Page 34 of Snared Rider
Chapter Ten
The next fewdays pass without any hint of trouble. Avoiding Logan is easier than anticipated and I fill my time with things that allow me to stay clear of the clubhouse.
I stop by to see Dorothy Lawler, Dean’s grandmother; I have lunch with Kenzie and Sofia; and I spend time with Dean. On Thursday night Dad takes me to Satchi’s, an Italian restaurant in town, and we spend the evening discussing what to do about Grandad. Dad isn’t keen on doing anything too drastic but realises at some point it’s likely he will need outside help to look after Grandad’s medical needs. At the moment, the Club is juggling things between the brothers and old ladies, with Clara Thomas (Slade’s wife) helping out with his medical needs. She’s a trauma nurse at Kingsley General, so can’t be a full-time carer for him—and that is what Grandad will need in the future. We’re not at that point yet, but I suspect we’re not far off either.
In the interim, he needs support. I don’t like the thought of Grandad alone. What if he needs his oxygen and can’t get to it?
Dad assures me he’ll think about what to do, so I drop it.
During this time, I also evade Alistair, who has been texting and calling non-stop. With only two days left before I return to London I’m not sure what my plans are, but I’ve come to the conclusion our relationship is irreparably damaged.
We’re both living in denial. He doesn’t love me, and honestly, I don’t love him either—at least, not how I should. I care for him, but he doesn’t make my heart skip or my stomach flip-flop when I see him or talk to him. Staying with him is unfair to both of us, but the thought of leaving him is terrifying.
The decision means I will not only lose my boyfriend but also my home because he owns our flat. Well, his parents own it. But staying with someone you don’t love because you fear being homeless is not a good reason to stay, right?
The only thing I have to look forward to in this bleakness is my ride with Dean, which is scheduled for today. So, when the doorbell goes, I rush to the door with a bounce in my step and pull it open with more enthusiasm than is needed. Dean is standing on the doorstep, as expected. He’s wearing his kutte, a long-sleeved hooded sweatshirt and heavy boots beneath his jeans. He grins when he sees me, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“You excited about this morning?”
I move aside to let him into the hallway and close the door behind him.
“Like you would not believe,” I admit. And I am. I miss being on the back of a bike. Our ride the other day was far too short.
His grin deepens. “Yeah, I can’t wait to get out there this morning either. It looks a bit grey, but the forecast said it would stay dry, so we should be in for a good run.”
I mirror his expression. “Let me go grab my riding stuff.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I head into the spare room and grab my leathers. I slip into the jacket, which Dad bought me when I turned eighteen, and I pull on a pair of heavy boots. Finally, I exchange my jeans for padded fitted trousers.
When I return downstairs, Dean is waiting for me at the breakfast bar. His eyes move over me as he whistles appreciatively.
“Shit woman, if Jack knew you were going out looking that good, he’d have barred the door.”
I smack his arm as I pass behind him, muttering, “Behave!” at him, even though I’m secretly pleased by the compliment. What girl doesn’t want to hear she looks good?
I grab my helmet from the peg in the utility room, just off the kitchen, and when I return Dean gives me a shit-eating grin. “Let’s ride, princess.”
It takes ten minutes to reach the edge of town and lose Kingsley’s urban sprawl. Dean pushes the throttle as we hit the wider, open A-roads and I’m in heaven. I hold on to him as the road twists and turns through the countryside and enjoy the ride. While I’m out here there are no thoughts of Alistair, no thoughts of Logan, no thoughts of work, nothing. There’s just me, Dean and the bike. I understand why these boys love this lifestyle. The open road makes all your problems disappear, for a time. More often than not, it’s long enough to get your head on straight.
I’m not sure how long we’re riding for when I feel Dean’s body tense beneath my hands at his waist. I glance over his shoulder, but there’s nothing ahead of us but hills and the black ticker tape road, winding through the pass. I turn a little to glance over my shoulder and see a car right on our back wheel. It’s the black four-by-four I saw at Grandad’s and outside the garage.
I don’t have a chance to compute what that means because the car’s bumper nearly kisses the back tyre of the bike.
I squeak; I can’t help it. I want to scream but my voice lodges in my throat.
What the fuck?
Is he purposely trying to hit us?
The car touches the back wheel and the bike swerves at the force. My body rocks viciously to one side, my leg instinctively flashing out to keep my balance. This time I do shriek as the back end of the bike tries to spin out.
I’m going to die.
This is the overarching thought battering my brain as I grip Dean’s waist with all my strength. His abdominal muscles bunch tight beneath my hands and I can feel how much work it’s taking for him to keep us on the road. It’s a testament to his skill as a rider that he manages to do this and keep the bike upright while getting out of the way.
Dean swings into the opposite lane, and we’re lucky there’s no traffic that side of the road otherwise we’d be splattered all over the tarmac. Then, he hits the throttle full-force and I have to hold on tightly as the bike accelerates.
I can’t hear anything other than my frenetic, ragged breaths, which drown out everything beneath my helmet visor. I twist to look over my shoulder, my fingers digging into Dean’s waist hard enough to leave bruises and see the vehicle is closing in on us.