Riot (Rebel Riders MC Book 2)

by Zahra Girard

  He chuckles, and the vibrations of his laughter send aftershocks through my body. “You still with me? You’re not going to pass out, are you?”

  I giggle. Fucking giggle. “I might.”

  “That’s not allowed,” he says.

  “But, what happens next?”

  He rises between my legs, and I feel the heat of him at my entrance. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

  “Well, let me think…” I say, then I wrap my legs behind his back and pull him into me.

  I want this just as much as he does.

  My eyelids flutter closed as he fills me.

  My fingers knot the bedsheets.

  My back arches and my head lolls backwards while my body moves in time with his thrusts.

  “That feels so good, Riot. I love the way you fuck me,” I moan. The man is working magic with his hips, thrusting just right, adjusting himself to go exactly where I want him to.

  “I want you face down. I need to see that ass of yours.”

  He growls it so forcefully that I’m blushing, and yet leaping to do exactly as he commands. Face down, with his hands on my hips, he takes me deeper than before. Our bodies lock together in hot ecstasy.

  His breathing quickens, his thrusts grow deeper and more urgent, his grip tightens.

  “Take me harder,” I moan. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

  I want to feel every bit of power in his muscular body, I want to feel him toss me and use me. And he gives me exactly what I crave. I feel his muscle, his sweat, his heat as he controls and moves my body exactly where he wants me.

  “I’m close, Red.”

  I look back at him and I smile.

  “Good. Give it to me, Riot. I want it.”

  He grabs me by the hair, pulling my head back, setting my back to take him as deep as he can possibly go. My lips quiver and a moan shakes my chest as I feel him tighten and climax inside me.

  I feel so close to him in that moment. Joined, luxuriating in feeling this powerful man let go and then, as his body returns, sweep me into his embrace and pull me down beside him on the bed.

  I rest my head on his chest, I feel the beating of his heart against my cheek and the great, satisfied breaths that fill his lungs. I revel in this closeness. I cling to him in my satisfied stupor, hoping, praying that this feeling lasts.

  But my prayers go unanswered.

  I left this MC world for a reason.

  As the ecstasy fades, my fear grows.

  I may have just made a grave mistake.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Riot

  She’s got more than just a great ass behind her. She’s got baggage, and as I hold her in my arms, our bodies still sweaty and humming from fucking each other’s brains out, I wonder just what it is that’s got her scared all the damn time. I can feel her tense in my arms. Something about this life — something about MC’s — haunts her.

  I hope to God that her past stays where it belongs and doesn’t become a liability. Things with the club are treacherous enough as it is — the last thing we need is another problem on top of the conflict with the 45th Street Kings.

  But all that’s in the background right now.

  All that matters is this sexy redhead resting in my arms.

  Downstairs in the clubhouse, the party is still in full swing. If anything, it’s gotten even rowdier. And as fucking fun as it would be to head down there and continue drinking with my brothers, right now, I’m focused on her. We’ve made some progress, we’ve gotten closer, and I want to keep going. I want to know more about her.

  “You want to get out of here?” She says, looking up at me.

  “Where to?”

  “Anywhere. I don’t care. How about your place?”

  “My place? Sure. It’s not far.”

  She smiles. “I’d like that.”

  I’m on cloud fucking nine as we both get dressed and head downstairs.

  Just as it sounds, the clubhouse is full and rowdy. Prospects are drinking like crazy, trying to keep up with my patched brothers. Creole’s got another card game going, Rooster and Duke are still parked in front of the big screen and it looks like they’ve been there the whole damn time.

  “Riot, Red, get over here a second,” Banshee says.

  “What’s wrong, Banshee?” I say as Red and I approach the bar.

  She pulls a coffee pot from its spot on the counter behind the bar and pours two steaming mugs of strong black coffee. “Drink. You two both had a metric fuckton of whiskey earlier, and I sure as hell am not having either of you two dying on the road tonight.”

  I take a sip. It tastes like motor oil and it’s about as thick. Just what we need to put a sober jolt into us. “Thanks, Banshee.”

  Red takes a sip of hers and looks way less enthused, but she still thanks Banshee.

  We’re nearly to the exit when Bull calls out to me from a booth in the corner.

  “Riot, get your ass over here.”

  I look over at Red reassuringly.

  “Wait here. Club stuff.”

  Then I head over to the booth, where Bull is sitting with both Wrench and Hawk. All three of them have grim looks on their faces.

  “What’s going on, Bull?”

  “There’s church tomorrow. Serious, biblical shit,” he says.

  “Something I need to know beforehand?”

  “That guest of ours that you guys picked up from Oakland last night has been doing some more talking. The shit Trey is spewing leads me to think that they’re not going to be content with the hit jobs they pulled at the port. Officer Fischer calling to tell me that someone raided some cargo containers at the port just a couple hours ago — some of our cargo — tells me that my suspicions are probably correct.”

  “Fucking hell. How the hell did they know where to hit?” I say.

  “The fuck if I know. Probably interrogated Scaravino before they cut his throat,” Hawk says. “We’re calling church tomorrow night. No more waiting around. We need to end this shit, now.”

  “Word about church went out while you were otherwise occupied,” Wrench says.

  “The whole club is moving on this, and the whole club will be in on the response. So I want your full attention because this sure as shit isn’t math class, Riot,” Hawk says.

  “You sound like it’s already decided,” I say.

  “No one here wants to grab their ankles and take whatever some needle-dicked street gang from some shit part of Oakland wants to give ‘em,” Hawk says. “They’ve signed their death warrants trying to fight above their weight.”

  “Riot, most everyone in the club’s got the same reaction to this shit the 45th Street Kings are trying to pull. We need to teach them a hard lesson,” Bull says. “We have to defend our reputation, and we have to secure things with our port operation.”

  “Fair enough, guys,” I say. “You know you can count on me.”

  “Good. Now go see to your woman. She looks like she wants your company,” Bull says. “And by the way, Riot, good job with that one. She’s a fucking dime. Glad she’s on our side, instead of in the ground.”

  “You trust her, Riot? Bringing her here? How well do you know her?” Hawk says, looking over at Red.

  “Well enough, Hawk,” I reply.

  “Officer Fischer thinks she’s holding something back. That she might’ve been concealing something in her witness statement,” Hawk says.

  “Fischer’s a bitter asshole,” I say. Still, it makes me look over my shoulder at Red. I know she’s hiding something and this news with the port makes me even more suspicious.

  Can I really trust her? What is she hiding?

  “Riot’s got a point,” Bull says. “Fischer is a piece of shit. He’s useful, but I’d rather lick a leper’s taint than spend time with that motherfucker.”

  Maybe Red is hiding something. But I sure as hell am not going to let some limp-dicked pig like Fischer throw his weight around with the club and interfere with what I’ve got with Red. He’s g
ot no fucking right.

  I’ll find out her secrets my own way. Without any help from some asshat like Fischer.

  “Listen, brothers, I brought her here. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t think she was trustworthy. You know how much the club means to me.”

  Hawk nods. “Fine, fine. Go see to your woman, Riot. She looks like she’s edgy without you.”

  I nod. “She’s had some of Banshee’s coffee.”

  “God damn. You better go over there, then. She ain’t got much longer before it really kicks in.”

  I leave the three of them behind and cross the room back to Red, with doubts ringing in my mind. Can I really trust her? She looks anxious, which is either from having her own suspicions about the meeting Hawk, Bull, Wrench and I just had, or it could be from the serious amount of caffeine that’s in the coffee that Banshee brews. She only makes that stuff for two purposes: degreasing engines and sobering up someone so they can drive.

  I think about that on our walk out the door, and while we kiss in the parking lot.

  Then, she asks me straight out. “What was that about?”

  She’s shown herself willing to at least be a small part of this family. She deserves to know some of what’s going on.

  “I can’t tell you much. Some of that’s because it’s club business, and some because we don’t know much. People are wondering whether the people that killed our guys at the port are going to stop, or whether they’ll hit us again. And what we need to do about that.”

  “Riot, even I know someone who makes a move like that — executing two people — isn’t likely to stop.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So what’s the club going to do about it?”

  “We haven’t decided. There’ll be church. And then, however the vote falls is how we’ll move forward. But it doesn’t take a genius to see that we won’t take it lying down. We gotta figure out our next move.”

  “Where does it end?”

  “I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to that, Red. Come on, we can talk about this later,” I say.

  I lead her across town on my bike and she follows in her van. I live near the outskirts of town, in a property that butts up right against the woods. It’s a ranch style home, single story, painted white — though it could probably use a new coat — and with brick accents.

  Red and I each park in the driveway and I hop off my bike and walk over to open her door for her.

  “You own this?” she says, doing a slow circle in my driveway as she looks around. The house comes with a big front and back yard, and, best of all, hardly any neighbors. And what neighbors there are keep to themselves.

  “All mine. It ain’t much, but it’s free and clear all mine.”

  “It isn’t much? Riot, you’re talking to someone who used to live in her van. This is a castle.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But I like the garage,” I say, opening one of the sliding garage doors and gesturing inside. “And my neighbors aren’t too bad, either. They don’t seem to mind when I have a few of the guys over and we get to drinking and playing some music. Hell, old Dan McHenry — my neighbor two houses over — even comes over once in a while to join us.”

  “Can I see inside?” She says excitedly, looking away from the garage and over towards the front door.

  “Yeah, sure, let me give you the tour,” I say.

  Hell, I’m feeling just as excited as she sounds. It feels good to show her another part of my life. I open the front door, step in and flick the light switch, then hold the door for her.

  “Come on in,” I say.

  “Damn,” she says, taking two steps in and stopping to gawk.

  I’ll admit, my entryway is pretty fucking nice. Even though it’s a single-story ranch home, the front door leads right into a living room and kitchen and dining room combination with high cathedral-style ceilings.

  “This is what sold me on the house,” I say. “I didn’t originally want a single-story home. I wanted two stories and a basement, something with a lot of room to grow into.”

  “Grow? You mean kids? A family?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You’d bring kids into an MC?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? I mean, where do I begin? There’s a lot wrong with the MC life.”

  “There’s a lot wrong with the world in general,” I say. “But my brothers are all people I trust. They’re good men. Why wouldn’t I want to bring a family into that? There’s a lot of love there, so what’s wrong with bringing on even more, you know?”

  “I think there’ a lot you just don’t understand, Riot,” she says.

  “Don’t understand? Fine, why don’t you educate me? What’s holding you back?” I say, starting to feel irritated. “I’m not holding a damn thing back from you, Red. It’s time for you to start doing the same. In this life, if you don’t trust the people around you, you’re as good as dead.”

  There’s a second where she’s seductively gnawing on her lip that I think she’ll relent.

  Then, she sighs. “Why don’t you just show me the rest of your home? Please?”

  I want to rage at her. I want to force these walls of hers down.

  Why can’t she see that I’m trying to protect her?

  I walk her through the rest of my place — winding through the bedroom, the guest bedroom, the bathroom, and back to the kitchen. It’s not a big house. As soon as I finish the tour, I head straight for the fridge and get myself a beer and I grab one for her.

  “Thank you,” she says, taking the beer from my hands and doing a slow circle of the living room. “You might not think it’s much, but this is more than I ever thought I’d have. I was so excited when I signed the lease on my own place, even though I know it’s nothing to look at.”

  “What happened, Red?”

  “Plenty that I’d rather forget about,” she says. “You know, I noticed you don’t have a lot of pictures up here. Or much decorations of any kind, really. There’s just one picture of you and your family. Why?”

  “You’re right. The pictures I want are ones I wouldn’t be able to pry out of my father’s cold, dead hands. He’s got these two — one of my grandfather in uniform and one of my great grandfather in uniform — but they are both so worn and faded that he hardly lets them see the light of day. They’re the only pictures of them he’s got.”

  I pause and realize I need to take a minute and sit down.

  “What’s wrong?” she says, sitting beside me and putting her hand on my leg.

  There’s something about her that’s magnetic; her pain and her scars are as attractive as her beauty. And they draw my secrets out of me as much as they draw me to her.

  The way she says it, the way she touches me, it’s my weakness. I can’t hold a damn thing back from her.

  “I’m proud of who I am, Red; I am proud to wear the cut and I am I proud to call every single member of the MC my brother,” I say. “But sometimes it kills me that I am the first in a long line in my family not to serve. I broke a long tradition.”

  “Your family looks like they’ve come around to it. Your mom and dad both seem proud of you,” she says.

  “They accept it, but they sure as hell weren’t happy when I started prospecting. And my dad kicked my ass the first time I got thrown in jail. We still love each other. But there’s a part of them that’s hurt deep down because of how I’ve chosen my path in life.”

  “So they’re holding those things back?”

  I shrug. “They would never say that. They’re just not going to pass them on to me any time soon.”

  “I’m sorry, Riot.”

  Red moves closer on the couch, leaning into me, resting against me.

  “There are few things about my life that I regret. But the pain I caused my family is one of them. They mean the world to me, Red,” I slide my arm around her and she moves closer. The heat of her body is comforting, the softness of her skin and the smell of her hair is intoxicat
ing. I’ve never talked to anyone about this pain before. Never had anyone to talk to about it, either. But she draws it out of me with who she is, with her compassion and her willingness to listen. “They always stood by me, even when I was at my worst, but there were times my mom couldn’t hide the hurt in her eyes.”

  “Sometimes we end up hurting our family, whether we mean it or not. Sometimes it’s the other way around,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but filled with the kind of pain that makes me look down at her in concern. She has her eyes closed, and looks about ready to fall asleep.

  Again, I think about pressing her for what I know she’s holding back from me.

  But the soft sigh of sleep escapes her lips and I can tell she’s gone, tired after a day of drinking and fucking.

  What are you hiding, Red?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Emma

  I wake up in his bed. I’m fully clothed, with Riot beside me. He’s stripped naked, his inked, muscular body illuminated by the soft morning light coming through the slats of his curtains.

  My head is pounding the full beat of a whiskey hangover and my mouth feels as dry as the Sahara.

  I stand up and look around, confused.

  How did I get here?

  Last thing I remember, I was on the couch and Riot was talking about his family and trying to press me about my past.

  He must’ve carried me.

  Carried me and put me to bed.

  My eyes go to the nightstand. There’s a glass of water and some aspirin sitting there, waiting for me. I take the aspirin and down the water and stand there for a moment and take a deep breath.

  Yes, my head hurts; yes, my mouth is dry; but the rest of me is glowing and I feel as light as a cloud.

  We might not have had sex right before I passed out last night, but that doesn’t mean that my body doesn’t remember the way he made me feel like I was lit from the inside. The way he made me forget everything and lose myself in him, if only for a little while.

  It was better than I’ve ever had. Better than I’d ever imagined having. And the sort of sex that, when I’m alone and the mood takes me, I’ll remember. Time and again, I know that moment will surface in my memories and I will whisper his name while I’m alone in the dark.