Page 170 of Snared Rider

Quitting my job was terrifying but also liberating. I’m scared of what it means for my future, but I’m also excited about the next chapter. When I’m back on my feet, I plan on setting up my own business. I can do this from home, although Logan said we can look into renting office space if I want to.

And by we, he means he.

It might also be a good idea because his flat is a revolving door of nonstop visitors; I would never get a thing done at home.

“You moved in with Lo.”

It’s not a question, but a statement of fact, as if he already knows the answer. I wonder if Jem has been spilling my business when he visited Dean in the hospital.

Gossipy buggers.

Logan has a small two bed flat about five minutes from the clubhouse. It’s nice, but it needs a woman’s touch. There isn’t a single throw pillow in sight, something he assures me is not a problem. I beg to differ.

“Pretty much,” I admit. “He took me back to his flat after I was discharged from the hospital and hasn’t let me leave since. To be honest, I think I’ve been kidnapped and just not realised.”

He laughs and then winces as his hand goes to his chest. “Fuck, B, stop making me laugh.”

“Sorry.”

Dean eyes me. “Logan’s a dick. I’m pissed off at him for what he did to you—”

“You don’t even know what happened,” I interrupt because he doesn’t. No one knows but Logan and me.

And no one will ever know.

“I don’t need to know the ins and outs. I know he hurt you; that’s enough.”

And for Dean it probably is. Overprotective bugger. I stare down at my hands for a moment, collecting my thoughts, before I raise my gaze to my oldest friend. He’s still wearing the scars of our interaction with Wilson, but those scars will heal in time. Just as my scars left by Logan are slowly repairing

“He did hurt me, but it’s in the past, Dean. I’ve moved on. You should too.”

“He hurts you again and I’ll feed him his dick.”

I pull a face at his crass words. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

He grins. “Yeah, darlin’. I love you too.”

A week later…

“I’m not sure you coming here was a good idea,” I mutter as Logan pulls the van up to the curb on the quiet upper-class street.

Logan snorts. “You think I was letting you do this alone?”

I glare at him. “You don’t let me do anything, Logan. I’m my own woman.”

If my irritation bothers him he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans on the steering wheel and peers through the windscreen.

“This is where you lived?”

Lived is not the word I would use. The apartment never felt like home.