Riot (Rebel Riders MC Book 2)

by Zahra Girard

  To make things worse, when they’re shoving us into this moldy storeroom in the back of this pit of a bar, I hear Fury warn one of the other nomads to ‘be careful with the merchandise’.

  I’m caught in the middle of a blood feud between Fury and the nomad’s he’s rounded up, and Riot’s club, the Rebel Riders.

  And it’s stripped me of my humanity.

  I’m nothing more than merchandise, now.

  I would’ve been better off without him. And that’s counting even if I’d died.

  And Riot? Well, without me interfering in things, he’d probably still have his family alive, instead of his dad bleeding to death in his basement man cave and his mom being sold as some sort of sex slave.

  Fury stalks in and out of the room, a man gloating in the way only a righteously-angry man can. He kneels in front of me, a stomach-turning grin on his face.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I was when you called,” he says, his hot breath washing across my face. “I called all these guys together to have a little memorial ride through Crescent Falls to honor the man who was closer to me than blood, and it was fucking fantastic to be able to bring a couple prizes back from the trip. In fact, I’m so fucking grateful that I’m going to give you a choice about which of the guys gets to fuck you first.”

  I want to scream, but I’m voiceless with this dirty rag in my mouth.

  He sees me struggle and he laughs.

  “Don’t worry, though. They’re all going to get their turns. You’re just fucking meat at this point, and my buyers don’t give a shit what condition you arrive in,” his eyes leave me for a second, glancing over to Sophia. “Sorry to tell you that, even if you ask for it, you can’t have me first. I’ve been looking forward to fucking a Rebel Rider’s mother for a long time. But if you’re nice, I’ll let you suck her blood off my cock.”

  I try to scream again.

  I want to do something. Anything to make this just a little bit easier for Sophia. This whole thing is my fault. The last thing I want is for her to suffer even more for my mistakes. Maybe if I can keep him focused on me.

  “You want to watch?” He says, his mouth turns in a sickening grin. He grabs his crotch with a meaty fist, his pants visibly tented from his erection. “Is it making you wet thinking about tasting her on my cock?”

  What I want is to vomit.

  He looms closer. I smell the stink of his breath. Cheap whiskey, chewing tobacco.

  “You know, I went through a lot of cash and a lot of fucking effort to get you here. Officer Brodeur ain’t fucking cheap. Once I saw that one of the Rebel Riders took an interest in you, I knew I had to get myself a taste. When I’m done with that bitch over there, I’ll get my money’s worth out of your cunt.”

  He stirs so much revulsion in me that I have to look away.

  Roughly, he grabs me my face so hard my jaw pops and he pulls me so I’m staring right into his eyes.

  “No. You don’t get to look away. Do that one more time and I’ll start taking pieces of you.”

  In his eyes, I see hate and viciousness and inhumanity.

  If I step out of line, I know he’ll do things to me that I will never forget. Things that will make what I’ve already suffered seem like pleasant memories.

  He smiles. “That’s better.”

  Fury stands and walks across the room to Sophia.

  “You and are are going to have a good time tonight,” he growls.

  His hands work loose the clasp of his belt. My skin crawls in revulsion and fear just watching him tower over her like some kind of perverse predator ready to devour his prey.

  Sophia doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. She stares back at him, cold, unwilling to give him the slightest satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

  Fury pulls his belt free. The air splits in a snap as he brings it to bear on Sophia, leaving a bleeding red welt on her cheek.

  “I’ll bet you taste like strawberries.”

  Commotion erupts from another room. Cyclops steps out momentarily and then, just as quickly, steps back into the room, his face a mask of confusion.

  “Fury, you need to come see this.” Doubt ripples through Cyclops’ voice.

  “The fuck is it?”

  “There’s someone in the parking lot. He just left a box for you.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Get rid of it.”

  “He’s wearing Hammer’s cut,” Cyclops says, reluctantly.

  Fury whirls on him, his fists clenched and his eyes bulging. “What?”

  “Fury… the box… Hammer’s head inside.”

  Fury unravels in rage. His eyes flare and he lets out a roar like a wounded animal.

  “Watch them,” he orders Cyclops, just before he charges out of the room.

  In the distance, I hear the sound of a motorcycle firing to life and retreating down the road. Moments later, several more roar to life and speed off in pursuit.

  Then, silence.

  Nothing but the sound of my pounding heart.

  Minutes tick by.

  Cyclops shifts from foot to foot, his eyes darting from me to Sophia and back.

  More time passes in silence.

  He starts to mutter to himself.

  Soon, he’s stepping through the doorway, glancing into the outer area of the bar. Except for the hushed grumbling of two other bikers out there, it’s utterly quiet.

  The air thickens with tension every passing second. So thick it’s hard to breathe.

  “Fucking losing my mind stuck here with you fucking gashes,” he grumbles to himself as he takes up an agitated position against the wall, staring at Sophia and me.

  A gentle click registers at the furthest edge of my hearing.

  I strain my ears. Hunting for something, anything, to give me hope.

  Then, in the span of a gasp, two deafening cracks rip apart the silence.

  The door to the room crashes open. Riot. Gun ready, his face a snarling visage of rage, looming larger than life. Cyclops reaches for his gun, but he’s not fast enough. Another crack and Cyclops’ face is turned into a ruined mask of blood and gore.

  He crumples to the ground, lifeless.

  I hear Thrash’s voice from the main bar area. “All good in there, brother?”

  “We’re good,” Riot answers.

  He steps over the dead body like it’s nothing and walks to his mother’s side, cutting her free with a knife and helping her to her feet. She wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace.

  “Are you okay, mom?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Riot nods. “My bike’s outside. I’ll be there in a second. Don’t worry, it’s safe. Creole is leading the rest of them on a chase.”

  Sophia hurries off and Riot turns to me.

  My heart breaks seeing how angry he looks. And how hurt. Knowing that I did this to him — that I put his family on the line — brings painful tears to my eyes. I try to fight it, but I start sobbing, a mix of agony at the hurt I’ve caused him and relief at being free.

  He kneels down to my level and looks me in the eyes.

  “I’m going to get you out of here. Thrash will drop you somewhere safe. Give you cash so you can get home. I can’t talk to you right now. You put my family at risk. You broke my trust. I’m going to finish this, I’m going to make it safe for you again, but you and I are through. So when I cut you loose, I don’t want to hear you say a fucking word. Got it? Nod if you understand.”

  I nod.

  He cuts me free.

  Then, he walks away without a look back.

  I want to cry out to him. I want to tell him that I’m sorry, that it was a mistake. But I don’t have the words to tell him how much my heart is broken for everything I’ve done. I don’t have the words to make up for the pain I’ve caused him.

  I sit there quietly for a moment, shattered, until I hear the telltale sound of his bike starting up and he rides out of my life. For good.

  Chapter
Thirty

  Riot

  I drop my mom a few miles down the road at a diner across from a police station. She’ll be safe there. She gives me a quizzical look at first, but I shake my head and give her some cash to buy herself some food.

  “This isn’t over yet,” I say. “Settle in, have something to eat, I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

  She nods. Her eyes are scared, but she’s composed. She’s always been strong as steel.

  “I understand,” she says. Then, “Is James okay?”

  “He’s alive. He’s in the hospital, but he should be fine. He called me from the basement. He was having a beer.”

  “That fool,” she says, wrapping me in another hug and letting a joyful sob into my shoulder. “That damn fool.”

  “Once a marine, always a marine,” I say.

  “Once an idiot, always an idiot,” my mom says, lovingly. “Is he at Crescent Falls hospital?”

  “I assume so.”

  “Maybe I’ll call them, see if I can get through to your father.”

  “Go easy on him, mom. He did just take a bullet,” I say.

  “That’ll be the least of his concerns if he doesn’t take better care of himself.”

  I give her a kiss on the cheek. I can feel time slipping away, and I have a lot to do before I can rest easy tonight. “Take care, mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Stay safe.”

  I leave my mom and get back on my bike. Gunning the engine, I peel out of the parking lot and onto the road. There are miles and miles to go, and in no time, I’m on the freeway heading south.

  It’s time to end this once and for all.

  * * * * *

  South of the Bay Area there are countless little mountain roads, everything from gravel logging tracks to paved scenic byways that snake along the seafront bluffs.

  Along one of these roads is a point where the road passes through a tunnel as it comes out of the mountains and then takes a sharp turn as it approaches the sea. It’s steep. It’s sharp. It’s one of those scenic roads where anything larger than a 4-seater sedan is banned and there are yellow warning signs all over warning you to watch your ass.

  That’s where we wait.

  Hidden at the exit of the tunnel, just off the road.

  It’s just Thrash and me. The rest of the club is back in Crescent Falls, securing our operations and making sure every member of our club family is safe and taken care of.

  We’re here, waiting, ready to bring an end to this threat.

  This is personal.

  “Any minute now, brother,” Thrash says. “Let’s make this count. Hit them hard and fast as soon as they come out of the tunnel. Got to hand it to you, good memory remembering where we buried Hammer. It was a good idea to bait Fury like that.”

  I shrug. “Creole was the one who dug him up. I just figured, if he did all this just to get revenge for the guy he saw as a brother, we could probably provoke him into getting reckless. I know there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do to protect my family.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Craning my ears, I can just hear the chugging choir of bike engines.

  Creole’s close.

  “When he gets here, Fury’s mine,” I say.

  “Sure thing, brother.”

  The roar of bikes gets closer and we take up our positions out of sight and just off the road from the opening of the tunnel’s mouth. Seconds later, Creole speeds by, wearing Hammer’s bloody cut. He’s going so fast he’s a blur and, just a blink behind him, comes the rest of the nomads and Fury hot in pursuit.

  Thrash and I open fire.

  Thrash catches two nomads right off the bat, one in the chest and another in the leg, and both men crash to the asphalt.

  Creole brings his bike to a screeching halt as soon as the trap is sprung, stopping like an acrobat and whirling in his seat to open fire at the nomads pursuing him.

  He catches one full in the face, turning the man’s face into a ruin.

  Three of Fury’s men are down in the blink of an eye. Fury and the remaining nomads respond with relentless gunfire of their own, whipping out their guns as they’re speeding forward and unleashing a hellacious torrent of bullets that sends Creole racing for cover.

  I hold my ground.

  I’m aiming for Fury.

  He’s mine.

  A well-placed shot catches him in the arm, sending his gun flying from his hand and skittering across the asphalt.

  I charge forward, just as another shot from Creole catches the other nomad in the chest.

  Fury’s unarmed. The other nomads are dead. My brothers put their guns away.

  “You’re mine, Fury,” I call out as I charge forward.

  I put my gun away.

  I’m doing this with my bare hands.

  We clash like two gladiators. Fury’s older and his form is sloppy like a brawler, but he fights with pure hate and every punch that lands hits me with the violence and power that only comes from a man who’s lost everything except his rage.

  Each punch rattles me to my core.

  Each punch draws blood, bruises bone.

  Each punch aims to kill.

  But he can’t stop me.

  For each punch he lands, I land my own.

  My knuckles split the flesh of his face, shiver and shatter bone.

  I’m fighting for my family.

  And I will not stop until he’s dead.

  Every time he hits me, I see the faces of those I love. I see the fear in their eyes. Fear he put there. It puts strength into my fists, and every time he hits me, I hit him back twice as hard.

  I’m bleeding, I’m bruised, but I sure as hell am not stopping.

  Soon, he’s staggering.

  His punches weaken. His body slows. His face is a mask of blood and wounds.

  “You threatened my family, you son of a bitch,” I roar as I send my fist crashing into his face. “You don’t get mercy. I’m going to enjoy ending your life.”

  He falls to his knees.

  I get close and wrap my hands around his throat.

  “Hammer was like blood to me. Like my fucking brother,” Fury starts to spit.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I snap, tightening my grip and turning his words into a bloody gasp.

  I squeeze until the light goes out in his eyes.

  Then I let his body fall to the pavement.

  It’s done.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Emma

  I return to an empty home filled with memories and pain.

  I know I’m never seeing Riot again. I’ve hurt him too deep.

  And I don’t blame him. It’s best for both of us that we don’t see each other.

  But that doesn’t mean that the next morning — after a sleepless night of crying until I feel like I have no tears left, and then wandering from room to room, empty and aimless — when I hear a knock at my door, my heart doesn’t leap in my chest hoping that it’s him. That maybe, somehow, we can talk it over and at least end things in a better way than they ended last night.

  I’m not so lucky.

  It’s just one of the Rebel Riders, a prospect, a stranger, returning the things I’d left at Riot’s parent’s house and telling me that they’ll be bringing my van by in a few days, once they’ve fixed it up.

  Then, he gives me a warning: Crescent Falls is off-limits.

  Bit by bit, my life goes back to something like normal. I return to my job and settle into the halogen-lit humdrum of working for the Port of Redwood City: writing reports, filing papers, doing graphics work for the small marketing department. The police investigation into the murder of my boss disappears, swept under the rug by a mix of corruption and embarrassment by the police department.

  I start going back to my support group. I dance around the most recent trauma, though I’m dying to talk to someone about what I’ve been through and I know that everyone in my support group can see that I have some sort of secret.

  Life goes back to
what it was before everything fell apart.

  And it feels so empty and monochromatic.

  I miss the light and the heat that Riot brought into my life. The feeling of ferocious protection, the warmth and love he gave so freely and fiercely to those close to him.

  I even miss the feeling of being surrounded by all the guys in the club, I miss hearing Banshee snap at them to get back in line, I miss that feeling of being a part of an extended family bound together tighter than blood.

  “What really happened to you?” Hannah says to me one night, several days on from my return, while we’re sitting at a table together at The Bluestone Room.

  “I just had to get out of town. The stuff with my boss got really complicated, and I needed to clear my head and just get away from it all.

  She rolls her eyes. “You look like you did the exact opposite of ‘clearing your head’.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t realize the definition of the word ‘fine’ had changed in the last five seconds. What’s it mean now?”

  I glare at her for a second, trying to think of some believable lie, something to cover up the fact that I feel so hollow and hurt since everything with Riot ended. That I can’t escape the regret over having found and lost someone who gave me the feelings of safety and love that I thought I’d never find again.

  I found a family, I found safety and security, and then I had to leave it all.

  And I couldn’t even do the leaving right.

  Instead, I almost tore it all down because of a stupid mistake. I hurt innocent people who were just trying to do right by me. It makes me feel like my ex, lashing out violently at people who were just trying to do right by them.

  I’m just like him, now, in a way; low and hurtful.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat, hoping I put enough emphasis into the words that Hannah will stop trying to push me. And, either I succeed, or she’s able to see all the pain in my eyes and interprets on her own exactly what pushing me will get her.

  She drops the subject.

  Instead, she turns her eyes to the stage. Tonight’s band is The Bakersfield Bandits, and they’re doing a great job at proving true the fact that nothing good ever comes out of Bakersfield.