Riot (Rebel Riders MC Book 2)

by Zahra Girard

  “I guess,” he says. I can see he’s wavering. I’ve set him up, now I’ve got to deliver the knockout blow to his bullshit notion that skipping school and being a punk is the way he wants to live his life.

  “Being a real man’s about more than just how much trouble you can get into. It’s about how you honor the people who really mean something in your life. If you really want to join the MC when you get older, you need to start acting like a real man. Honor your mom, respect her, go to fucking school and do your fucking homework. Make her proud. Got it?” I say, then I step up and take hold of the punching bag. “Now, show me again what you’ve got.”

  Tommy nods, raises his hands, and tries again. It’s better this time, but it’s still obvious he’s out of practice. But he’s smiling again, and he’s got a purposeful look in his eyes like he’s finally taking my words to heart. I hope it sticks with him. Cindy does everything for Tommy, and it’ll be good to see him get back on track and make her proud. The kid’s got potential, and if he really sets his sights on the Rebel Riders, we’d be proud to have him. But he’s got the potential to do most anything he sets his mind on.

  I go over some moves and practice with Tommy. I help him straighten out his jab and to put some real muscle into his hook. And before I finish up with him, I walk him over to Fredo and I make him schedule at time to come in again for a real lesson.

  It feels good knowing I’m helping people I care about get back on track.

  Then I turn to the woman who — though I know she’ll deny it to her last breath — has had her eyes on me the whole time: Red.

  She’s and I need to have a talk.

  She’s keeping secrets. And I can’t allow that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emma

  I spend the whole time Riot’s mentoring Tommy doing the world’s worst job at pretending to work. Anyone with eyes who looked in my direction would see that I’m flat-out staring at him, watching his muscular body as he works the punching bag, watching the sweat glistening on his chest, watching the smile that comes on his face as he and Tommy finally get to an agreement.

  It’s clear he cares about the kid like he would a younger brother. And even more, it’s clear that Riot, unlike the other bikers I’ve known, is someone who loves his family and his community just as much as he loves being a member of the MC.

  He’s a good man.

  Strong, dangerous, but there’s at least as much honesty and good in his heart as there is blood on his hands and violence in his fists.

  It makes me feel better about the fact that I am straight-up ogling him like some kind of horny construction worker. I’m salivating watching him sweat and the way he so powerfully manhandles the punching bag. His body is an athletic masterpiece, fine-tuned and sculpted by hard work, and highlighted by tattoos that run all over his body.

  More than a couple times he looks over in my direction, and I try and bury myself in my work and I’m sure that, out of the corner of my diverted gaze, I see him wink.

  He knows I’m checking him out.

  Hell, half of his working out is probably just to show off.

  Maybe he isn’t the kind of bad guy I’d thought he was. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him close.

  When he finishes his workout, he saunters in my direction, still shirtless, still sweaty, and with a smirk on his face like he knows that I am staring and in awe right now.

  “So, um, that was a good thing you did back there, talking to, um, Tommy,” I say, my voice audibly quivering with need. God damn, Emma, stutter much?

  “I’ve known Cindy and Tommy for years. She works her ass off for that kid. And she makes the best biscuits in the world. Least I can do is help keep Tommy on the right path.”

  He’s so sincere about it — that smirk of his disappears while he’s talking about the people close to him — that I can’t help but believe that he really would do anything for those he considers family.

  This is so far and away different than the MC members I’ve known. Riot might be a biker, and he’s always ready to throw down when the situation calls for it, but he doesn’t hesitate to give love and respect to the people close to him.

  Maybe I can trust him.

  “So, what was it we needed to talk about?” I say.

  “I need to ask you about what you saw Friday night.”

  “I already told the cops, and you said you’d already knew what was in the statement I gave them.”

  “Is that everything?”

  “Do you think I’m lying?”

  “Red, look, I think this is more complicated than you understand. We’ve been talking to one of the 45th Street Kings and…”

  I interrupt him. “Talking? Did you just sit down and have a beer with one of them or what?”

  “It’s a little more forceful than that.”

  My feelings of goodwill towards Riot are rapidly evaporating. One moment, he’s like some burly big brother towards Tommy and it’s honestly adorable and hot and he’s got these dimples that just melt me, and the next, he’s staring into me with penetrating brown eyes and making me feel like I’m in the middle of some kind of interrogation.

  That, and there’s the near outright admission they’re hardcore interrogating someone. Possibly even torturing them.

  “What? Wait, like Gitmo-forcible? Did you kidnap and interrogate someone?”

  He doesn’t move a muscle. “Look, we just have a lot of reason to believe, based on things that we’ve heard, that there’s more than just some small time gangbangers that were behind the shooting. Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything that maybe you didn’t want to tell the cops?”

  My mind flashes back to Fury’s warning. The Rebel Riders have killed before and now, by Riot’s own non-admission, they’ve kidnapped someone for information. Underneath Riot’s community-minded exterior, he’s a dangerous man. I can’t forget that.

  If I tell him more, if I open myself up to trusting him even more than I already do, when does it end? How much deeper will I get pulled into this?

  How far can I really trust him?

  I recoil a little.

  I shake my head. I have to look out for myself, first.

  “No, it’s just like I told the police. The only person I could clearly make out was one of those guys who was a part of the 45th Street Kings. That’s it.”

  He clears his throat and glances skyward before looking back at me.

  “I’d understand if you were holding something back because you didn’t want to get involved. No one would hold that against you. But a lot of people could get hurt, Emma. I need you to talk to me.”

  It’s weird hearing him call me by something other than ‘Red’. He must be trying to throw me off. But I’m already shaken because I know for a fact that, last night while I was sleeping, the ‘club business’ that Riot was on was to go kidnap someone and beat them for information.

  People are going to get hurt no matter what I say, and I have to look out for myself.

  “That’s all I saw.”

  I wish I was a better liar, because he sure as hell doesn’t look like he believes me.

  “Please, Red,” he repeats. “I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying to protect my family, my friends. I’m trying to keep people safe and make sure that people who don’t have to be hurt, don’t wind up hurt. Do you know anything else?”

  These are violent men, I warn myself. Killers. Criminals. They might smile nicer than the others, they might be easier on the eyes, but that doesn’t change who they are on the inside.

  I can’t fall back into this life.

  “That’s it, Riot. I promise.”

  He nods and then reaches out and takes my hand. His hands are large, and he’s got sunken brawler’s knuckles, but as powerful as his hands are, his grip is gentle, comforting.

  “I believe you, Red. I just had to make sure,” he says.” It’s really important to me that we do this right. I want you to be safe. I want you to be able t
o go back to your life and not have to worry about looking over your shoulder.”

  “Thank you, Riot.”

  He pauses, squeezes my hand again, and lets out a sigh. “To be perfectly honest with you, Creole had heard rumors that these gangbangers were working for someone, but that’s not really panning out. The guy we talked to admitted they killed our men at the port, but he wasn’t very helpful beyond that. And now that we’ve got your confirmation too, we’ve just got to figure out how to deal with the rest of these 45th Street Kings. Then you can go home.”

  I don’t hear any doubt or anger in his voice, and, even though he seemed a bit confrontational earlier, he sounds comforting and honest now. And hearing that word — home — thrills me.

  But the implication behind it, and how I’ll get there, makes my blood go cold. My safety is going to come with a heavy price.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “That’s club business, Red. You know that.”

  “This involves me, too. It’s my life we’re talking about, Riot. These people want to kill me.”

  “You’ll be safe, that’s all that matters. Now, come on, put that laptop away. There’s one last thing we have to do today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to meet the club.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riot

  Those emerald-green eyes make one long, slow blink and she chews on her lip. Just one simple, doubtful expression and she has me shifting in my chair to hide my stiffening cock.

  “Meet the club? Your MC? Now? Today?”

  “Yes. The MC. Today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want the club to meet you. It’s important to me.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re helping you out, they’re risking their lives. I think they should at least meet you, and you, them. It doesn’t feel right otherwise.”

  I know she has some hangups with MC’s, and that’s her right, but it seems so wrong to me to let people risk their lives for you without taking the opportunity to look them in the eye and thank them. Some of my brothers could die in this confrontation with the 45th Street Kings, and the least she can do is let them know she appreciates their sacrifice.

  “I’d really prefer not to. I’m sorry, Riot.”

  “Red, I really want to understand what it is that has you so hurt,” I say. I move closer to her and look into her fearful green eyes. I want to chase away that fear, I want to see a confident smile light her lips. Then I want to feel those lips against my own and watch them wrap around my cock. “Don’t think I’m trying to judge. I’m in no place to do that — shit, you’ve met my parents, you’ve heard from Cindy, everyone in this town knows the mistakes I’ve made. God knows I’m one of the bigger fuckups in Crescent Falls history. You could call me every name in the book and you’d be justified, and hell, my mom could probably give you a few extra suggestions. I’m asking you this because I want to help you, I want to see you safe, and I care about you, Red.”

  She chews her lip even more, and then her mouth opens like she’s about to say something. She’s wavering. And I feel some hope stir inside me. I want to know what she knows, I want her to feel that she can trust me, just like anyone else in my family — MC or otherwise.

  Without trust, you’re dead.

  And then, thinking better of it, she closes it again and shakes her head. “Maybe we can talk some other time, Riot,” she says. “But I will go with you to meet your club. On one condition: I’m driving myself there, and, as soon as I feel like it, I am driving myself out of there. Got it?”

  That’s a start. I’ll take it.

  I nod.

  “Got it. I’m going to get changed, then we’ll head to the clubhouse,” I say. “Wait here, you can follow me over.”

  I quickly shower and change into my cut, jeans, and t-shirt. Emma follows behind me in her van as I ride across town to the clubhouse, The Steel Horse. It’s a quick ride, and I don’t even see a Reaper’s Son along the way. Our rivals in the Reaper’s Sons have been surprisingly quiet since the whole event with Hammer, when Thrash, Creole, and I managed to steal a whole helluva lot of drug money out from under their noses and the only man who found out, the enforcer for the Reaper’s Sons, Hammer, wound up dead. He’s buried somewhere in the forest around Crescent Falls, though the Reaper’s Sons all believe he ran away with the money.

  We pull into the lot of The Steel Horse, and I get off my bike and head over to Emma’s van and extend my hand to her to help her as she gets out of the vehicle. She slips one delicate, soft hand in mine and murmurs ‘Thank you’ as I help her down.

  It’s just about noon, which means things should be pretty quiet inside the clubhouse. Banshee will probably be putting away the remnants of last night’s party and grumbling about the mess we make, some of the club girls will be lounging about, but, otherwise, the place should be pretty empty — there are only a few other bikes in the lot.

  This should be an easy introduction and, I hope, by the end of it Red realizes she has a good family at her back.

  I take her inside and things are about as I’d expected. Duke and Rooster are at the bar, each working on a beer and shouting obscenities the football game that’s playing on the big screen above the bar, while a couple of the club girls occupy the barstools next to them. Banshee’s wiping down the bar and putting away clean glasses, while shooting glares at Duke any time he shouts out a particularly filthy threat at the TV screen. Creole’s at a corner table, playing a game of cards with Wrench and a couple prospects. There’s the smoking remains of a cigar in the ashtray in front of him, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the poker game’s been going all night.

  And, in a booth by themselves, there’s Thrash and Alice. He’s working on a lunch of a burger and fries, and Alice has her phone in one hand and a pen in the other. From the looks of it, she’s neck-deep in running her business. Ever since those two found each other, they’ve been laser-focused on pushing each other to succeed; Alice’s business has taken off with Thrash’s support, and she’s worked her network San Francisco for clean investment opportunities for Thrash and the club.

  Those two have the kind of relationship I want. Supportive, trusting, pushing one another to be a better version of themselves.

  Red and I get a few glances from people around the bar, and Thrash raises an eyebrow when he sees Red, but for the most part, everyone’s wrapped up in starting their own day.

  I take her to the bar, first. She looks like she could use a drink.

  “Who’s this, Riot?” Banshee says. “You planning on making the club girls jealous?”

  “Banshee, this is my friend, Red,” I start to say, but Red extends her own hand to Banshee.

  “I’m Emma,” she says, inserting herself between Red and me. “And I’m just passing through.”

  “What’ll you have to drink, Red?” Banshee says.

  Red rolls her eyes and looks resigned to the fact that her name with the Rebel Riders will always be ‘Red’.

  “Suddenly I’m in the mood for something strong. How about a whiskey?”

  “Comin’ right up,” Banshee says.

  “A whiskey at noon?” Rooster calls out from his spot a few places down at the bar. “That woman knows how to drink. You sure she ain’t taken, Riot?”

  “She may not be taken, Rooster, but she sure as shit isn’t blind, so that about counts you out, doesn’t it?” Banshee snaps. Then she turns to me. “What’ll you have, Riot?”

  “Whiskey, too. Make it a double.”

  “Two whiskeys, one double, one regular,” she says.

  “Actually, make mine a double, also,” Red says. “I think I could use it.”

  “Two doubles,” Banshee says, pulling out three glasses and taking a nice bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf. She fills all three glasses, takes one for herself, and raises it to the both of us. “Welcome to the Rebel Riders, honey.”

  “I’m not a Rebel Rider
,” Red protests.

  “When you’re under this roof, when you’re with one of these boys, whether it’s for life or just for a night, you’re part of this family. That’s how it is. Now, quit your complaining’ and drink.”

  The three of us raise our glasses and tap them together.

  Then Red takes a seat at the bar, I take a place beside her, and she starts to truly relax. She gets some whiskey in her, and by her second glass she and I are both sitting next to Rooster and Duke and all four of us are screaming at the TV. Her walls are starting to come down, brick by brick, and she’s starting to feel just a little bit at home.

  Time to push her a little more. Get her to drop her guard even further.

  “Come on,” I say. “Grab your drink, let’s go join Thrash and Alice.”

  Red nods and the two of us make our way over to the booth that Thrash and Alice are occupying, both of them still neck-deep in their own business.

  “Long time no see, brother,” Thrash says as we approach the table. “You’ve gotta come visit me out on the farm sometime. We’ll have a regular hoedown.”

  “Tell you what, Thrash, as soon as I get a pair of overalls, I’ll be there,” I say.

  “What, you too good for a little country fun?”

  “Not a chance. And I’m sure you’d look real pretty in a straw hat. But I’m busy, in case you haven’t heard,” I say.

  He looks from me over to Red. “I can see that,” he says. Then he holds his hand out to Emma. “I’m Thrash. Riot probably warned you about me.”

  “And I’m Emma, but everyone insists on calling me ‘Red’, and you probably will, too, so just call me that and try to ignore when I roll my eyes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Red,” Thrash says. “And ‘Red’ isn’t that bad of a nickname. Could be worse. You could be called ‘Riot’.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’m aware,” she says. “And grateful.”

  “Hey, I’m right here,” I say.

  “And that’s why I brought it up. Have you told her the story about how you got your road name?” Thrash says, starting to grin.