to shoot Wade in the head to gain any sort of advantage, though.
Cowardly bastard.
My eyes slide of their own volition to his ear and the gnarled missing chunk. The doctors cleaned it up as best they could, but after spending so much time in hospital after taking a bullet to the abdomen, Wade wasn’t keen on doing too much time again. I swallow hard and force my gaze back to his face, but judging from the tightness in his expression my gawking doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Wade, I—”
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is tight.
“I wasn’t—”
“Seriously, don’t sweat it, Beth. You’re not the first person to gawp at it, and you won’t be the last.”
Shit.
I soften my voice. “I wasn’t gawping. I’m sorry. Bollocks,” I mutter. “Wade…”
His shoulders shift. “It makes no difference to me. Paige doesn’t give a shit, and she’s the only one I care about.”
As it should be, but I don’t want him to think I’m bothered either. “I don’t care, Wade. I really don’t. I’m just… I’m tired of people hurting our family.”
This time, it’s his face that goes soft and I suddenly understand what Paige sees in him, because all the hardness leeches out of him.
“Me too, sweetheart. I can’t say it’s the last time, but I can say as long as I’ve got breath in my body, I’m going to do everything I can to protect us.”
And this I do believe. From what Paige—and Clara—told us, and from what I now know myself, Wade nearly died to expose Tap and Dylan’s treachery, to protect our family from them.
Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4 Page 9
