Page 27 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PARKER

I hear the front door close with a snick, and even though I needed a moment to myself after everything that happened, now Riot’s gone, there’s a heaviness in my chest. It’s stupid, really.

I’m not a sixteen-year-old girl who lost her virginity in the backseat of a Wrangler.

I’m a grown woman who knows virginity is a social construct that means nothing.

Still, though. Why do I wish he were here to hold me while I slept?

Shaking it off, I try to get back into a science fiction book I found in Riot’s closet, but it’s a complicated story that requires the reader’s full attention, something I’m not capable of right now.

I throw off the covers and set the book on the nightstand, intending to get a glass of water from the kitchen, but when I pass the pantry, I hear the rats squeaking.

“You guys want to come out and play for a while?” I ask, opening the pantry door. The excited yips I get in return have me opening their enclosure. Riot never said I wasn’t allowed to do this, but knowing how much they mean to him, I vow to be extra careful.

After getting my glass of water, I snag a handful of animal crackers.

They’re not even the circus ones with frosting and sprinkles.

No, these ones are brown and plain, but Ben and Amy will probably still like them.

I take a seat in the living room, only a little nervous about the eager way they climb up my outstretched legs.

Their tiny feet almost tickle my bare skin as they scurry.

“You guys want a late-night snack?” The cracker feels too big to give it to them whole, so I break it into two chunks and hold them out.

I squeal when they take their treat and sit on my thighs to eat.

This close, I can appreciate how cute they are.

Their tiny hands turning the cracker around as they eat is the most precious thing I’ve ever seen.

I pop the remainder of the cracker in my mouth and wince. It tastes like cardboard. I understand Riot has a simple palate, but there has to be something better than this. Ben and Amy don’t mind, though, so I sit in their company, feeding them gross crackers until I’m all out.

“Do you like living with Riot?” I ask, just to break the silence.

The pair is good company but obviously not very talkative.

“I’m not sure how to feel about this. I like him, but I don’t like the circumstances that brought me here.

You guys probably feel the same, since you were yanked out from the wild and stuck in a glass box.

Wait, were you taken from the wild? Or were you born in captivity? ”

They give me no answers but make me laugh as they wrestle around. I’m glad they aren’t standoffish with me anymore, and I regret ever being afraid of them. My eyes start to feel heavy after a crazy, eventful day and night, so I climb onto the couch and spread out.

Ben is the first to follow me up. I hold still while he finds the perfect spot to snuggle up, which happens to be above my shoulder. Amy soon follows and chooses to curl up under my chin. She must feel safe in small nooks, just like Riot.

I close my eyes and try to figure out how I got here.

Last week, my life was perfectly mundane: class, homework, hanging with my roommates or other friends, bed, and repeat.

Once a week, I visited Dad and had dinner but went back to my life.

Now, I never know what the next day will bring.

It’s terrifying, and I’m all on my own. Even if I could speak to my friends, they wouldn’t have advice about this.

I grin, thinking about how that conversation would go.

Sleep tugs at me, trying to pull me under, but I fight it, wanting to stay up until Riot gets home so I can find out why he rushed out of here.

That’s a lie. I want to finish our conversation.

He’s under this misguided notion that because he saved my life, he owns me and gets to make all my decisions.

I can’t deny there’s something between us, as fucked up as that is, but that doesn’t mean I want to marry him.

But hours pass, and eventually, sleep pulls me under.

When I wake up, I’m no longer on the couch. I’m in Riot’s bed, lying on his bare chest, like every other morning. And also like every other morning, he’s already awake, one arm around me, the other tucked under his head as he stares at the ceiling.

“How did I end up here?” I ask through a yawn before resting my cheek back on his warm chest.

“Carried you.”

“You did? And I didn’t wake up?”

“Nope. Gotta say, coming home and seeing you cuddled up with Ben and Amy was cute.”

“Cute, huh?”

“Yeah, cute.”

“Hey, what’s your real name?” I ask.

“Why do you want to know?”

I prop my head up on my chin, admiring how soft he looks first thing in the morning. It’s as if life hasn’t had a chance to piss him off yet, so his handsome face is relaxed. All too soon, he’ll be scowling and clenching his jaw, but for right now, I get him like this.

“No reason. I just want to know. Do you not want to tell me?”

“Lucas Wise,” he says, as if it doesn’t belong to him.

“Lucas, huh?” I squint to see him more clearly since I don’t have my glasses on. “You look like a Lucas.”

“I haven’t been that guy in a long time.”

“Well, Riot suits you too,” I say, sitting up and stretching. Since I only put on a pair of panties and one of his white T-shirts, it’s no wonder Riot’s eyes catch on the way the fabric clings to my breasts.

“Where are you going?” He makes a grab for me, but I’m too fast as I slide out of bed. “Come back. We didn’t get a chance to finish what we started last night.”

“Pretty sure we did, and I told you it wasn’t happening again.”

I dart into the bathroom, but before I can close the door, I hear Riot mumble something like, “We’ll see.”

Yeah, we will. He’s gorgeous and makes my body come alive, but we are wrong for each other in too many ways to count. So many ways, I can’t even envision what it would look like to be with him. He just needs to let me go. But then what, Parker?

I’ve had a hard enough time grasping each moment as they come, let alone thinking about a plan if I got away.

Where would I even start? It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.

The cops will obviously want to know where I’ve been, so I’d have to lie.

As fucked up as it is, I can’t throw Riot under the bus.

I’d have to get ahold of Dad’s lawyer because I can’t imagine how complicated it’ll be handling his estate.

I cover my forehead with a hand, as if that’ll stop my brain from exploding.

I don’t even know how much Dad was worth, but I know it’s a lot.

And it’s all going to me; he said as much when he updated his will last year.

What the hell do I do with all that money?

If everything Riot and Killer have said is true, I won’t have the chance to spend a dime before I’m being buried right next to Dad.

I can’t let that happen, so I’ll have to hire personal security.

Maybe after some time, Bart will see I have no intention of saying shit about what he got up to, and he’ll leave me alone. Fucking creep.

An idea forms as I lean on the bathroom counter. Dad’s money could go far in helping all the women and children who fall victim to trafficking. Seems like a good way to atone for my family’s sins.

After washing my face, I turn to dry off with a towel when I notice a pile of Riot’s clothes on the ground, next to the hamper.

Rolling my eyes, I pick them up. The shirt is wet, which is weird.

Was there a sudden downpour I didn’t know about?

It’s not impossible, since storms roll in and out so quickly in the desert.

Whatever. I toss them in and go to pick up my toothbrush, but a flash of red catches my eye.

My palm and fingers are smeared with dark red. Not a normal red either. It looks like blood. I flip on the water and hold my hand under the flow, wondering if I cut myself on something. Rubbing my skin, I don’t feel any kind of sting, and now that the blood is gone, I don’t see any injury.

I glance over my shoulder at the pile of clothes. Riot’s shirt was wet. . . Oh, god, it’s soaked in blood. I choke back a sob because I know this means he killed someone last night. I know firsthand who he is, so I don’t know why it’s such a shock.

A knock interrupts the frantic scrubbing of my hands. I don’t know whose blood it is, and it’s making me paranoid.

“You okay?” Riot calls out.

“No, I’m not fucking okay!” I return.

“Open the door, Little Thorn.”

“No. Go away.”

“Open the door, or I’ll break it down,” he barks. I know he’ll do it, and since I like having a bathroom door, I give in. With a shaky hand, I flip the lock, letting him do the rest of the work. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you kill someone last night?”

“No,” he says, not looking at me. He seems to have a hard time with eye contact when he has big feelings, but it’s not necessarily a tell.

“Then why were your clothes soaked in blood?”

“Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. “He’s not dead. . . yet.”

“So you will kill whoever this man is?”

“If I don’t do it, Killer will. Probably her because she’s good and pissed off.”

I stare at the ground, feeling my false sense of security slip away.

Riot is a murderer, not was . He is a murderer, and he’ll keep doing it.

Hell, he could kill me with his bare hands right now if he wanted.

How do any of the people in this club just become okay with taking a life? Even if the person deserves it?

He tips my chin up. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s time you let me go.”

“No.” He crosses his arms over his bare chest, his tattoos even more intimidating with his strong stance.

“You don’t need to worry about my safety. I’ll hire personal protection.”

“No,” he repeats.

“You can’t just refuse and have it be so. I need to go. I have things to take care of.” My voice is shrill, but I can control it as much as I can control the insanity brewing inside, which is not at all.

“I’ll never let you go. You’re mine.”

“Stop saying that! I’m not yours.” I walk past him and go straight to the dresser to pull out a pair of leggings.

He grabs my arm and flips me around. “I could’ve killed you right alongside your worthless, piece of shit father, but I didn’t. And I didn’t let Killer do it either. That was me saving your life twice. You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you my life.”

“The hell you don’t.” He maneuvers me until I’m next to the bed, my calves pressed against the frame, and pushes me back until I’m flat on the mattress, my legs hanging over the edge.

Leaning over me, he pins my arms above my head and gets right in my face.

“I don’t like having to repeat myself over and over.

I’ve told you, you’re mine, and you’ll always be mine.

I’m not speaking just to fill the air with sound; every single word is a promise carved in stone.

And you’re in no position to challenge me. ”

“Why? Why me?”

“What does it matter why? It just is.”

“What if I don’t comply? Will you put me in the room that man is in and kill me too? Is that how you handle people who don’t do what you want?”

“You think so little of me that I’d hurt a man to the point of his blood soaking my clothes over a simple disagreement?” He sounds wounded, and it gives me pause, but I can’t give in now. If I don’t push back, I’ll never see the outside world again.

“Who knows? I don’t think I need to bring up the situation that got me here.”

“Maybe we do, because that wasn’t a difference of opinion.

Your dad was a revolting piece of filth, just like the man I have locked away in a room.

” He releases me and stands to his full height.

“Maybe you’d feel better about his situation if we asked his girl what kind of man he is.

Oh, wait, we can’t. She’s in the ICU, fighting for her life. ”

That takes the wind out of my sails. “Who is she?”

“We’re not talking about her. We’re talking about you and how I’m trying to save you from being in the hospital bed next to her. Does that make me a bad man?” He storms toward the door. “Am I that horrible?”

He disappears down the hall, leaving me with my thoughts.

I’ve never been more confused in my life and can’t help but feel guilty for hurting Riot.

Everyone in his life treats him like a pariah, only bringing him into the fold when he’s useful.

Even his own mother played with his emotions, shunning him when his dad was around and then relying on him for her every need when he was gone.

That kind of emotional abuse is bound to take a toll on a person.

Riot’s not a bad guy, and he’s so much more than what everyone else sees. They’re not around when he’s tending to his rats or when he’s taking care of me. His methods are questionable, but his intentions are good.

Maybe there’s a way for us to both get what we want, but I think we both need time.

He needs time to see I’m just as curious about this connection we share as he is and trust we can come together without force.

And I need more time to think this all through.

Since no one is sure what happened to me, I’m confident Dad’s affairs will be put on hold for at least a month or two, probably longer.

It’ll be hard to explain where I’ve been, but I can give that to Riot.

I sit up and rest my head in my hands. Am I really going to concede and voluntarily stay with the man who murdered my own father in cold blood before abducting me? Jesus Christ.