Page 18 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

PARKER

S tepping outside, I take a breath of fresh air, then choke and sputter. There’s a coffee can overflowing with cigarette butts next to the door that stinks to high hell. I knew Riot smoked sometimes, so that’s not a shock, but would it kill him to change the can now and then?

The wood slats on the porch creak and bend with each step I take, making me worry my foot will go right through.

It’s not an unsubstantiated concern because there are numerous holes where feet have apparently done just that, not to mention the exposed rusty nails and the thick layer of dirt coating it.

This is my first look at the outside of my new home, at least if Riot has anything to say about it, and I can’t say I’m surprised.

The stone chimney is collapsing, the roof has actual plants growing on top of it, and the wood siding is weathered and warped.

If this place was inspected, it would be condemned, and that’s the nicest thing I can say about it.

“Are you just gonna stand there and stare all afternoon, or are we going?” Riot gripes.

I hate myself for it, but I walk two steps behind him, allowing his large frame to shield me from prying eyes as we enter the backyard of a giant warehouse. At least, it looks like a giant warehouse, minus the large glass trifold doors that are wide open, combining the indoor and outdoor spaces.

The patio is defined by gray cement pavers with multiple groupings of outdoor furniture. Above us is a wooden pergola lined with white lights. Wait, are those skulls? I narrow my eyes and confirm my suspicions.

The hot summer air is thick and heavy with the scent of barbecued meats, making my stomach grumble.

But I don’t think I could eat anything right now even if I wanted to, not with twenty or more sets of eyes on me.

I slide to my right, hiding more behind Riot in hopes they’ll all get back to doing whatever they were doing before. No such luck.

Riot reaches back and grabs my wrist, dragging me to his side. “This is Parker. She’s staying with me while we figure some shit out.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” I mutter, only loud enough for Riot to hear.

“So this is the lady friend I’ve heard so much about?” the biggest man I’ve ever seen in real life calls out. Seriously, this guy is like seven feet tall and could easily pass as Sasquatch in the right lighting.

“Don’t make it fuckin’ weird,” Riot grumbles.

A pretty woman approaches, beaming a smile at me. She’s tall and willowy with straight golden blonde hair and is dressed in faded black jeans and a pink baby tee, showing off her long, slender torso.

“Ignore the barbarians.” She waves the giant off and holds a hand out. “Hi. I’m Navy. Rigger’s ol’ lady.” She points to a group of men gathered around the grill. “He’s the one who looks constipated.”

A laugh bubbles out before I can tamp it down. I didn’t expect to like anyone associated with Riot, but Navy broke through that wall in the first five seconds of conversation. “Nice to meet you.”

My eyes widen when she wraps an arm around me and shifts us both away from Riot before whispering, “Are you okay? Do we need to intervene?”

Her tone is playful, so I grin politely because even though I’m being held against my will, the manners so deeply instilled in me won’t allow for anything else.

In my mind, though, I’m wondering what she would do if I did ask for help.

Glancing over my shoulder, I’m met with Riot’s icy gaze.

Apparently, he isn’t amused by her joke.

He narrows his eyes to slits, and his nostrils flare. “The fuck?”

She giggles at his response, but Riot is dead serious, and judging by his expression, he’ll pull out that gun he keeps holstered and murder his whole “family” just to keep me with him.

“No need for that,” I say. “Riot has been. . . hospitable.”

Navy studies me for a second. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

“There you are.” The constipated man, Rigger, I think she called him, comes over and pulls Navy away from me. He nods at Riot, having a whole conversation with a simple lift of his chin. “That’s enough meddling, babe.”

“I had to ask,” she says as he pulls her away then whispers, all humor gone from her tone, “You know how he gets.”

How he gets?

What does she mean by that? It was obviously a dig, and I’m shocked when I feel a twinge of indignation on his behalf.

Am I okay? No, seriously. I need someone to tell me Riot didn’t cause brain damage with the lack of oxygen from choking me, because what the hell?

Not only did I not take Navy up on her offer to escape my captor, but I also wanted to stand up for him?

Dad would be disgusted with me. Or am I the one disgusted by him?

Jesus Christ, I need a therapist ASAP. I wonder if Riot would provide one for me.

“Are you hungry?” Riot mutters.

“I could eat.”

“Let’s go then.” He grabs the back of my arm and all but drags me toward the grill.

“Riot, stop.”

“What? You said you were hungry. The food’s over there.”

“Yeah, and we agreed that’s where we were going, so there’s no need to force me.” I yank my arm from his hold. “If you want to keep me close, try holding my hand.”

Wait, what? Why the hell did I say that? And why the hell is my heart pounding while I wait to see what he’ll do?

He stares at my open palm for long seconds before he takes it and continues walking.

His hand is warm. . . and a little sweaty.

Is he nervous? He’s a cold-blooded assassin, a profession I’m assuming would require a certain level of confidence, but his interactions with me are uncoordinated and awkward.

The two personalities inside one human being are confusing.

I took Psych 101, so I could guess a reason for his stilted social skills.

I thought that could be the reason he seems to keep his distance from others, but after my conversation with Killer and then Navy, I’m starting to see there could be others.

I wouldn’t want to hang out with people who think poorly of me and treat me like I’m under a microscope when I show up at a party like everyone is doing right now.

The weight of their attention is suffocating as we walk across the yard. There’s a sea of tight smiles, but no one approaches. He calls them his family, but even from my limited experience, this doesn’t feel like family.

At least I finally get to see more of where I’m being held. The only thing I got from looking out the windows was that we were surrounded by trees, so we weren’t in the city. Being in the backyard of the clubhouse doesn’t give me any more directional clues, just something new to look at.

Well-kept, green grass separates the clubhouse from the cabins. Riot’s is the farthest away, which tracks for his personality, but the others are closer in, with less tree cover, which still gives them privacy but also provides a sense of neighborhood.

These cabins are so different than Riot’s. They aren’t dilapidated and clearly receive general upkeep, like roofs that don’t look like they’ll collapse and porches that aren’t being taken back over by Mother Nature.

Their sizes vary, but they’re all fairly small, the biggest probably having no more than two rooms. I wish Riot’s cabin had two rooms. My subconscious mind whispers, but do you really? She’s a hussy who snuggles each night into the man who killed her father.

When we reach the long folding table loaded with all kinds of toppings for burgers, side dishes, and desserts, Riot hands me a plate with his free hand. He’s reluctant to let my other one go but realizes it’s inevitable and slowly loosens his hold.

I say nothing as I plop a little scoop of everything on the plate.

Since Dad worked a lot, he hired a chef to come in once a week and food prep for us, but it was stuff like lobster risotto and grilled salmon.

I never had simple food like this until I left for college, and suddenly, it was everywhere.

I couldn’t care less about the fifteen pounds I’ve put on since leaving home because I now enjoy my food like never before.

Riot walks over to the grill, where the biggest man I’ve ever seen in real life is flipping burgers. The guy towers over everyone else here and has the personality to match.

“Hey, brother!” The giant pounds on Riot’s back with a meaty hand.

Riot barely budges, proving just how solid he is, but his eyes go blank, and he swallows hard.

The friendly touch clearly didn’t hurt him, but it definitely made him uncomfortable.

“Didn’t expect to see you here since you don’t normally show, and now especially since you have a little prisoner.

” He glances over at me. “Hmm, maybe less prisoner and more willing accomplice?”

“I don’t think she sees it that way,” Riot mutters.

The giant, who I think goes by Lucky, judging by the patch on his vest, looks me up and down. His perusal has me shifting my weight and biting my lip, wondering what he sees. “Pretty little thing, huh?”

Riot growls, an honest-to-goodness menacing rumble that comes from deep in his chest. I take a step back, my heart picking up its pace as I wait for a brawl to break out.

My eyes immediately look for an escape route, but I’m drawn back to the two men when Lucky hoots with laughter.

It’s a loud, bellowing sound that can probably be heard for miles.

“I’m just shittin’ you, man.” Lucky braces himself on his thighs as he tries to catch his breath. He doesn’t seem to care that neither of us is amused.

“She wants a burger,” Riot says, getting to the point.

“Sure, sure. Come on over. I’ll hook you up.” He tucks his long hair behind his ears before reaching for my plate. “Riot’s got no manners, so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Lucky.”

“Thank you, Lucky.” I take back my plate, which now has a steaming burger on it. “I’m Parker.”