Page 29 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

PARKER

R iot—no, Lucas—and I spend the rest of the day relaxing. He makes me eggs and toast, and we eat in bed, him with his back against the hard metal headboard and me cross-legged at his side. After breakfast, he brings Ben and Amy into the bed with us, and we take a nap, all snuggled together.

The sun is low in the sky when we wake. I know my sleep schedule is messed up, but I don’t care. I’m floating on clouds of endorphins and pride. It’s a stupid thought filled with so much patriarchal brainwashing, but I feel like a woman now, like I finally know my own body.

Sugar made us some plates for dinner, so Riot leaves to collect them while I take Ben and Amy into the living room.

They’re wired after our nap and immediately start wrestling while I watch, laughing at how crazy they are.

Minutes later, Riot returns. He sets one of the paper plates in front of me and takes his to his little corner.

I don’t miss how his dinner is pretty bland, just a quesadilla and white rice, while mine is a chicken fajita loaded up with veggies, meat, cheese, and sour cream.

It’s probably a sensitive topic, but I want to know him more, so I decide to tiptoe around a few questions I’ve been saving up.

“I love how cozy you’ve made it over there,” I say. “Why did you make that space for yourself?”

He’s quiet for a long while, staring off into space while he eats. I know he heard me, so I give him time to think. I’d guess no one knows about it because he hides his vulnerable side that doesn’t fit with being a badass biker. Especially one who kills for a living.

It takes him a minute, but when he speaks, his words are monotonous.

Without the typical emphasis on certain syllables, it can be hard to tell how he’s feeling, so I’ve learned to look for other signs.

If he’s fidgeting or moving around in some other way, he’s distressed.

If his body is still and his words come easier, then he’s relaxed.

Right now, his knee is bouncing, so I know whatever he’s about to say bothers him.

“When I was a kid, maybe six or seven, my mom would kick me out of the house whenever she was mad at me. I had nowhere to go, but there was a corner store I knew how to get to, so that’s where I went.

The owner wouldn’t let me loiter around inside for very long, since I didn’t have money, so I found a spot behind a dumpster.

As I grew up, I made it more comfortable with pillows and blankets I kept hidden in a tote close by. It became my safe place.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry.” The more he tells me about his mom, the less the idea of him killing her disturbs me.

What does that say about me?

“Don’t be. That’s how I figured out how smart and friendly rats could be.”

“What? There were rats?” I whisper the question, as if the outraged way I asked would hurt Ben and Amy’s feelings. This nearly earns me a grin, and I vow to make this man smile someday. I need to see it.

“Yeah. It took some time for them to trust me, but bringing them food helped.” He pushed the rice around on his plate, which tells me it bothers him more than what his tone allows.

“They were my only friends until I turned eighteen and moved across town. I didn’t do it on purpose, but each place I lived after that, I made a small space for when. . .”

“When you needed to calm down or process something?” I finish for him because admitting that might be hard for a man like him.

“Yeah.” He glances up at me. It’s so brief, I barely catch it, but I know he’s looking for acceptance.

“I’m jealous. I could’ve used a space like that multiple times this week.”

“You can use mine whenever you want.”

“Thank you.” I take a bite of my fajita, deciding to ask another burning question that’s been on my mind. “How did you find the club?”

“Did you meet Dutch? He’s another one of my brothers.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Anyway, we worked at the cement factory together when we were younger. We both had bikes, and the factory had motorcycle parking, so we ended up coming to and leaving work around the same time, even though we worked in different departments. One day, he showed up in a leather cut with a prospect patch, and we got to talking. He told me the club was just a big family, and the way he described it, I just knew I wanted to join.” He breaks off a couple of pieces of tortilla and feeds them to Ben and Amy, who took a break from roughhousing to eat.

“I was already fucked in the head by then—my mom made sure of that—so when the club realized I had a special talent , they fast-tracked me.”

At the time, the club had multiple illegal ventures, so things weren’t as calm as they are now. Turns out, when you’re able to take lives without remorse or even caring why, you’re an asset.

“Did you find what you were looking for with the club?” I ask, wanting to know his perspective on it.

“Yes and no. Every man out there would die for me, but I’m just different, I guess.” So he does feel that disconnect. I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to bring it up if he hadn’t noticed the way I did.

“Why don’t you say something about how they segregate you?”

“That’s too harsh a word, and I can’t really put all the blame on them. I’m different. And don’t try to deny it because I know you know, too.”

“I don’t think it’s because you’re ‘fucked in the head’, as you put it. I just think your brain works differently,” I say.

“I guess.” He sighs, dismissing my opinion, but that’s okay. At least I said it.

Standing, he takes his empty plate and my mostly empty one to the kitchen. Seconds later, he returns with a water bottle, handing it to me. “Thanks.”

“I gotta go out for a bit,” he says, pushing his feet into his boots.

I straighten. “Where are you going?”

“Just have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“The man?”

He kneels to lace up the boots. “Yeah. I’m meeting Killer over at the Honey Pot in twenty minutes to finish some things.”

“The Honey Pot? Isn’t that a brothel?”

“Yeah. The club owns it.”

“Why there? Do you have a kill room in the basement or something?” I chuckle, but it dies when his eyes meet mine. “You do have a kill room in the basement?”

“The less you know, the better.”

“Can I come?” I ask.

“No.” He slides his cut on.

“Why? I heard the brothel has a bar. I could hang out there and wait for you.” Clearly, I’m impressionable because the limited club life I’ve been exposed to has worn off on me. Now that I know what that guy did to their friend, I don’t care that he’ll be dead soon.

“No. I can’t do what I need to do while I’m worried about you.”

“You said you guys own it. Surely nothing bad would happen to me there.” I need to get out of here. Turns out, cabin fever is a real thing.

He grumbles and pulls out his phone. After mashing a bunch of buttons, he stares at the screen until a ding sounds. “Navy’s there and said she’d give you a tour while I take care of some work. So yeah, you can come.”

“Really?” I jump to my feet. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be five minutes.”

“Make it three.”

I take twenty, but I couldn’t go to a brothel looking like garbage.

I’ll bet the women there are done up to the nines with makeup and sexy clothes.

Since I don’t have anything sexy here, I’m forced to put on a cropped Janis Joplin T-shirt and the white shorts I made from the jeans Riot took from my room.

Excitement bubbles in my tummy as I slip on my Chucks.

It’s either those or my flip-flops. I never dreamed I’d see the inside of somewhere so seedy, but the prospect is thrilling.

Growing up the way I did, it was all fancy fundraisers and boring symphonies, a tradition I thought I’d carry on with my future family, but now, I don’t think I will.

Grandpa is probably rolling over in his grave.

The thing is, now that I know their secret, any obligation I felt to uphold the family name is gone.

It’s freeing, really. Not that Riot would, but even if he did let me go back to college, I think I’d drop out.

The only reason I was working on my master’s was to please my father.

“Ready,” I say, pushing my glasses up my nose. I wear contacts sometimes, and I wish I had them now. My chunky frames are cute when I’m going to class or I’m in the library, but for everyday occasions, I prefer my contacts. Maybe I’ll ask Riot to break into my place again and grab them.

“Finally.” He opens the front door, and I notice Ben and Amy are nowhere to be found.

“Did you put the rats away?”

“Yeah. I don’t like them running around when no one’s home.”

I dart over to the pantry and open the door before crouching. “Bye, guys. See you in a little while.” After shutting them back in, I dash to the door, stopping when I see Riot’s expression. “What?” I ask.

“You said goodbye to my rats?”

“Yeah, I kind of feel bad for not staying home so they could continue to play.”

Riot cups my cheeks and smashes his lips to mine. This kiss is unlike any other we’ve shared. It’s full of emotion I know he can’t verbalize, but it says more to me than any words could. I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. How we got to this point in just days, I’ll never understand.

“Let’s go,” he says after breaking the kiss.

“Yeah, okay.”

Hand in hand, we walk to the parking lot.

I don’t recognize it, since the one and only time I was here, I was upside down and terrified.

He stops in front of a bike, and I wonder if there’s something in one of the leather bags he needs.

But then, he’s plopping a helmet on me and tightening the straps.

“We’re taking your bike?” I ask.

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Sure. I’ve just never been on one before.”

“It’s easy. Just hold on and you should be fine. Also, keep your feet on the pegs.” He swings his leg over the shiny beast of a bike. “Oh, and assume everything is hot, so don’t touch anything.”