by Zahra Girard
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I hate to see this fear in your beautiful green eyes. And I want to know what you look like when you feel happy and safe.”
His voice burns with so much passionate heat that my tongue freezes to the roof of my mouth. I stare at him, my heart deafening for how hard it’s pounding in my chest.
I know if he kissed me right now, I’d kiss him back.
I know if he pressed his muscular body against mine, I’d reach my hands around and pull him even closer.
I know if he told me he wanted to take me, I’d give myself to him.
As scared as Riot and the whole thought of the MC lifestyle makes me, there’s a part of me that gets excited just at being close to him.
There’s a part of me that craves more. Craves him.
Moments pass as we stand there, so close, each of us aching for the other to make a move, to give in to the passions that I know are racing through both of our hearts.
And then he smiles and shakes his head, turning his touch of my shoulder into a comforting pat.
“Come on,” he says. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying.
The moment fades and I come down to reality and realize I’m mostly thankful that nothing happened. There’s a reason I left the MC life I tell myself while I follow Riot into the house and admire how tight his butt looks in the jeans that he’s wearing.
He opens the door for me and I step into a home that is filled with welcoming warmth. The front door opens into a living room filled with family pictures, comfortable furniture — there’s a couch, in particular, that looks at least as comfortable as any bed — and just feels invitingly lived-in. It’s so nice and different from anything I’ve seen in so long it almost seems alien.
“Riot, is that you, hon?” A woman’s voice calls out from further in the house. It sounds like she’s in the kitchen that’s connected to the living room.
“Yeah, and I’ve got the woman I told you about with me.”
The woman comes out from the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and three wine glasses in the other.
It’s already starting to hit me where we are and another look around the room, at the pictures on the wall, with a much-younger Riot standing with the woman with the wine and a man in a military uniform, confirms it for me.
Still, it feels like a gut punch.
Would he really bring me here?
“Riot, where are we?”
“My parent’s house. Red, meet my mom: Sophia.”
Chapter Eleven
Riot
“Your mom? You took me to your parent’s house?”
She gapes at me. Her mouth does that sexy ‘o’ thing again.
I nod. I really don’t see what the big deal is, but she’s got a look on her face like I sprouted an extra arm.
“Red, I needed somewhere safe for you to stay and I didn’t have much notice. So, your options are either here, or you can stay with me at my place,” I say.
She turns to my mom, who is ignoring Red’s bewildered tantrum and instead pouring us all a glass of wine. “And you’re okay with this? And he’s told you all the trouble we’re mixed up in?”
My mom takes a careful sip of her wine. “Emma, he has. And you’re as safe here as anywhere. My husband spent twenty years in the Marine Corps and my son’s a Rebel Rider. They’re both good men and tough as hell. No one’s going to come after you here.”
“This is crazy. Like, fucking lunacy,” Red says. “I can’t stay with your parents.”
“Why not?” My mom says, totally at ease. “If I can stay married to Master Sergeant James White for thirty years and raise Riot — who, let me tell you, manages to actually make his father seem tame — then there’s nothing you can say or do to make yourself seem like anything other than a breath of fresh air. Do you know what it’s like to live with two hyper-competitive, hyper-masculine men?”
“Okay, maybe it isn’t crazy, but it’s dangerous,” Red says. I can tell she’s fishing frantically for a way out. And I can tell by the look on my mom’s face that she’s not going to let her back away. My mom always did have a way of wrangling people; she’s the only person outside of my father’s old CO’s who could keep him in line, and she does it all without barking orders. Just gentle reasoning, a few jokes, a smile, and a burning threat behind her words that, if you don’t wise up and do whatever the hell it is she’s — very reasonably — suggesting, you’re going to wish you were dead.
I settle down on the couch, help myself to some wine. It’s not my preferred drink, but it’s there, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste alcohol. I finish the glass, then I get up, head to the kitchen, grab myself a beer, and come back to watch the show. Red doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already lost.
“Did Riot ever tell you that his goal was to eventually join the Marines, just like his father?” My mom says.
My eyes flicker from Red to one of my favorite family pictures. It’s one that’s set on the mantle above the fireplace. It’s me, the day I patched in to the Rebel Riders, and my dad, wearing his full Marine Corps dress uniform, arm in arm and with full glasses of beer in our free hands.
Shit, just looking at that picture makes me sit up straighter. My brothers in the club picked me up and gave me order when I was on a destructive path and, though I still get plenty destructive from time to time, I do it with the purpose of protecting my family and my club.
My old man was so fucking proud that day. Proud I’d found a purpose other than being an aimless wannabe Marine who spent his time brawling and stealing. I still remember how he shook my hand and congratulated me on finding a brotherhood of my own. It was tough as hell to get them to come around to the MC at first. Just like me, they were disappointed I’d made some bad choices and ruined my chances at joining the Marines, but, they’ve come around to my lifestyle. At least, somewhat. There’s still a lot of hurt beneath the surface.
I turn my focus back to Red.
“No. But what does that have to do with me staying here?” She says.
“Do you want to know why he couldn’t join?”
“Not really, but you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”
“His criminal record — when he was a juvenile, mind you — was long enough that even the Marines took one look at it and said ‘no way’. The Marines! The organization that has no other entrance criteria other than you be willing to shoot where they tell you to shoot, and you be proud to call yourself a ‘jarhead’.”
“What did he do?” Red says, looking over at me as she does so.
I can see she’s already easing in. She’s taken a seat on a reclining chair and poured herself a glass of wine.
“What didn’t he do?” My mom says. “It broke our hearts at first. But we’ve come to work through it.”
“I stole a couple cars. And when I got older there was an assault and battery or two… But those were for work,” I say.
“Work?” She says.
“When I was patching in to the MC, I took on some side jobs bouncing and doing security for a few bars. Sometimes things would get a little rowdy.”
Red already looks more settled, and my mom has a knowing smile on her face. Red will definitely be staying.
“This is so damn bizarre,” she says. “But, since it seems like I really don’t have a choice, why don’t you show me around?”
I grab the bottle of wine and refill Red’s glass before I motion her to follow me. “Come on.”
She follows along close enough that we’re almost touching while I lead her through my childhood home. It isn’t much — the military doesn’t pay much — but it’s a comfortable place. It’s a home, filled with love.
I show her the kitchen, the basement that my dad’s converted into a rec room and a shrine to his time in the Marines, the garage that used to be Thrash’s crash pad long ago, and I show her upstairs, to what used to be my room, but what my parents long ago converted into a guest roo
m with its own attached bathroom. Even though it’s a guest room, there’s still a ton of family pictures on the wall and even more stored away in the closet. Old albums with the kind of really old pictures that you keep tucked away to keep them from getting damaged.
“Listen, Red, I know this isn’t the perfect setup, but you can be comfortable here. No one’s going to judge you, you can come and go however you want, and you can trust my parents. You’ll be safe here. Just don’t go broadcasting where you’re at, okay?”
She nods and puts her hand on my shoulder and the sensation’s like someone’s strapped a car battery to me. She smiles. “I’m not going to pretend that this isn’t weird as hell, but I appreciate it. Thank you, Riot.”
I’ll be damned if my chest doesn’t swell up, right along with my cock. This chick does something to me that I can’t quite define, other than it feels really fucking good and I want more of it in my life. “No problem. You’re gonna get through this.”
“I hope so,” she says. “You know, it’s hard to believe someone in an MC came from a normal home like this. It’s just so… different.”
“They were not fucking thrilled at first when I joined the MC, but they came around. I wanted people around me to help give me a purpose, I wanted that brotherhood, and, since I’d fucked up enough that not even the Marines would take me, I didn’t have many options and I sure as shit wasn’t going to get a regular job.”
“Don’t expect me to believe that your MC is just one big old happy family and that you spend your time helping little old ladies with cancer,” she says, rolling those green eyes and letting a little smirk play with her lips that makes me suck in a bit of air and forces me to look away for a second to get my cock under control.
If she knew the reaction she got out of me, she’d run for sure.
Of course, the second I look back, I swear I catch her eyes darting back from looking down at my cock.
I grin at her.
“Course not, Red. We sure as hell aren’t saints. Every club has to make a living.”
“So, is it prostitutes, drugs, guns, or what?”
“Drugs, and a bit of guns. And a strip club a bit out of town. But, mainly, we’ve got a large grow operation outside of town. The Great State of California legalizing pot has turned out to be pretty good for the MC.”
Her green eyes narrow and her expression hardens a bit. “And are you sure your club president’s telling you everything? That you’re getting the full story at church?”
My back stiffens. I don’t know what it is with her and her attitude. One second, it feels like I’m making headway and getting her to open up, the next, she’s lashing out and pushing me away.
By the way she’s talking, I know there’s got to be something at the heart of it. She says ‘church’ like she knows what she’s talking about.
“This isn’t your first time around, huh?”
“I just know a few things, that’s all.”
“Bullshit. And how do you know these things, Red?”
“I just do. So, do you trust your president? Are you getting the full story?”
“I trust him. I may not pay attention to all the figures and bullshit during church, but I trust him.”
“So you’re a good little soldier?”
There’s a mocking tone in her voice that sets me off and I get in close to her. Close enough to smell the scent of her hair, close enough to hear the sharp little gasp she makes as I press myself against her. Close enough that she knows I’m fucking serious.
“I know my place in the club. I’m muscle. I’m a soldier. I know what I’m good at, and I know that I stuck my fucking neck out to bring you here. What’s your problem?”
“My problem? This whole life is my problem. I’ve been fighting so hard to have just a regular life, away from any MC’s, from gangs, from club girls and old ladies, from being afraid every fucking day, from all the fucking violence. And now I’m getting pulled back. How does that sound for a problem?”
It sounds like a whole fucking mess of problems. She has a look on her face that tells me that, if I’m going to argue with her about this or try and untangle this fucking mess, I better be prepared to lose the rest of my day. And I can’t do that. There’s work to do. My phone’s just gone off. It’s a text from Duke: Get your fucking guns and get the fuck up here. We have a lead.
“All I’m saying is a little gratitude would be nice. I’m trying here, Red. Really fucking trying. You can hate me and you can hate my brothers, that’s your right, but we’re doing the best for you that we can.”
She sets one hip out to the side and looks up at me, biting her lower lip and flashing challenge in her green eyes. “Gratitude? How should I show you gratitude?”
There’s a bed right behind you. Just lie back, undo those jeans, and relax while I take a taste.
I shake my head.
“How about with a simple fucking ‘thank you’ and a little bit less attitude?”
“I can give you the ‘thank you’.”
“It’s a start.”
She puts her hand on my chest and the challenge in her eyes is replaced by gratitude. And she’s still biting on her lip in a way that makes my dick pulse with need. Red is going to give me a heart attack if she keeps touching me like that.
She clears her throat, smiles, and makes a show of the damn thing.
“Thank you, Riot.”
It’s a start. I’ll take it. I’ve got to get out of here and get back up to meet Duke and Creole.
“That’s all I need to hear,” I say, my eyes taking in the delicate features of her face and how fucking stunning she looks. “I have to leave for a while. There’s some club business that I gotta take care of. Settle in, you need anything, my folks can help you out with that, alright?”
She nods and keeps her retorts to herself.
“Okay. I can do that. Is the business you’re going to take care of related to what I’m mixed up in?”
I nod. “We’re going to see what we can do to make things City a little bit safer for you.”
She can hear in my voice what I mean and she reaches out and touches me on the arm. “Stay safe yourself, Riot.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I mean it.”
I hold still for a second, letting her touch linger against my skin before I turn and head downstairs. As I get to the bottom of the staircase, the front door opens and my dad comes in, carrying a bag with the local hardware store’s logo on it. Even at his age, he still keeps in Marine Corps shape. Every morning, rain or shine, he goes out running and rounds it out with push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and a dozen other workouts. He might be getting up there in years, and he might grumble under his breath about arthritis when he thinks no one can hear him, but he’s still tough as nails.
I stand up straight when I see him come in and his eyes fall on me.
Behind me, in the kitchen, I can hear my mom puttering around, probably making dinner, and definitely listening in.
“Your mother called me, told me we have a guest. That true?” My dad says.
“Yeah. She’s just going to be here for a short while.”
“There anything we need to know?”
“She’s in a bit of trouble with some guys out of town,” I say and, when my dad’s eyes narrow, I correct myself. I know better than try to pull anything over on him. “Actually, it’s a more than a bit of trouble. Big trouble, really. There’s some people out there that want to kill her. But it’s way out of town. Up by the bay area. She’s laying low while we straighten things out.”
“Nothin’ else? No other problems, or hangups, or personal issues?” He says. I know he’s not judging, he just wants to know all the particulars of what he’s getting into. That always was his way: get all the information on a mission when you take it on.
I shake my head. “No, dad. She ain’t got none of that that I know of. She just wants to live a quiet life and all that, but she witnessed something she shouldn’t, and now
she’s got a target on her back.”
He nods and takes it without any argument. “She speak up?”
“Yeah.”
“Good for her standing up for what’s right.”
“She’s tougher than she gives herself credit for,” I say.
“Good for you taking her in, going above and beyond the call of duty,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Nice work, son.”
Damn it feels good to hear my dad say that.
“Thanks, dad,” I say. “And you’re fine with her crashing here for a few days?”
He chuckles. “If your mother says we’re fine, we’re fine. Where you headed off to, son?”
I don’t hesitate telling my dad the truth of my club business. He saw plenty of deployment and combat in the Marines, and he doesn’t flinch from the hard truth. “Duke, Creole, and I are going to go pay a visit to some of the guys after her. See what we can do to get them to back off. They’re probably not going to listen, and it’s probably going to get rough.”
“You’re doing a lot for this woman. There something I need to know about you two?” He says. Behind me, I can hear the kitchen goes quiet as my mom gives up any pretense of pretending to do anything other than listening in on our conversation.
“Nothing. She’s just a good woman who wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You and mom raised me better than to allow someone like her to get hurt for something she didn’t do. I gotta stand up and do the right thing.”
Grinning, my dad holds out his hand and I shake it. “Semper Fi, son.”
I shake it back. “Semper Fi,” I say.
Despite my mistakes, despite my fuckups, despite what the world throws at me, I try to live by those words in my own way. My family, my brothers, they mean everything to me. And while she’s under my family’s roof, Red is a part of that.
I head out the front door and strap on my helmet, and check the gun I keep down the back of my pants. A full clip, and two more in my cargo compartment on my bike.
It’s time for me to go make the world a little safer for the people I care about.
