Riot (Bad Boy Escorts #1)

by Jo Raven

  “What am I then?”

  His eyes are very bright when he says, “Mine. You said...that you were mine.”

  I gulp. “I said that.”

  “You did.”

  I smile, and he smiles back, but it’s hesitant. “Well, then. There you go.”

  “But Pax…” His smile morphs into a grimace. He looks away. “You know I can’t leave my job at the agency.”

  My heart sinks. “Why?”

  “Because.” He lets go of my chin, strokes his fingers down my neck, sending goosebumps skittering over my body. “What I told you about Markus is not all. There’s more.”

  Caught between excitement and apprehension, I wait for him to tell me what that “more” is. And oh crap, I said I wouldn’t ask, and yet I did.

  So I keep my mouth sealed and touch the line of his jaw, letting him know I’m here and listening.

  “Markus,” he finally mutters, “had a girlfriend and a baby son. I told you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “His son, Kyle. He has a heart defect. Was born with it. Had multiple surgeries since he was born. I knew that, Pax. Markus was pouring every single penny he made into the medical debts. And you’d think he’d jump on an opportunity to take on The Bone Crusher, get a bigger payout if he won. But he knew that if anything happened to him, the boy’s mother and Kyle himself would be left to fend on their own. The house is mortgaged. They’d be on the street, and he’s not healthy. Maybe will never be.”

  He rolls on his back, jaw clenched, and I try to absorb all this. “I’m sorry to hear about Kyle. And when Markus died, what happened to the boy and his mom?”

  “I’m taking care of them. It was the least I could do since I got Kyle’s dad killed. He died because of my selfishness. He took on the Bone Crusher in my stead. So now I’m looking after them in his stead. Paying off debts and expenses. Making sure they keep their house.”

  There’s a huge lump in my throat. God, this man...As the pieces of the puzzle come together, I’m glad he’s not looking at me, because my eyes burn with tears.

  “That’s why you can’t leave the agency.”

  He gives an angry, helpless shrug. “I don’t even have a school certificate. In what other job can I make enough to keep them afloat?”

  I’m speechless. I want to hug him so hard.

  And I also want to ugly cry and go lock myself up in the bathroom. How can I ask him to do that after knowing this? Leave the agency when that boy and his mom depend on him? What can I offer to make up for it? I have the money I was given in exchange for my silence, but I’ve already used most of it to pay for college. Too late to get it back.

  “See,” he says, his voice a low rasp, “I’m the real deal. I pretend to fit in the student circles, the hotels and bars and restaurants where I meet my clients. But the agency told the truth. I’m bad. Real bad. You shouldn’t be with me.”

  Yeah, I see that now. How wrong I was.

  But not on the one thing that counts.

  I draw a shuddering breath and try to think of something, anything to fix this. Offer a solution. Offer some comfort. Convince him he’s not bad.

  Not bad at all. He’s the best guy I’ve ever known, and he doesn’t even realize. He sells his body, killing his soul little by little, to support his dead friend’s family. He’s been living in a crap apartment, in a dangerous neighborhood, saving money for them.

  He’s lonely, and doesn’t think he deserves anything better.

  God, I wish I could lie with him every night, hold him, show him he’s not alone. That I care for him.

  I know I shouldn’t. I know it. He won’t leave his job at the agency. And I can’t share him anymore. Somehow, loving him will be the end of this. Of us.

  I can’t bear the thought of him being like this with anyone but me.

  And yet I can’t let go. In fact, after what he just told me, I think I love him more than ever.

  ***

  It’s Sunday morning. Sunday, I repeat to myself as I roll on my back and stare at a low ceiling. A faint crack winds diagonally through it. I don’t have classes today, or anywhere to be.

  So where am I? This isn’t my bedroom.

  Wow, I’m brilliant this morning. I snicker as I roll onto my other side to take in the small room. Need my daily caffeine injection to make sense of things.

  The small window lets in just enough morning light to let me see. The bed I’m lying on is barely wide enough to be called a double. There’s a plastic chair with some clothes thrown over it. A trunk? A plastic trunk, open. Inside there are more clothes, folded, and some papers. A few pairs of shoes are piled beside it.

  I sit up, look around. There’s no closet. These are Riot’s clothes, his shoes.

  I’m in Riot’s bedroom.

  Last night comes rushing back: my call to the agency, the bar, Gale, coming to Riot’s apartment, finding out he’s been hurt.

  Throwing back the covers, I cautiously get up. I’m naked, and then I remember taking a shower with him. Images, sensations and heat shoot through my body as it all comes back to me: Riot moaning as I washed him, as I touched him, then pushing into me, taking me against the wall of the shower stall.

  God.

  And then of course I remember all the other stuff. The things he told me about his past. Crap, it is true. He’s Riot Callahan, one of the star fighters of the Hellfire Fighters club. Or he was. Markus, Kyle, the debts, his resolve not to leave the agency so that he can keep that family afloat.

  His guilt. His pain. His loneliness.

  As I stand there, my heart heavy, I hear a bark from somewhere inside the apartment. Batman, Riot’s dog that I have yet to meet. Last night I was more concerned with taking care of Riot himself.

  My clothes, which I shucked in the bathroom last night, have been laid out on a rickety table on the other side of the room. I smile, thinking of Riot gathering them, smoothing them out, placing my panties on top.

  Like a message.

  My face is aflame, more details from last night flashing through my mind: how he stroked me, how good he felt inside me, how he filled me with his hot seed. I drag on my clothes and pat my hair down.

  Exiting barefoot, as silent as can be, I open the next door. Bingo. Bathroom. I pee and brush my teeth with a blob of toothpaste on my finger. My cheeks are red, my eyes bright, and a smile keeps tugging on my lips.

  Christ. Like a love-struck teenager, despite not seeing any happy endings up ahead. Riot is an escort and will continue meeting women for money, and no matter how noble his cause, I can’t imagine a scenario in which I’ll accept that and be his girlfriend.

  Sobering, I walk out of the bathroom and into the living room, making a beeline for the kitchen. A scent of fresh coffee is in the air and I follow it.

  I pause at the kitchen door. Someone is talking. Riot. I peek inside.

  “Yeah, that’s it. You can let me touch you. You know I won’t steal your food. Fuck yeah, boy.” He’s crouched on the floor, beside a pretty wolf-like dog, petting its back. “See? You trust me. As you should. Been wiping your ass and feeding you, so why would you—?” The dog snaps at him, growling. “Whoa, okay. Easy does it. I’m backing off, okay?”

  He almost falls on his ass as he scoots backward, and a ball of black fur on his shoulder rises on tiny legs and hisses.

  Dexter. When the kitty let me feed him yesterday, he only approached his dish when I was well out of the kitchen.

  Riot reaches up, pats the kitten’s head and yelps when sharp teeth nip at him.

  Oh God. I clap a hand over my mouth not to laugh, even as warmth spreads in my chest. Riot’s boys. I think I might melt into a puddle of goo watching the three of them on the kitchen floor.

  He turns and oh shit, his jaw is blue and black, his eye swollen shut. Didn’t get around to putting a cold compress on it last night.

  “Hey.” He smiles at me and my heart does a little backflip in my chest. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.”


  “There’s coffee.”

  “I smelled it.”

  “And here you are.”

  I am. Right here, with him, with all my heart and soul.

  There has to be away to fix this. To be with him. To find enough money to pay off the debts and keep this Kyle and his mom fed and cared for.

  But what? A Kickstarter campaign? Not being the most sociable of beings, I don’t have many friends to ask for support and sharing. I haven’t been on Facebook or Twitter in ages.

  Corey. He has a network that encompasses half the globe. He’ll know what to do. I’ll twist his arm around his back if I have to. Hide his favorite Shakespeare Rules T-shirt and Moroccan slippers.

  I don’t even know how much money would be needed, but I’m guessing it’s a hefty sum, or Riot would’ve found another way. I think. Unless he likes having sex with random women.

  No, I can’t believe that. Things he’s said, about him not being important, about being used as a tool of pleasure...The welts on his back and around his wrists and him telling me it wasn’t the first time…

  “Let me get you a mug.” He struggles to get off the floor, one arm wrapped around his middle, his teeth gritting.

  “Whoa.” I grab his other arm, help him up. Dexter hisses at me, fur on end, back arched. “Hey, kitty.”

  Riot straightens, his face pale, but he manages a grin. “This is Dexter. Dex, meet Pax.”

  “Hi, Dex. We met yesterday, remember?” Not sure what I’m supposed to do with the hissing kitty. Shake its paw? “Nice to meet you officially.”

  “He needs time to smell you, lick you. Get used to you.” He rolls his shoulders, and my gaze is drawn, like always, to the width of his chest and shoulders, the bright ink on one arm which is peeking under his short sleeve, the sheer height and presence of him. His slate-gray eyes, his square jaw, his soft mouth, and satiny dark hair.

  “Right.” Did he say something? “I’ll get some coffee.”

  “Now, Batman…” Riot pats again Dexter’s head and the kitty subsides, curling on Riot’s broad shoulder. “He may need some more time. He’s new here, or so he thinks, and doesn’t even trust me one hundred percent.”

  “I noticed.” I shoot him a grin before I turn my attention back to the cupboard, hunting for a mug. “No problem. I can wait.”

  For you.

  I really can, I realize, my hand shaking a little as I reach for a plain yellow mug. Am I really going through with this? I only met him a few weeks ago, and yet I’m willing to give this—us—a try, despite the problems.

  Because I love him, more than I thought possible, for being him—so gentle, so patient, so beautiful inside and out. For helping me. Helping his friend’s family. Helping this kitty and this dog learn how to trust again.

  And he thinks he’s selfish. If I just could—

  “Are you okay? What’s on your mind?” He’s beside me, hip propped against the counter, so close I can see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The kitten has left its perch on his shoulder in favor of sniffing Batman’s leg.

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Still half-asleep. Meet the zombie version of me.”

  “Should I be worried? Will you bite me?” He grins, and even with half his face swollen, it’s sexy.

  “Nothing a cup of coffee can’t cure. My favorite poison.” I grab the glass pot, fill up the mug. How I wish all problems were so easily solved…

  “So what do you think? Do you like the boys?” He nods at his pets.

  “They’re cute. They’re so lucky to have you.”

  “Listen…” He reaches behind his head, rubs the back of his neck, his gaze sliding sideways to Batman who’s licking his dish clean. “I have a big favor to ask.”

  “Sure. What about?”

  “About them.” Again he nods at his pets. “Dex and Batman.”

  “Tell me.”

  He hesitates, his shoulders tensing. “If anything happens to me,” he whispers, “will you take care of them?”

  I put my mug on the counter, my heart thumping frantically against my ribs. “Why would anything happen to you? What aren’t you telling me?”

  He won’t meet my gaze. “I just need to know they’ll be fine, Pax.”

  “Come on.” I fold my arms over my breasts and stick my chin out at him. “I thought we were past that, that we were honest with each other. No more secrets. Something’s got you spooked and thinking you may not come back. That—” My voice threatens to break and I draw a hasty breath. “That’s not a random thought, is it?”

  He swings his gaze up, and the raw honesty in it undoes me. “I love you, Pax.” He reaches a hand up to my face, then slides it around the back of my head and pulls me to him. “I’m yours, no matter what. But I know this isn’t easy for you with my job, or even possible, and on top of that...maybe you shouldn’t. Being with me could be dangerous.”

  “So that’s why?” We’re so close our lips are almost touching. “Why you ask this of me? Because of the guys who beat you up? You’re scared they’ll come back? You should report this to the police.”

  “Shh.” He brushes his mouth over mine, soft and hot and intoxicating. “No, they won’t, and I can’t.”

  “Can’t report them? Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  I shake my head. “You still haven’t told me what happened. What they wanted from you.”

  “More than I could give. And yet I’ll give it.”

  “Why are you giving me riddles?” I push on his chest, step away. “More riddles. Why can’t you give me truth for a change?”

  “Fuck.” He turns and punches the cupboard with a resounding crack.

  The sound reverberates in the kitchen as I jerk back, knocking into a chair. When I glance around, I see the pets have fled and are nowhere in sight.

  My pulse echoes in my ears as I debate what to do. Tremors go through his broad back. He’s hunched over, breathing erratically, saying nothing. He looks like he’s in pain.

  Maybe he is. That was a hell of a punch. There’s a dent in the cupboard door that I don’t remember seeing earlier, and is that blood?

  Holy crap. He’s super strong.

  What if he used that fist on me?

  But he hasn’t. He wouldn’t. Not Riot.

  After a moment, I walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his hips. “Hey…”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice ragged.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you. If you can’t promise to take care of the boys, I’ll ask someone else, but I just...I trust you. I’d rather it be you. If you say you’ll do it, I’ll believe you and won’t worry about them.”

  “I promise. Of course I promise. I’ll take care of them.”

  And I mean it.

  ***

  “Why didn’t you answer your cell these past two days?” We’re sitting at the kitchen table and I’m cleaning with antiseptic his busted knuckles. “The agency said they called you plenty of times. Gale, too.”

  “That where you got my address?”

  I nod and reach for the first aid kit. “He said you missed an appointment with an elder lady. Ellen something.”

  “Ellen Morris. Oh shit. I’ll have to call her and apologize.” He scowls. “Don’t know where my cell phone is. Fucking hell.”

  “I’ll help you find it,” I say, my curiosity piqued. “Who is she? From the way Gale talked about her, she sounds like a special client.”

  “She is.” He lets me pull his hand onto my lap, put gauze and tape it around his hand. “She’s more like...a friend.”

  “A friend.” I close the first aid kit, put it on the table.

  “Yeah. She invites me for dinners and concerts. She likes to pet my hair.”

  “Sounds creepy.”

  “Not really.” He flexes his taped hand. “I kinda...like it. Not that it doesn’t annoy me when she orders me around. Sit. Put your head on my knee. Close your eyes. But then…” He shrug
s. “She’s kind.”

  Yeah, I can see now how in a life so empty of human touch, she might look kind. Maybe she is. At least she hasn’t harmed him.

  “I’m also good at petting hair, you know.” I reach over, stroke his hair, wink. “I offer my services for free.”

  He snorts.

  Why do I feel this urge to protect him? He’s a grown man, a tall, strong man who used to be an underground fighter. He doesn’t need me to protect him from frail old ladies who pay to touch his hair.

  And yet I feel like he needs me.

  “What about you?” he says, and I frown, not following.

  “What about me?”

  “How are you doing?” He fumbles for my hand, turning so he can see me with his good eye, and I wrap my fingers around his. “Are you really better?”

  “I am. Mostly thanks to you.” I smile at him.

  “Not true.” He strokes his thumb over the bones of my hand, sending shivers of pleasure up my arm. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Tell me what you’re afraid might happen. What those men wanted from you. Leave the agency. Run away with me.

  Really be with me.

  But I only shake my head. “I love you,” I say. That’s all.

  Chapter Twenty

  Riot

  She’s unhappy.

  Of course she is. She said she loves me, that she’s mine. And I told her I’ll keep fucking other women for money.

  Why would she stay? I’m losing her, and I’ve hardly ever had her.

  Not only that, but if things go tits-up, then I may not even be around to have anything with her in the first place.

  Shit. I need to survive that fight, no matter what.

  I look at her when she’s not paying attention as we scour the apartment for my cell phone. Her body’s hot, but my gaze keeps returning to her small face, the wide, dark eyes, just as my thoughts keep returning to the way she held me after I lost it, without fear. Keeping me together. And promising to take care of my own.

  How can I not love her?

  How can I let her go?

  But what about Kyle? What about my promise to Markus after he died? What about that? Is my happiness more important than the kid’s life?

  Why can’t I grab Pax and leave far, far away and to hell with everything and everyone else?