Riot (Rebel Riders MC Book 2)

by Zahra Girard

  I look down at him. Study him.

  He’s an inked, muscular brute with a big heart of gold.

  Oh, Riot, if only I’d met you outside of this whole murder mess.

  It pains me to keep secrets from him, but the more I tell him, the more I’ll get drawn into this life. The more I’ll have to face my past and haul my past out into the light of day.

  What Riot and I have is just a fling. I’m determined not to go back to this life.

  My headache forces me to move. Even with the aspirin, I need coffee or I’m going to die an agonizing death, so I pad my way into the kitchen. I get a pot brewing and then start to scavenge for something to eat.

  Not surprisingly, Riot doesn’t have much around in the way of food. There’s a pizza in his fridge that looks about a week away from evolving into something higher up on the food chain, there’s a carton of eggs, and there’s some bread and jam.

  I check the expiration on the eggs, they look fine, so I start to boil some water.

  In a short while, I’m eating a passable breakfast of toast with jam and some hard boiled eggs and drinking some strong black coffee. It’s enough that I almost feel normal again.

  I start to dwell on Riot and just what I’m going to do. It’s clear that he’s devoted to his family, to his community, to his club. Part of me wants to tell him about my past, about my ex, about the pain that I went through and the suffering I had to endure just to get myself free. I know he’d understand, but I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it, to drag up all of those feelings and face them in front of someone else, no matter how much I might care about them. There are so many memories that I don’t ever want to see the light of day.

  It’s going to be a long time before I can open up that part of myself to him.

  My phone rings and I set my coffee cup down as I head through Riot’s living room, looking for my purse. I find it on the floor, nearly underneath his couch.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Harper, it’s Officer Brodeur.”

  “Uh, hi. Can I help you?”

  “I’m calling because a lot seems to have happened since we last talked. I wanted to check in.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “When isn’t something wrong? Since you gave your statement, we’ve had an all-out assault on a home belonging to the girlfriend of a member of the 45th Street Kings, resulting in several homicides and the abduction of a lieutenant in the 45th Street Kings by the name of Trey Watkins.”

  “I don’t know how this involves me, Officer Brodeur.”

  “I called your office after the assault and they told me you’re taking a leave of absence. I stopped by your apartment and you’re not home.”

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No, but I am checking up on you. And offering you police protection if you need it. The murder you witnessed the other night seems to be connected to something much larger and my gut tells me it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. And my gut is rarely wrong. Are you sure you’re okay, Ms. Harper?”

  I pause, feeling a sudden chill as I put yesterdays events together in my hungover memory. I was drinking with killers yesterday. Killers and kidnappers. That person they kidnapped could’ve been held right there at the clubhouse. And those hands that caressed my naked skin will have a lot more blood on them before this is through. It feels like I’m starting to slip again, like I’m falling back into the same world that I fought so hard to escape.

  What the fuck are you doing, Emma? Haven’t you learned anything?

  It’s enough to make my heart skip several beats.

  “Ms. Harper?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to sound fine. “Officer, have you ever heard of some guy named David Langston?”

  Now Officer Brodeur is quiet for a second.

  “Yes. What about him?”

  “Is he reliable? Is he a good guy?”

  “Yes. Look, he’s active in the MC community, it’s a little rough and dangerous, but he’s a good guy. What’s going on, Ms. Harper? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I just heard about him. It’s nothing. And I’m fine. Are you going to need me to give another statement or something? Or are we done here? Because I have an awful headache and plenty of work to do.”

  “Take care, Ms. Harper.”

  I hang up on Officer Brodeur halfway through his reply.

  My hands fish around in my purse and find the card that David Langston gave me the other day. One phone call, and I could have a way out and the help of someone who knows all about this MC lifestyle that I find myself sinking into. It is tempting and frightening at the same time. I could be going from one MC to another.

  When does it really end? When do I get out for good?

  “You made coffee? God damn, you are fucking great.”

  Riot’s voice coming from the kitchen behind me startles me, and I quickly put the business card away.

  I turn around, hide my disquiet behind a smile, and head towards him to kiss him on the cheek. He’s wearing nothing but his tattoos and a grin that’s both boyish and wicked.

  Looking at him makes my heart skip a beat in a different way, and heat suffuses my body and an aching for him starts between my legs. I can hardly walk, but, one look from Riot and I would gladly fall back into this man’s bed.

  He is my inked, whiskey-drinking protector and my perfect weakness.

  “Good morning,” I say as he pulls me into a hug and kisses me again on the lips.

  I shut my eyes and lean forward, losing myself in his kiss.

  “I haven’t slept like that in years, it was like I was fucking dead,” he says. “Who was that on the phone?”

  “Work. You know I’m not on vacation, there’s too much work to do and I haven’t been with them long enough to actually have earned any vacation time. They need some projects from me,” I say. “Hey, did you move me last night? Last thing I remember was resting against you, and then I woke up in bed.”

  He nods. “You fell asleep. And with the last few days you had, you need the fucking rest. So I carried you. Tucked you in.”

  I smile at him and give him a peck on the cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  “Red, you and I both have our own work to do today, but later on, we need to talk. About yesterday, and about what happens next.”

  I know what he’s hinting at. Either me staying around after this mess with the 45th Street Kings is through, or he’s going to press me about my past — something that’s none of his business, which can’t seem to get past. Riot wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s honest and he’s ferocious, and he doesn’t beat around the bush.

  My hangover headache throbs at me and I make a beeline for the coffee pot. Riot looks like he’s not done asking me questions, and I’m in no mood to answer them.

  I take a breather as I pour myself a cup of coffee and practically bury my face in it as I drink it down.

  There’s so much about Riot that I love — his love for his family, his genuine honesty, the care that he shows for his community — and the fact that he’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen doesn’t hurt either, but it hurts my heart thinking about the ruthless things he’ll do to protect his club.

  And the lives he’ll soon be taking.

  How do I reconcile one with the other? The killer with the man who makes me feel the safest I’ve felt in ages? How do I fall for him without allowing myself to fall into the same mistakes as the last time I hooked up with a biker?

  I don’t know how. And it scares me.

  “I have a lot of work to do today,” I say, finishing my coffee in a hurry and stepping around him to grab my purse off the floor. “I really should go.”

  He reaches out and grabs hold of me by the arm.

  “I know this hasn’t been easy, but we’re going to make it right and make it safe for you. You’re going to have a normal life again, Emma.”

  There’s compassion and conce
rn in his voice, and it eats me up inside having to keep him at arm’s length.

  “I’m fine,” I say. And again I force myself to sound fine. “But I really need to go.”

  I get up on tiptoes and give him a peck on the lips. It’s a quick kiss, almost chaste, because if I allowed myself anything more, I might break and end up staying.

  What I need is distance, so I can really think about my situation without any distractions.

  I leave without saying anything more and I drive to Riot’s parents’ house and take a seat on the bed in the guest room.

  What kind of a mess have I gotten myself into?

  And how the hell do I get myself out?

  Chapter Twenty

  Riot

  I let her leave, though I sure as hell don’t want her to. There’s a thousand questions that go through my mind as I watch her go, but I can tell she isn’t in the mood for talking.

  So I shake my head once she’s gone and remind myself I’ve got plenty to take care of, anyway.

  Hawk’s called for church tonight and I know what the subject is going to be: killing the 45th Street Kings. No one makes a move on us and lives. We have a reputation to uphold and if we let them get away with what they’ve done, we might as well just dig our own graves.

  Not only that, but I need to get over to Java Jazz and check in with Cindy and make sure that Tommy’s still got his head on straight. It’s only been a day since we talked, but remembering how I was at that age, it’s just as likely that Tommy’s gotten himself into trouble again as it is that he’s gotten his shit together.

  Java Jazz is full of its regulars when I get there, faces I recognize and I end up saying good morning to half a dozen people before I get up to the counter.

  Cindy’s running the shop by herself, as usual.

  “Good morning, Riot,” Cindy says, once I get to the front of the line of people waiting to place their order. She gives me a look up and down and then she grabs two of her biscuits and puts them into a small paper bag. “You look like you could use them,” she says when I raise an eyebrow. “Now, what else will you be having?”

  “Thanks, Cindy,” I say, not even waiting before I take a bite of one of the biscuits. They’re flaky, buttery, and taste so good it’s almost unreal. “I’ll just have some coffee. Black and as strong as you can make it.”

  “Rough night?”

  “The usual,” I say, playing off the ache in my head and from the way things ended with Red.

  “I’ve seen you hung over, Riot. Plenty of times. And I can’t count how many Irish coffees I’ve made for you,” she says, with a small smile on her face. She keeps a little flask in a special drawer behind the counter. Way back when she first started Java Jazz, it was a lot more stressful than it is now. There were at least a couple times a week where she’d need a quick drink from that flask, days when she had to figure out just how in the hell she was going to pay the bills for her business and pay herself. “But there’s something else bothering you right now.”

  I take another bite of Cindy’s biscuit and think about what to tell her. It’s not that I don’t trust Cindy, but I have to think about how much Red would want me to share.

  “It’s about the woman who was in here yesterday.”

  “Emma?”

  “Yeah, her.”

  “What’s wrong? I hope I’m not overstepping myself, but you two seemed like you got on pretty well together. Is there something there?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Talk to me, Riot.” Cindy catches me eying the tray of biscuits behind her — I’ve already finished the two she gave me — and she grabs two more and puts them on my plate. “Now you owe me. Talk.”

  “You’re always good to me, Cindy,” I say, finishing a biscuit in a single bite. “You probably heard from some of the guys that there’s been some trouble in Redwood City, right?”

  She nods. “Bull was in here just the other day, grumbling about something. You don’t want to know how many biscuits it took to cheer him up. I didn’t believe he was really pissed at first — you know sometimes, I think he comes in pretending to be angry because he knows he’ll get more of my biscuits that way — but it only took him telling me the angriest ‘good morning’ I’d ever heard in my life to change my mind.”

  I grunt and pick my words carefully. Cindy knows a fair bit about what the club does, most of the guys come in here at least once or twice a week, but she doesn’t know all the details.

  “There’s some street gang trying to muscle in on our turf, and Emma’s down here because she’s a witness to some of what happened and it isn’t safe for her up there. Problem is, though she won’t admit it, Emma doesn’t want anything to do with any MC, ever. And that’s got her acting scared and suspicious.”

  “Well, I don’t blame her. You guys aren’t exactly boy scouts, honey.”

  “Hell no we aren’t, but it isn’t like that. There’s something in her eyes that’s honest to God scared. Fucking — pardon the language — wild-eyed frightened any time something comes up involving the MC. She just refuses to talk. But, right now, secrets are just going to get someone hurt. I can’t have that.”

  “You care about this woman, don’t you?” She says.

  I give a non-committal grunt. I don’t know how I feel about Red, though whatever it is, it’s powerful.

  Cindy reaches behind her to the biscuit tray and puts another on my plate. “Honey, I know you. Don’t think you can hold out on me. Here, have another.”

  “You’re wicked, you know that, Cindy?”

  “You don’t work as hard as I do and build a business from nothing without learning a few tricks.”

  I devour the biscuit. It’s my fifth, but it’s as good — if not even better — than my first.

  “What do you put in these things?”

  “A whole heck of a lot of love and even more butter.”

  “Damn, you know exactly what you need to do to get me to talk,” I say. “And yeah, I like having Emma around. She’s fucking hot as hell.”

  “Language, honey,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And I’ve seen how you look at her. It’s more than just how she looks. Though she is very pretty.”

  “Maybe it is,” I say with a shrug.

  “Would you like some advice?” she says, then chuckles. “Well, whether you want it or not, you’re going to get it. Relax. Stop pushing her. She cares about you. She looks at you the same way you look at her. But you’re not going to get anywhere nagging her about what she’s keeping from you. You have to give her time to open up on her own. So just shut up and be ready to listen to her.”

  It makes too much damn sense.

  I should’ve talked to her sooner.

  “Thanks, Cindy.”

  “Don’t thank me, honey. I owe you for talking some sense into Tommy. It’s like he actually cares about school again.”

  I smile. That kid has more potential than he gives himself credit for. Whatever he chooses to do with his life, he’s got the skills to make himself a success as long as he tries.

  “That’s good, Cindy. But you remind him if he starts slipping up, he and I are going to have the kind of talk that he won’t enjoy.”

  “Are you threatening my son, Riot?” She says, with a twinkle in her eye.

  I grin. “Only with love, Cindy.”

  She smiles and puts two more biscuits in a takeaway bag. “These are for you. For later.” Then she takes two more and puts them in a separate bag. She’s got a different kind of smile on her face as she hands this bag over; it’s warm and bright. “And these are for Bull. Tell him I hope he’s feeling better.”

  “Thank you, Cindy. You and Tommy take care, okay?”

  She nods, and I give her a hug before I leave.

  Tonight’s a big night, and there’s still a lot I have to do before church. I need to prepare for war. And I need to figure out a way to break down Red’s walls.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Emma


  It takes me a while to get my head together after leaving Riot’s place. Spending time with him is a challenge. On the one hand, he’s one of the most loyal, dedicated, and fucking handsome men I’ve ever met. On the other hand, I know that if I allow myself to be with him, there’s a good chance I’ll wind up living the same kind of MC life that I worked so hard to escape.

  But even though my brain tells me it’s wrong, my heart still pulls me to him. When I woke up in his bed this morning, I felt like I was alive and truly me for the first time in a long time. It’s been so long since I felt that way that I’d almost forgotten what it was like.

  And even now, thinking about it, I smile.

  And then my mind takes things further.

  I think about Riot, walking around, wearing nothing but his smile, and the way his eyes always seem like they want to drink me in, and this ache for him starts between my legs. The idea of waking up to that every day is so tempting it’s almost worth the fear.

  I shake my head and remind myself I have work to do.

  I sit on the bed in the guest room with my laptop and try my best to focus on the mountain of things I have to do to keep myself employed.

  I complete two emails before I realize it’s pointless. That man has a hold on me that’s magnetic and animal. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. He’s risking everything for me. Maybe there’s some way I can repay him.

  I pick up my phone and think about texting him and then put it away again.

  “He’s probably busy,” I mutter.

  There’s tons going on with the MC that I don’t know about but it’s obvious that they’re getting ready for something big. And I know that means every man in the MC will be making preparations. Some of them will be checking their stocks of ammo, their weapons, others will be making a plan for the prospects to keep the clubhouse and their families safe.