Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4

by Ames, Jessica

  “B?”

  I open my eyes to see Logan’s face in front of me. It takes me a moment to realise I must have fallen asleep in the chair at the side of Grandad’s hospital bed. If the crick in my neck is anything to go by, I must have nodded off for a while because I feel stiff and achy.

  Stretching my head from side to side, I glance at the bed, half expecting to see him glaring back at me, some snippy remark on his tongue, but he’s out for the count and has been since they moved him from the accident unit to the ICU.

  Despite the fact his eyes are closed, it’s clear he’s not really sleeping; he doesn’t look at peace enough for that.

  “Is there any news?” I ask, rubbing a hand up Logan’s arm.

  There’s all sorts of equipment attached to Grandad, snaking under the hospital gown covering his chest, and the machines at the side of his bed are beeping steadily.

  “No, love.” Logan’s gaze goes over his shoulder before coming back to me. “The docs have been in and out all night, but there’s no change. They’re pumping drugs and shit into him though, so hopefully the antibiotics will kick in soon.”

  “Oh.” I frown at him. “Why did you wake me then?”

  He kisses my forehead. “I’m taking you to get some food. You need to eat.”

  Food. That’s the last thing I feel like right now. I pull a disgruntled face at him, and his hand goes to the back of my neck.

  “Beth, you need to eat.”

  “I’m really not hungry,” I complain, sounding like a whiny kid, but I don’t care.

  “I know, but you need to keep your strength up. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

  I glance at the bed. “I don’t want to leave him.”

  “There’s a waiting room filled with people. Someone will sit with him while we go and eat.”

  While I know this is true, I don’t want him to wake up and find me not here. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I’m his Granddaughter. I should be with him. I’m hesitating too long because Logan takes my hands and gently pulls me out of the chair.

  “You’re eating.”

  “You’re bossy,” I mutter as I come to my feet.

  He towers over me as he always does, but that doesn’t stop me from standing up to him. It never has. Although on this, I know I’m not going to win. Mostly, because there is a waiting room full of people out there who will also bully and cajole me into eating.

  Knowing it’s fruitless to argue, and realising the faster I go, the faster I’ll get back, I let out a sigh and mutter, “Fine.”

  Despite my words, he doesn’t move. Instead, his hands go to my shoulders, kneading the tight muscles. It feels so frigging good, I can’t help but tilt my neck to give him better access because his fingers are magic against the knots there.

  “You’re tense.” His voice is low, husky.

  I raise a brow. “Is it any wonder?”

  “No,” is his candid response.

  Letting out a long breath, I say, “After this is all done, can we take a really long holiday?”

  “To where?”

  “I don’t care. Let’s just pack up, get on the bike and go somewhere.”

  His hands move from my neck to slide down my arms, running up and down them. “We can go anywhere you want. I could do with a fucking ride to the arse end of nowhere myself.”

  “Oh, good, it’s not just me being over the top, is it? Things have been… horrible.”

  I watch his dark brown eyes as they scan my face. “Well, not everything.”

  I sigh dramatically. “I suppose you were a good part in the horrible.”

  His lips quirk, the hint of his dimples appearing. “Ouch. Way to kick a guy in the nuts, love.”

  I smack his rock-hard gut. “I’m kidding, you daft pillock. You’re the only good thing in this entire mess.” Grabbing his kutte, I cling to him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  And this is the truth. He’s my world. I have no clue how I survived as long as I did without him. Well, I didn’t. I existed. I didn’t live, though, not really. I was an empty husk, a body without meaning. Logan gave my life purpose again. Yeah, it’s mushy and crazy to say it. I never thought I would be one of those women who needed a man to complete them, but I am, and he does.

  He brushes his thumb over the apple of my cheek and the look he gives me is so full of love, I feel weighted under it. “Don’t go soft on me now, darlin’.”

  “You don’t like me soft?”

  “I like you however you come.”

  “Do you two want to take your love fest somewhere else before I puke?” Grandad’s ragged voice makes me jolt.

  I practically shove Logan out of the way, although he barely moves, and make a beeline for the bed.

  Grandad’s blinking sluggishly, his eyes heavy with the medication, but he’s awake and alert. His hand moves to the oxygen line that’s feeding into his nose, but I stop him.

  “You need to leave that alone. It’s helping you.”

  “It’s annoying,” he grumbles.

  “It’s helping,” I reiterate.

  I don’t even care how choked up my voice sounds, I’m so relieved he’s awake, even if his eyes are sunken and his skin is pallid.

  “I’ll go and grab a doctor,” Logan says. I flash him a relieved smile before turning back to Grandad and grabbing his hand over the rail of the bed.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got hit by a tank. What happened?”

  “You have pneumonia. Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?”

  His gaze is tired as it comes to me. “Girl, I feel like death warmed up and spat out every single day. I’m not telling you that shit.”

  And that is the most forthcoming he’s ever been with me about anything. I blame the drugs and I have no idea if he’d open up that much if he wasn’t on them, so it makes my chest ache to hear that admission.

  “We can get you help, Grandad. You don’t need to suffer.”

  He grunts. “If I was a dog, they’d have put a bullet in my head, rather than making me carry on like this,” he mutters. “It’s fucking inhumane.”

  His words hit me so hard, I have to grab the bedrail to steady myself. I knew he was poorly, but I didn’t realise he was this sick. As soon as he’s out of here, we need to look at better care for him, more pain relief, more help. This can’t continue.

  Tears mist my eyes, and I swipe at them with one hand as my heart clenches tightly in my chest.

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  He scowls, but doesn’t say anything else because the door opens and the doctor steps inside with Logan on his heels.

  “Ah, Mr Goddard. It’s good to see you finally awake.

  Grandad eyes the doctor like he’s a dangerous animal. “Is this the quack who’s looking after me?”

  I wait for the ground to swallow me whole. When that doesn’t happen, I gasp out, “Grandad!”

  The doctor takes his patient’s rudeness with a smile. “I’m Doctor Massoud. And I would be the ‘quack’ who saved your life.”

  This makes Grandad silent for a moment before he says, “Well, I guess I better thank you then. Maybe you aren’t a quack after all. Maybe you know some of this medicine shit.”

  “I can assure you, Sir, I know plenty of this ‘medicine shit’.”

  I turn to the doctor, mortification making my cheeks burn. “I can only apologise for him and tell you he’s like this with everyone.”

  “So, what’s the damage?” Grandad grumbles. “When can I break out of this joint?”

  “You just woke up,” I chastise.

  Hell’s bells.

  I glance at Logan who is trying to hold back a grin. Of course he finds this amusing.

  “Yeah, and I’m ready to get back to my own bleedin’ bed.”

  “Well, the fact you’re already saying this is a good sign, Mr Goddard,” Dr Massoud says. “But it’s going to be a few days at least. You have a serious infection in your lu
ngs. I want to keep you in until I’m sure it’s fully cleared.”

  “No offence, Doc, but I have a broken set of pipes that aren’t getting any more fixed with all the drugs and medicine you can throw at them.”

  The doctor considers him for a moment, clutching the clipboard to his chest. “No, they’re not, but that doesn’t mean we can’t clear them now and make things a little easier.”

  Grandad coughs and splutters, his breathing choppy. My heart leaps into my throat, but the doctor’s calm demeanour makes my own panic abate somewhat. I watch as he moves to the bedside and twists the dial on the oxygen meter above the bed.

  I glance at Logan, who slips his hand into mine. I hate this; I hate it so much.

  “Look, Doc, do whatever you have to do so I can get the hell out of here as fast as possible.” Grandad sounds wheezy.

  “Of course.”

  I watch as his eyes slide shut and he mutters something unintelligible under his breath before he drifts off.

  “Should his breathing be that laboured still?” I demand of the doctor once Grandad’s out of it.

  “His lungs are full of fluid. If we can clear some of it, it should ease his breathing back to his usual levels.”

  His usual levels, not his normal levels.

  I close my eyes for a moment and let his words wash over me. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Let’s see what the antibiotics and diuretics do. After that we’ll take each day as it comes.”

  It’s not an answer, but it’s clearly all I’m going to get. The doctor leaves the room and Logan squeezes my hand.

  “You still need to eat.”

  “Logan…”

  “Love, it’s not a debate. You need food if you’re going to be here for Jimmy.”

  “Fine.”

  I let him drag me down to the cafeteria once Mary and Mackenzie are ensconced in Grandad’s room.

  There are a few tables filled, but given the late hour it’s not bustling. Logan grabs a tray and leads me over to the nearest cabinet, which is filled with sandwiches. The hot food counter doesn’t look like it’s serving at this time.

  All eyes in the room follow him, staring at his kutte. The Lost Saxons are well known in town, but that doesn’t mean they don’t garner attention wherever they go, and Logan’s size and bulk makes him hard to miss, especially when he’s paired with me; I’m a short-arse compared to him.

  “What do you want?” he asks, his hand going to the back of my neck to rub there.

  I lean into his touch as I scan the rows of pre-packaged butties and pick one at random, not particularly caring what filling it has. He takes two and puts them on the tray alongside mine. He also grabs a couple of packets of crisps and some yogurt pot things that look suspiciously unhealthy, despite what the packaging claims.

  We get two coffees and he picks up a few bottles of water before we head to the till to pay. The woman sitting at the cash register eyes Logan with something between fear and appreciation as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket to hand over the money. He doesn’t even notice her staring as he puts away his change and leads the way to an empty table.

  When I’m sitting comfortably, he unloads the food in front of me and I stare at the feast with a heavy stomach. I don’t think I can eat a fraction of this.

  As if sensing my reluctance, he says quietly, “Just try what you can.”

  With fumbling fingers, I open the sandwich.

  “I hate seeing him like that,” I mumble as I manage to free the bread from the packaging.

  “Me too. I’ve never seen Prophet as anything but strong.”

  With everything going on, I’ve been so focused on the fact he’s my grandfather that I didn’t stop to think he’s a huge part of everyone else’s lives, too. I reach across the table and grab Logan’s hand.

  “He was grumping, which is a good sign.”

  “Yeah,” his lips lift, “it is. Means he’s feeling better.”

  I doubt he’s feeling better, but I keep that to myself. I’m pretty sure Grandad’s overall health is getting worse. He’s already declined rapidly in the short time since I’ve been back in town.

  “Yeah, I hope so.”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and check it. I have missed calls. When I open it, I see a name I haven’t seen in a while. Dad. Shit. I have a couple of text messages too. I open those.

  DAD: Answer your phone.

  DAD: You there?

  DAD: I’m on my way home.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, scrolling over the screen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I missed a couple of calls from Dad and then a few messages.”

  I show him my screen.

  “At least he’s coming back.” Logan picks up his coffee.

  “Yeah,” I frown, “and it only took Grandad nearly dying.”

  Logan’s look is filled with censure. “Go easy on your old man. He had a lot of shit swirling in his head that he needed to sort through.”

  Why does everyone keep telling me to give Dad a fucking break? Didn’t we all have crap to deal with?

  “We all did,” I fire back. “But we didn’t all have the luxury of running away though, Logan.”

  “Love, please don’t take this wrong, but that’s what the Club is about. No judgement. Jack needed space after Tap.”

  “Maybe we all needed space to deal with that.”

  “Tap was his friend.”

  “Yeah, I guess seeing your friend chargrilled is enough to make anyone hit the road.”

  Shit.

  I realise my mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth. Logan’s head snaps up and his eyes narrow. I can practically see the change in him as he moves from Logan my fiancé to Logan the Sergeant-at-Arms. His teeth snap together and his entire body stills as he leans over the table, the air between us suddenly tense, dangerous.

  “Where did you hear that?” His voice is like granite, hard, unyielding.

  I shrug it off as if it’s nothing.

  “Beth,” he grabs my wrist, bringing my attention back to him, “where did you hear that?”

  Oh shit.

  I stare down at his fingers spanning my arm, before raising my gaze to him. His reaction tells me everything I need to know.

  “It’s true then? Tap was burnt alive?” Tears prick my eyes and my voice wobbles as I snatch my wrist away from him.

  Logan stares at his now empty hand as if I’ve torn away from him before his gaze raises.

  “Jesus. Not alive, love. Fuck, not alive. He was dead when he was—” He drags a hand through his hair, and dips closer to me, his voice low. “Fuck! No one wanted that outcome, believe me. It wasn’t how shit was supposed to happen.”

  Because Slade went rogue.

  I’m not supposed to know that either, so I keep quiet.

  “How do you know this?” he demands.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, love, it matters.”

  “I overheard a conversation,” I admit begrudgingly.

  His entire body goes wired and he looks pissed off.

  “You listened in?” His mouth flattens.

  “No, Logan. I overheard. Believe me, I wish I hadn’t heard a single word of it, because knowing it is horrible.” I close my eyes for a second before I let out a shuddering breath.

  He drags his fingers through his hair.

  “Jesus. I wish you hadn’t heard any of it. You shouldn’t have to know this filth.”

  “You can’t protect me from everything.”

  “I can try.”

  “No, you can’t. I grew up in this life, honey. I’m not stupid and I’m not blind to it either. I know things happen, bad things.”

  “Yeah, I still don’t want shit like this giving you sleepless nights.”

  “I know the Club isn’t exactly the Boy Scouts, Logan.”

  His eyes close even as his jaw clenches. “Fuck. You need to keep this shit to yourself, B.”

  “Okay.”

&nb
sp; “I mean it. No blabbering to the old ladies and women.”

  “Okay,” I repeat. “I won’t say anything. I won’t, Logan. It’s bad enough this crap is in my head. They don’t need it in theirs.”

  He glances away and I’m sure I’m about to get a lecture about listening in, but he surprises me by saying, “I know parts of this life aren’t easy for you; they’re not easy for me either, but I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect the people I love. Same as all of those lads out there. We would die for any of you. And I know that’s hard to hear when you’re learning shit like this, but keep in mind, Tap sacrificed Dean and you, and he nearly got Wade killed. That couldn’t be allowed to stand no matter what. Should it have been handled the way it was? Fuck no. And it wouldn’t have been, but I’m not losing sleep over it either, B. Tap’s choices brought him to that place.”

  And I understand; hell, on some level, I even agree with him. Tap made his choices and as much as it hurts me to think it, if it was between Dean, me, Logan and Wade or Tap, I wouldn’t choose Tap.

  Why? Because Tap betrayed us.

  Cold? Yeah, maybe.

  But Dean could have died in that colliery. He might not have seen his baby grow up because of Tap. Wade might never have met Paige. Logan and me wouldn’t be back together.

  Tap made his bed. He made his decisions. The consequences were his own doing.

  But it’s more than that. It’s a selfish want in me, because I don’t care what Logan’s done or will do. All I care about is who he is to me. I have to separate the man he is in the Club from the man he is with me. I’ve had to do that my entire life with the men around me, so it’s not something that is new. I’ve always been surrounded by men who dole out violence while showering me with love and care. Grandad might come across as a grumpy old man, but there’s a reason he’s called Prophet. And it’s got nothing to do with religion. He was the prophet of doom; if you saw him coming, you knew your time was up. Believe me, I’m well aware of the reputations of the men in my life.

  Even my father has blood on his hands.

  And it’s not just him. Violence in the Club is endemic. Derek has tried to clean it up a little, but those habits run deep.

  There’s five members of the Club doing time in jail for murder, battery, stabbings, gun crimes…