Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4

by Ames, Jessica

  This is a problem. Her brothers are overprotective and always have been.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I’ll work on Logan. I can’t do much about the other two Neanderthals though.”

  Kenzie grins. “I don’t need help with Jem and Adam. I can take both of them. They’re pussycats.”

  This makes me laugh because both Harlow girls are tall, but they are nowhere near as big as their brothers.

  Both of our gazes snap towards the stairs as the bottom door goes. My stomach churns. Bloody hell, I never locked it after Mackenzie came up. If Logan finds out he’ll throw a shit fit.

  “Expecting someone?” she signs at me.

  I shake my head, which makes her spine snap straight.

  “Wait here,” I order.

  I stand from my desk, brushing down my skirt before I head into the main part of the office as the door at the top of the stairs opens. Mr Brosen steps in.

  What the hell?

  Inwardly, I groan.

  This man…

  Outwardly, I force a smile.

  “Ah, Mr Brosen. I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  Appointments exist for a reason, rude.

  “I was in town. I just thought I’d drop in.” His eyes go past me through my open door to my office where I left Mackenzie sitting. “Oh, you’re busy?”

  I glance over my shoulder. “Just give me a moment.”

  Cursing under my breath, I head into my office, closing the door behind me.

  “Problems?” Mackenzie signs.

  I have no idea how bad the acoustics are in here, so I opt to sign back in case my voice travels. “He’s a client. A pain in the backside. I’m sorry. I have to deal with him.”

  She twists in the chair to glance through the internal window at him before bringing her attention back to me. “He’s hot.”

  I arch a brow at her, then sign back, “Do you want me to get his number for you?”

  Her brow furrows. “I don’t think so. Are you going to be okay?”

  “With a client? I think I’ll survive.”

  Her expression is serious. “B, it’s not good you being up here alone with strange men.”

  This never bothered me before, but her words suddenly make a slight tendril of anxiety run through me. My hands flash as I sign, “He’s harmless.”

  “He’s six-foot and two hundred pounds,” she counters. “You’re not.”

  She’s not wrong, but I’m not one to shy away from anything. “Honey, I’ll be fine. Will you speak to your mum about the seating for the ceremony? I don’t think there’s enough chairs in the clubhouse for everyone—especially if we’re inviting other MC’s. Lo mentioned the Devil’s and maybe the Hells Handlers.”

  “Sure.”

  She stands and hugs me.

  When I walk her to the door at the top of the stairs, she gives Mr Brosen a sidelong glance that promises retribution if he so much as looks in my direction wrong. I shake my head. This girl. She’s something else.

  When she’s finally down the stairs, I turn to Mr Brosen.

  “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting you, so I was tied up.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t seem entirely genuine. “It’s not a problem.”

  “What can I help you with?” I ask as I move into my office, him following on my heels. I start to search for his file. I wish I’d tidied up this morning. My desk isn’t a disaster, but it’s not exactly orderly either. “If it’s about the website quote, I’m still working on the package. I should have some figures for you tomorrow. With my grandfather being hospitalised, I’m a little behind.”

  Which I have told him at least sixteen hundred times this week alone…

  “Miss Goddard, I think we can dispense with the charade, don’t you?”

  I pause mid search and glance up at him. Unease settles in my guts at his words and his tone. His expression makes that ice ball in my stomach grow colder and larger. Smug and a little callous, gone is the businessman from moments ago. The man standing in front of me right now is someone else entirely. The lub-dub of my heart moves into a frantic single staccato pound that fills my ears as I try to work out what he means while all my senses go on hyperalert.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not here about a quote or about a new client package.”

  I straighten, as moisture beads on my skin and nervousness shrouds me like a heavy cloud. “Okay, well, why are you here?”

  “My name is William Brosen, but I don’t own a lumber yard. I own a Private Investigation company.”

  What. The. Fuck?

  “Right.”

  “I was hired by Margaret Wilson to look into the disappearance of her son, Simon.”

  Holy shit.

  “You should leave.” All politeness drains from my voice.

  “Miss Goddard you were the last known person to see Simon alive.”

  I swallow hard as a memory of his face looming over me flashes through my mind. “You need to leave right now.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “After he finished trying to kill me, you mean?” I snap.

  Fuck. This is not a conversation I want or need to have. Beside the fact I’m more than certain the Club ‘disposed’ of him, thinking about Simon Wilson is a road to nightmares for the next month.

  Brosen’s head tilts to the side slightly. “After that, yes.”

  “I don’t fucking know. If you read the police report, my statement is there. I’m not going through this again. It was hard enough the first time.”

  I try to blow past him, intending to leave my office, but he blocks my path and my heart rate kicks into overdrive.

  “Move,” I snarl at him. It has no effect at all. Why would it? I’m a fraction of his size and he has the winning hand here. No one knows he’s here.

  “Miss Goddard, Simon came here and was never seen nor heard from again. He hasn’t used his bank accounts, his mobile phone, anything. His life just stopped. You are the last known contact he had. Where did he go?”

  Sweat beads on the back of my neck and steel bands tighten around my chest as I glare up at him. Imaginary fingers squeeze at my throat and I feel mud at my back, pain in my ribs. I blink, trying to displace that memory, that nightmare.

  I’m not there. It’s not real. I’m not there.

  With monumental effort, I drag myself out of that hell and back into the now. Simon Wilson is dead. He can’t hurt me, and neither can this fucker.

  I project more confidence than I’m feeling because right now, I’m pretty scared. Mackenzie was right when she said I shouldn’t be here alone with strange men, because I am completely and utterly alone right now with this man and I have no way of signalling anyone for help.

  “I don’t know. Now move.”

  “I will get answers. The police in this backwater shit hole might not give a crap about the truth or justice, but I will get answers.”

  Realising he’s not going to clear the door and allow me to exit my office, I do the only other thing I can—I move back to my desk and pick up my phone. I should dial the police, but I don’t. I dial Logan. He’s the only person I think of to call when I’m in trouble.

  My hands are shaking slightly as I pick up my mobile, but I ignore this, focusing instead on what I need to do. I barely swipe the screen when it’s plucked from my hand and tossed across the room.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I demand, watching as my very expensive phone hits the wall and tumbles to the floor. I hope to hell the screen protector holds up.

  “I told you; I want answers.”

  “I don’t have answers to give you.”

  I try to step around him again, but he mirrors my movement, and my fear shoots off the scale. He’s not letting me leave, and I have no idea what is going to happen now. I have no way of calling for help, I’m trapped in my office, and I’m alone with a man who is a lot bigger than me.

  I try to keep my mask in place, try to show outwardly at least that I’m not scared, ev
en though my entire body trembles as he steps closer to me and says in his silky voice, “Oh, I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

  Stall him, keep him talking while you come up with a plan, Beth.

  “Why? Why the pretence? Why act like a client?”

  “I had to get past your hounds. I knew I couldn’t do that without a legitimate reason. I figured pretending to be a client would be the easiest way. It was embarrassingly easy actually.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not a prisoner. All you had to do was walk up to me.”

  “No, but your man keeps you close.”

  He does, especially lately with this Dylan shit.

  “Mr Brosen, I wish I could help you, but I can’t. The last memory I have of Simon Wilson is him trying to strangle me to death. I passed out and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. What happened to him between then is anyone’s guess. The police think he got spooked and took off.”

  “I’m well aware of what the police think, Miss Goddard.”

  Adrenaline and fear make my temper fray. “Stop fucking calling me Miss Goddard!”

  “Would you prefer Beth?”

  “I would prefer it if you just left, to be quite frank.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I have answers.”

  “Oh, you are going somewhere.” Logan’s voice makes me jump.

  Considering his bulk, my guy can be light as hell on his feet. I didn’t even hear him enter the building, let alone come up the stairs, but as I peer around Brosen, I see him standing just outside my office doorway. His face is like thunder and his eyes are filled with homicidal rage. He looks intimidating as hell, standing there in his kutte, his bulk taking up so much space.

  Even though I’m still trapped in my office, I feel my anxiety drain at his mere presence. I’m safe now. Logan won’t let anything touch me.

  “The boyfriend?” Brosen asks over his shoulder, derision dripping from his tone.

  “The fiancé,” I correct, nastily.

  “Get the fuck out of her way,” Logan snarls and to be honest, if I was Brosen I would shit myself at his voice alone.

  Brosen’s smile is thin, but he does step aside to let me pass. I skirt around him and go immediately to Logan. As I do, I notice Mackenzie standing near the door. She gives me a small smile and I go to her, taking her hand as Logan seizes Brosen by the shirt and smacks him against the wall with enough force to rattle the plaster. Then his fist slams into his jaw. I feel that hit reverberate through my own face, but Brosen barely registers it, even though blood spurts from his lip, which has split like a grape.

  “You ever corner my old lady like that again and I’ll break more than your fucking face, you understand?”

  Just like old times, Logan stands between me and my demons. Only this time I’m not fourteen and my demons are not my drug-addled mother and her junkie friends. This feels so much more dangerous.

  Brosen’s smile doesn’t waver, although his teeth are now bloody. “I’ve taken on bigger players than you and your Club. I’m not scared.”

  “I don’t give a fuck who you’ve taken on. You stay away from Beth.”

  “Then tell me where Simon is.”

  Logan’s back stiffens. “There’s a police station two miles up the road. Go and talk to their missing persons department. They’ve got a whole file dedicated to that psychotic fucking lunatic.”

  “Hmm, I read that report. More holes in it than they could plug. I know your fucking Club did something to him, and I’m going to find out what.”

  Logan fists his suit tighter and pulls him closer to hiss in his face, “If you know that then you should probably be careful about digging around, shouldn’t you? It would be a shame if you were to go missing as well.”

  The threat in Logan’s voice is menacing.

  He pulls Brosen off the wall and shoves him towards the door. “I don’t want to see you sniffing around here again, understand?”

  “I don’t take orders from you.”

  Logan steps towards him as if he’s going to wring his neck, but I round him, putting my hands to his chest. “Logan, no.”

  It stops him, barely.

  I glance over my shoulder to Brosen. “You better get out of here if you want to keep your teeth in your mouth.”

  He straightens his suit jacket and grins at me. “It was a pleasure, Miss Goddard.”

  He disappears down the stairs and I turn to Logan who is glaring at the door hard enough to set fire to it. I grab his face, forcing him to look at me.

  “Honey? Logan, breathe.”

  “Did he hurt you?” he growls and I have to admit, his tone frightens me. I resist the urge to step back. He’s practically spewing molten lava from his eyes. Is he pissed at me?

  I swallow hard. “No. I’m fine.”

  Scared out of my mind, but fine.

  I turn to Mackenzie. “Thank you for not listening to me.”

  Mackenzie signs, “I thought he was a skeevy client. Something about him just gave me the heebie jeebies. I messaged Lo as soon as I got outside.”

  “Well, I’m glad you trusted your instincts,” I tell her, “because mine clearly suck.”

  “Who is he?” Logan demands, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “I thought he was a new client, but he’s a private investigator,” I mutter. “He thinks I know something about Simon Wilson’s disappearance because I was the last person to see him alive.”

  Logan’s entire face contorts with rage. “Fuck me. Pack up what you need. You’re working from my office with me today.”

  “Logan—”

  “You think I’m letting you out of my sight with that guy out there?” He turns to Mackenzie. “Where do you need to be?”

  “Can you take me to Mum’s?”

  “I’ll drop you on the way.” Logan scowls again. “It never fucking ends.”

  He’s not wrong.

  It doesn’t. But a P.I. digging around is bad news for the Club.

  Really bad news.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Logan leaves his bike outside my office and takes my car. He doesn’t say a word the entire drive to Mary’s, just grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white, the skin stretched tight across the bones. The tension is so thick, it clogs my throat. I want to reach out and take his hand, or squeeze his leg, beg him to speak to me, but I hold my tongue.

  Kenzie shoots me a sympathetic look as she climbs out when we reach their mum’s house. She signs goodbye and also sneaks a ‘sorry’, which I give her a ‘not your fault’ in response. This isn’t her fault; it’s mine. I was half-arsed with the security measures and I know it. This is why Logan is giving me the silent treatment, because now that his fear has subsided, his anger is setting in.

  He pulls the car out from the kerb and I watch out the passenger side window as Kingsley whizzes by, my mind going at a much slower pace. I don’t know what to say to him, which is a first. I always know what to say to him, but this silence is killing me. I hate it. I hate the tension. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin.

  Finally, I turn to him and break the stalemate.

  “Are you pissed off at me?” I ask this even though I already know the answer. I need to say something, though, to cut through the stillness.

  He huffs as his eyes remain locked on the road. “I’m not sure what I am.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you clearly didn’t do what you were told. You didn’t take precautions.”

  I let out my own irritated breath. “Logan, I can’t live in bubble wrap forever. Life has to resume.”

  “Yeah, and look what happened when you didn’t follow the rules.”

  His tone grates on me. “I need to work. I need to be able to meet clients.”

  “He wasn’t a client, B.”

  No shit, Captain Obvious.

  My mobile phone is bearing the scars of that realisation. Even the toughest screen protector was not en
ough to cushion that underarm throw from Mr Arsehole Brosen.

  “Well, I know that now.”

  He pulls the steering wheel to the side abruptly and the car skids to the side of the road. Then he slams the breaks and yanks up the handbrake before rounding on me.

  “You were alone,” he grinds out.

  “I know.”

  “If Mackenzie hadn’t had the sense to message me—”

  “I know,” I repeat.

  “He could have done anything to you and no one could have stopped it.”

  I bang a hand on the dashboard. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I’m not completely and utterly aware of how dangerous that situation was? Logan, I’m a woman. I live aware of the dangers around me daily, but I’m also the daughter of a Saxons and now the old lady of one. I’m more than aware of what’s out there. I didn’t think, okay? I was just excited about a new client. I didn’t expect Captain P.I. to turn up.”

  Silence fills the car for a moment and I watch my man as he tries to pull himself together. His huge shoulders rise then fall as he struggles to regain control of his temper. It’s one of the few times in his life I’ve ever seen Logan really lose it. He tips his head back on the headrest, his hands in his hair as he shakes himself. Then he lets out the longest breath.

  “Lo?”

  He straightens then turns back to me and when he does, the look in his eyes rips me apart. He looks shredded. His hands come to my cheeks, his throat working as he cups my face, bringing my attention to him.

  “If something had happened to you.” His voice is shredded.

  My throat feels tight, and my chest aches as I try to draw air. “But it didn’t. You rode in like my white knight and saved the day.”

  This makes him snort, but it sounds tired. “I don’t think I’m a hero, love.”

  I rub my hands over his, which are still cupping my cheeks. “You’re my hero, Logan. Always.”

  He kisses me, a little desperate, and I get lost in it, glad that he’s not mad really, but that he was simply afraid for me.

  When he finally pulls back, I say, “Brosen, he’s trouble. He’s tenacious, a real bulldog with a bone. He’s not going to back down.”

  “No, I don’t think so either.”