Christmas Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #5.5 Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Ames

  www.jessicaamesauthor.com

  Christmas Rider is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Editing by Charisse Sayers

  Proofreading by Gem’s Precise Proofreads

  Cover design by Desire Premade Covers by Jessica Ames

  Cover image copyright © 2019

  Please note this book contains material aimed at an adult audience, including sex, violence and bad language.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for use only, then you should return it to the seller and please purchase your own copy.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under Copyright Act 1911 and the Copyright Act 1988, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

  This book is covered under the United Kingdom’s Copyright Laws. For more information visit: www.gov.uk/copyright/overview.

  To my wonderful editing team. Charisse and Gemma, you make my words so much better.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

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  About the Author

  Christmas Rider

  A Lost Saxons Novel #5.5

  Jessica Ames

  Chapter One

  Liv

  Nine days until Christmas…

  “Do you think it’ll snow?” I hook the curtain aside with a finger and peer out into the dark night.

  The street outside is silent, but that’s no surprise. We live on a quiet road. I suspect we’re the troublemakers, in fact. Dean is always rumbling up and down the cul-de-sac on his bike, and there’s an endless stream of rough and ready bikers turning up at all times of the day and night. Our neighbours must hate us.

  “I don’t know, darlin’. I hope not. You’re ready to have the baby any day now and I really don’t want to navigate to the hospital through snowdrifts.”

  It’s less than a fortnight to Christmas, and while the weather has turned chillier, I’m not sure it’s cold enough to snow. I wish it would. I love the stuff, and a white Christmas is always magical, but Dean is probably right. The UK isn’t really set up for adverse weather conditions, and snow makes everyone drive like the apocalypse is chasing them.

  I glance over my shoulder at Dean, who is sprawled on the sofa, in a pair of sweats and a tee, his bare feet leaning on the edge of the coffee table. We were watching a movie, but I had to get up and move around. The joys of carrying a behemoth baby in my belly is that he or she seems to sit on my spine in a way that makes everything south of my hips ache.

  I’m so over being pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to meet my baby, but I’m done with the whole process of growing the kid. It feels like I’ve been carrying this baby around for a year, never mind nine months. My feet are swollen to the size of an elephant’s and my body aches in ways I can’t even begin to describe, and I feel like a whale. I don’t have one of those cute, neat baby bumps. I’m all belly, and there’s yards of it.

  “Well, you want to be a hands-on dad. What’s more hands-on than delivering your own progeny?”

  His eyes narrow. “Liv, I’m not delivering our kid in the fucking living room.”

  “Good, because I want an epidural, which I’m certain you can’t give me.”

  I run a hand over the swell of my stomach as the baby gives me a swift boot in the ribs.

  Ow, baby, go easy. I’ve got organs in there I need to keep us both breathing.

  “Is she moving?” Dean asks, coming off the sofa and meeting me at the window. His hand cups my stomach and his face goes a little distant.

  “Moving? He’s playing football in there.” Dean is convinced the baby is a girl. I like to tease him by contradicting him, although, secretly, I think I’m having a boy. I don’t know why, but it’s just a feeling I have. I’m probably wrong, but who knows. The little bugger was hiding during the twenty-week scan, so we’re in the dark. I was disappointed at the time, but now I’m glad we don’t know. I feel more excited about the birth, well, as excited as I can be about pushing a watermelon sized object out of my hoohar.

  When the baby kicks me again, a look of pure bliss crosses his expression and his hands move on my stomach to get a better position. He dips his head slightly and says, “Come on, kid, cut your mum some slack.”

  I get a little giddy at him talking to our baby. He does this often and it’s adorable. He’s going to be a great father, which I know is something he worries about, given his own father has been locked up since Dean was seven.

  “I don’t think he cares about slack, Dean. He’s out of space in there.”

  And he or she must be. My due date was three days ago. With all the stuff going down with Piper, Wade’s little sister, I haven’t had much time to worry about the baby’s late arrival. In truth, I was more concerned if she was okay. She was snatched out of her loft in Manchester and held captive for days before Jem and the boys managed to find her. She seems good—as good as someone can be after being abducted.

  “I’m not keen on leaving you tomorrow,” he admits. “What if you go into labour?”

  I’m overdue, so there’s every chance that could happen, but this kiddo seems determined to stay snug as a bug inside me. I don’t think he or she is going anywhere yet, and this visit is important to Dean.

  I glance at the Christmas tree, standing in the corner of the room, the lights twinkling off the tinsel. “It’s Christmas, Dean. You have to go.”

  He does. His father needs to see him.

  “But darlin’—”

  I place my finger on his lips. “He’s your dad, and you do this trip before Christmas every year. That’s not changing because you’re with me.”

  His brow draws together. “How do you know that?”

  “Your gran told me.” Selling Dorothy out is probably not a nice thing to do, but I can’t lie to Dean either. We don’t have secrets between us, unless it’s Club business, but I’m okay with that.

  Dean lets out an irritated huff. “She had no right to put that on you, Liv.”

  I wrap my arms around him and try to hug him—an achievement with two feet of belly between us. Even so, I manage to snuggle my face into his chest and when his hands go around me, I let go of some of my tension.

  “She didn’t put anything on me. She just asked if you were planning on going.” I fist my fingers into his tee and glance up at him. God, he’s so handsome. The copper flecks in his beard catch the light and I run my fingers over the hair. “Dean, I’m pregnant, but I’m not made of glass. You don’t need to protect me from everything.”

  “No,” his voice rumbles through my cheek, “but everything that’s happened lately makes me want to bundle you up and get the fuck out of town.”

  I know what he means. Between ex-husbands and what Tap and Dylan did, things have been on edge. Then Piper got abducted and everything went to hell in a handbasket. We were locked down at the clubhouse
while the boys were off searching for her, but I still felt anxious. I was worried about her, about the boys who went after her, about Dean having to step up and protect his family. I was just worried full stop. It was a relief when Piper came home, although it didn’t alleviate any of the fear. Dylan is still out there and things feel just as unsettled as before.

  “We can’t leave town. Everyone we love is here.”

  “Right now, the only priority I have is you. You’re pregnant. You don’t need any stress.”

  “Well good thing I’m not stressed, isn’t it?” I poke him in the side and he twitches away, grabbing my wrist and bringing my fingers to his mouth to kiss.

  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to go.”

  “You’re going. Even if I have to go with you.”

  His snort tells me that’s not happening. I stare at him a moment, my mind working overtime, and I don’t like the ugly feeling that creeps through me.

  “Dean, am I ever going to meet your father?”

  Is he embarrassed by me? Ashamed? We’ve been together nearly a year now and I’ve yet to meet his dad.

  He surprises me by stepping out of my hold, his hands rubbing the back of his neck. Ice claws up my spine, as I cradle my stomach, unsure what is going through his head. He’s never been standoffish with me before. This new side of him is a little scary.

  “No,” he says softly after a moment.

  I bite on my bottom lip, pulling it between my teeth as pain lances through my chest.

  “Are you… am I not good enough for you?” I surprise myself by asking the question and with such defiance in my tone. I’m a long way from the woman who snuck out of Simon’s house and fled to Kingsley. I would never have dared to question Simon, but Dean… Dean makes me feel safe to question, to ask, to demand answers, which is why his current attitude is freaking me out.

  At least, until his head whips in my direction and he snaps out a “What?”

  “Well, I can only assume that’s the issue. You never talk to me about him and you never take me with you on visits.”

  “Yeah, for good fucking reason, Liv. Jail isn’t exactly a great place, and where my dad is isn’t nice. You’re pregnant.”

  “I’m well aware of that fact, Dean.”

  “I don’t want you in that fucking place. Everything in my life is contaminated by filth, but not you. Never you. Going there puts you in my filth, darlin’.”

  I stare at him, unsure what he’s talking about. “I don’t understand,” I admit.

  I watch as he drags his fingers through the long sides of his hair. It’s shaved underneath, but he’s growing it longer on top.

  “You’ve never asked about Dad. You’re not curious?”

  I am, more than curious, I’m downright intrigued about what Dean’s father did that landed him in jail with no chance of parole, but I’m not going to probe into Dean’s life. He goes once a month to see his father, and when I asked about going with him, he shut me down. I don’t know why, but I didn’t push it either. We all have shitty pasts to deal with. Dean’s no different.

  “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  He sinks onto the edge of the sofa, his thighs parting to make way for his clasped hands. I want to go to him, but I figure this is a time I need to give him space.

  “Dad’s doing two consecutive life sentences for killing two police officers.”

  I try to keep my face blank at his words. I figured he was inside for something bad, given he’s been locked up since Dean was seven, but I didn’t realise it was this bad. Bile climbs up my throat.

  “He beat them to death with a hammer, and because of his Club affiliation, the Judge threw the book at him. He’s never getting out.”

  That information hits me in the gut. I knew there was violence in the Club, but I never realised how much.

  “Okay…” I wince. That’s sounds terrible. “Dean, it doesn’t change anything for me, but he’s still your father. You obviously care about him a great deal, so I want to meet him.”

  “He killed those fuckers for a reason, Liv.” He grinds his teeth. “My mum died when I was a couple of months old. She was…” He steels himself before he says, “raped and dumped in a ditch outside of town. Dad tried to find out what happened to her, but he could never get to the bottom of it.”

  Cold fills me as the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place, and I’m not sure I like where they’re falling. Two dead policemen killed with an unbridled rage, and a raped wife… it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.

  I can’t bear it any longer. I go to him, standing in front of him. I’d love to kneel but there’s no way in hell I can get down on the floor with my ginormous baby bump in the way. He doesn’t touch me, but I run my fingers through his hair, needing to feel him, needing to touch him.

  “Dean, you don’t have to tell me.”

  “Yeah, darlin’, I do. I should have told you before now, but it’s not easy to talk about.”

  I can understand that.

  Finally, he reaches out and loops an arm around my waist, his face pressing lightly against my stomach.

  “Dad couldn’t get to the bottom of shit because of who did it. Pigs protect their own and they shut down all investigations. Slade helped Dad get the information he needed, but it took him years.” His fingers trace lightly over my hip.

  “It was the police officers?”

  “Yeah, beautiful. It’s hard to be mad at your dad for leaving you when he gave up everything to right a wrong.”

  It makes warped sense in my mind, but I can’t help but feel his dad would have been better placed raising his son. I keep this to myself.

  “I love you,” I tell him. “And I still want to meet your father.”

  “Babe—”

  “No, Dean. He’s important to you, which makes him important to me.”

  He mulls this over and says, “When the baby’s born, I’ll take you with me on a visit.”

  I lean over and kiss the top of his head. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he repeats.

  Chapter Two

  Beth

  Nine days until Christmas…

  I stare at the pregnancy test, my mind racing. Three minutes. Three minutes I have to wait to see if I’m pregnant.

  Shit.

  Don’t get me wrong, I want babies with Logan, but now isn’t exactly the best time. My business is just getting started, Dylan is still roaming free and planning fuck knows what, there’s a P.I. out there who is determined to get answers about Simon Wilson’s disappearance, and my grandfather is not doing well after his pneumonia. Added to all this is the small issue of Slade killing Tap and Jem planning a coup to oust Slade that involves my husband. So, yeah… I’m not thrilled about the prospect of bringing a kid into this mess, but I might not have a choice. If I’m pregnant, then we’re having a baby. Lo and I are in a position to have a child and to do right by a kid—even if neither of us is exactly ready.

  We weren’t trying to get pregnant, not at all, but with the wedding and then Piper going missing, my schedule was all over the place. I guess I must have messed up somewhere and took my pill wrong or forgot to take a dose. That’s the only thing I can think, but considering how much me and Logan shag, I guess it was inevitable we’d have a mishap somewhere.

  Fuck, shit, bollocks!

  My stomach roils and I’m not sure if it’s nerves or the nausea that has been dogging my steps all week. I haven’t vomited, but I’ve been close a couple of times. I chalked it up to anxiety at first. Everything was going to hell. Piper was snatched, her friend Cami was brought to the clubhouse looking like she went several rounds in the ring with a block of cement and Jem, Adam, Wade and Weed were out there doing everything they could to bring her home safely.

  Yeah, my nerves were shot.

  Once everything calmed down, and Piper came home, the nausea didn’t abate. I figured I should probably do a test and check. The last thing I want to d
o is spend the entire Christmas holiday drinking if I’m knocked-up.

  I close my eyes and grip the edge of the basin. I swear this is the longest three minutes of my life. They need to make these tests work faster. My heart is pounding.

  A baby…

  Hell’s bells.

  Am I ready? Is Logan ready? I don’t know. We’ve barely had time to think since the wedding. Piper was taken the day we got hitched, her friend, Cami, turning up the morning after to tell us she’d been snatched. Everything after that was a whirlwind of activity. The whole Club was locked down while the boys went to recover her.

  Was it too much to expect a little less drama now that everything has calmed back down?

  “Babe?”

  Fuck. Logan’s voice drifting through the door has me scrambling for the test. Why? I don’t know. If I’m pregnant, he’s going to find out. Even so, I yell out, “I’ll be out in a second.”

  “You okay?”

  I can understand why he’d ask this. I sound on the verge of hysterics. Why, I don’t know. Logan will be happy, I know he will. He’s wanted kids since we got back together. I want them too, but I did think we’d have a little more time together before we added to our little family.

  Get a grip, B. It’s a baby, not a bomb.

  A bang on the bathroom door has me jumping. “B? You okay in there?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “You don’t sound okay. Open the door.”

  I should open it, because he needs to do this with me. He’s as much a part of this as I am, and I don’t want to deny him the chance to be involved.

  Placing the test on the edge of the sink, I move to the door and pull it open.

  Lo is leaning against the frame, looking handsome, as always. His dark hair is rumpled, from his helmet, no doubt, and it curls a little at the nape of his neck. His dark brown eyes appraise me for a moment, seeking any sign of what has me rattled.