Page 168 of Snared Rider
An odd look crosses his face, a look I don’t know how to decipher. I don’t want to decipher it either. I want to get off this topic and move onto something else.
Dean is not ready to let it go, however. He lets out a low breath. “Beth, I just want to say how—”
I hold my hand up and cut him off immediately.
“Don’t you dare say how sorry you are, Dean. You didn’t do this. You didn’t do any of this. It was Simon Wilson who hurt me.” This is exactly what I was worried about—that he blames himself for what happened.
None of this was Dean’s fault.
“Wilson hurt you to get to me, because of what I did.”
“Because you stopped his wife from being hurt? What a terrible person you are.”
He scowls at my sarcasm. “You would never have been on his radar if it wasn’t for me.”
“True. But you still didn’t force him to do what he did.” I run my fingers through my hair, hoping he listens to me. “You’re not responsible for other people’s actions, Dean.” I grab his hand. “Do you hear me?”
He stares at my hand a beat, then sighs. “Yeah, darlin’, I hear you. I still feel guilty as fuck you got caught up in my mess, but I hear you.”
“Good. You shouldn’t blame yourself.” I watch him for a moment as he shifts and tries to get comfortable in the bed. I don’t miss the tightness around his eyes, nor the way his mouth pulls into a grimace. “Do you need some help?”
Dean shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
He’s not fine, not even close. Neither of us are. Wilson might have been dealt with, but there is still the looming issues of how the hell he got inside the clubhouse’s perimeter fence—not once, but twice.
“Are you?” The question slips out before I can stop it and his eyes snap up to mine.
“Darlin’, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. And don’t pretend—not with me.”
He sags back against his pillows. “I’m healing, B.”
“Yeah, you’re healing. I’m healing.” My voice is bitter when I add, “Everything is perfect.” I don’t know where this is coming from, or why I’ve chosen Dean to unload my emotional tirade onto, but now I’ve started I can’t rein it in. “Except it’s not fine, Dean, and it’s never going to be fine.”
Dean snags my wrist and squeezes.
“Darlin’, you’re going to be okay. We both will in time.”
I meet his gaze head on. “Will we? Wilson—”
“Is no longer a problem,” he interrupts. The vehemence in his words makes my stomach twist. I don’t care about Wilson, I don’t. If he met an unpleasant end… well, karma is a nasty bitch. He deserved whatever he got, but even so, the thought the Club probably (most definitely) killed someone makes me feel… weird.
“He may not be a problem, Dean, but let’s face it—Wilson wasn’t the only issue here.”
He stares at me, trying to get a read on me. After a moment he gives up. “What do you mean?”
“Someone got into the compound and shot up the clubhouse. Then, you’re snatched from inside the fence.” I shake my head. “I’m not stupid. I know what it means.”
The air in the room goes still and heavy.
“Yeah,” he raises a brow, “and what does it mean?”
“That we’re not safe. That the Club is not safe.”
The silence between us grows and I avert my gaze, unable to stand Dean’s attention locked on me.
“We’re safe, Princess,” he tells me, and I want to believe him—I really do, but this situation is not over. Because somehow Wilson got through that gate and got back out with Dean. He should not have been able to get a foot inside the perimeter fence, and we both know it.