Page 45 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

PARKER

I f I have to smile through one more anecdote about my father, I’m going to scream. It takes an inhuman level of restraint not to stand on a table and inform everyone of the things the man we’re all gathered here to celebrate actually did.

Roland is the only reason I’m still on my feet. Throughout the last two hours, he’s supplied me with electrolyte-infused water and even made me take a ten-minute break to eat something while he kept the crowd at bay. And during the funeral service, he was so kind to offer support and hold my hand.

I thought maybe Riot would show up. I was hoping he would anyway.

The gift he left me this morning was a black rose with a single thorn.

I might be reading too much into it, but it felt like he was telling me even on my darkest of days, he still thinks I’m beautiful and have enough strength to fight.

In a strange way, it was exactly what I needed to get through the day.

“Parker, you remember Mr. Banks,” Roland says, motioning to the tall, older man in front of me, whom I know very well. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and an uneasy feeling settles in my gut.

“Parker, it’s good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” Bart envelopes me in a hug that sickens me to the point that tears prick my eyes. Thankfully, I can blame it on emotion over my dad as I pull away.

“Me too.” They’re the only two words I’m able to get out.

“I’d like to speak to you in private for a second,” he says, gripping my elbow in a hold that’s not painful but also brooks no arguments. He walks me back to where no one can hear us. “We were so worried when you disappeared. Are you okay?”

“I’m doing better now. The shock of what happened had me out of my mind, so I took a little trip.”

“That makes sense. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to witness what happened. Once you came back, did you speak to the cops?” he asks, and I give him a questioning look. “I just mean, did you give them a statement? You know, so these people can be found.”

I keep my eyes trained on him, looking for a reaction. “I gave them a statement, but I’m working with the FBI on some other stuff related to the shooting.”

“The FBI? Why did they need to get involved?” He’s careful to school his features, but there’s a slightly higher pitch to his voice that tells me he’s nervous.

I’m not sure how to play this. Do I tell him what I found and make it sound as if I was as surprised as everyone else?

Or maybe I leave it and give him nothing else.

The more I think about it, the more I’m sure Bart had every intention of removing everything from the basement.

He probably thought he had more time, since I had most likely been abducted by whoever killed my dad. Which was true, in a way.

Ultimately, I decide to spill most of what I know because fuck this guy. I have a competent security team, and somewhere out there is my monster, protecting me from a distance. Maybe that gives me a false bravado, but I’m going with it.

“I’m not sure if I should say anything because there’s an ongoing investigation.” I watch closely for his reaction.

“What?” His eyes widen comically. He’s a terrible actor. “Parker, you can trust me. You’ve known me your whole life, and I have connections everywhere in case you need resources.”

I chew the inside of my mouth in mock debate then motion for him to lean down so I can whisper, “I think Dad was involved in something twisted. The basement was always off limits to me, and after Dad’s death, I figured I’d find out why.

” I let my words hitch and my hands cover my mouth.

“There are some suspicious rooms down there. I don’t know what it all means yet, but they’re looking into it. ”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I know. That’s why it’s so hard for me to admit. But with the evidence the FBI collected, they’re certain something nefarious was going on, and they’re dedicated to finding everyone involved.”

“My god,” he says, straightening. “I can’t believe it.”

“Trust me, I don’t either, but the evidence was damning.”

“I wish you had come to me or any of your father’s other friends first so we could handle this for you.”

Uh-huh, I’ll bet you do. “I just wasn’t thinking. It was so upsetting after everything I’ve been through already.”

He wraps his arms around me, and I get the urge to stab him in the balls. “Why don’t you give me the name of the agents working on this, and I’ll be the go-between. That way, you can put it out of your mind and work on healing.”

“I’ll have to ask them. They were pretty adamant I not tell anyone.”

“Surely they don’t mean family. I mean, maybe I’m overstepping, but I think of you like a niece.”

I rub my forehead. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll get that information for you. Do you have a card? I’m afraid my cellphone was destroyed when Dad was killed.”

“Of course.” He digs in his wallet. “Where are you staying now?”

“With me,” a deep voice from my left growls. I look over to see Riot approaching, his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Riot,” I say, shocked to say the least.

“Hey, baby.” He kisses my forehead.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Bart says.

“I don’t suppose we have.” Riot holds a hand out. “Name’s Riot.”

“Riot,” Bart repeats the name with disdain and ignores Riot’s outstretched hand before turning his attention to me. “You know this man?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s my. . . .” I search for a word to describe who he is to me. My captor? My stalker?

“Boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend.”

Boyfriend seems like such a juvenile term coming from the lips of a badass biker, but hearing him describe himself in that way sends my heart fluttering. There’s also an edge of concern there because I haven’t done everything I set out to do and don’t want him to try and drag me back.

“You’re keeping new and. . . different company these days, Parker.

If you need somewhere to stay, you should come stay with me and Anadell.

She hasn’t seen you in such a long time, but she’d love to see the beautiful woman you’ve become.

” His wife stopped attending any of the family dinners when Grandma died.

Bart said she’d be bored to tears with all the shop talk they did, but I wasn’t mad about it because she wasn’t a nice person.

“Oh, I couldn’t inconvenience you. I’m fine staying with my Riot. Honestly.” I’d rather cut my own eyeballs out .

“Okay, well, you have my number now. Call me as soon as you can with that information, and I’ll get right on it.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

He snaps a command to who I’m assuming are his assistants, and they rush over and follow him out of the yard. I guess he’s done paying his respects.

“Listen, I’m sorry I ran, but there are things I?—”

“I know. I’m not here to abduct you. . . again. I just couldn’t let that man think you didn’t have people looking out for you.” He takes both my hands.

“Really?”

“Really.” He yanks me into him and cups my cheeks, tipping my head back for a chaste kiss. “I’ll be back for you soon. You better be ready.”

“Soon?”

He releases me. “Soon, Little Thorn.”

Then he’s walking away, leaving me stunned and confused. What does “soon” mean? When he says he’ll be back for me, what does that mean? He’ll steal me back? He’ll knock on the door and ask for a date?

“Who was that?” Roland demands.

“Apparently, he’s my boyfriend.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend.”

I grin. “Tell that to him.”

Roland shakes his head, as if clearing the biker from his mind. “I think that was the last of them. Why don’t we take off? The stragglers don’t need you here to finish eating the free food and drinking the free booze, and the coordinator will make sure everything gets cleaned and locked up.”

“Good idea. I’m exhausted.” We walk through the house and out the front door to Roland’s car. My own car is still parked in the back, where the valet took it the day Dad died, and there’s no reason I can’t take it, but everything from my old life feels tainted.

“How about some dinner before I return you home?” Roland asks, turning the air on.

“I don’t know. I’m beat.”

“I can get a last-minute reservation at Beaujolais. I know the chef there.”

Running through the options of what I have in my kitchen, I decide a nice dinner at a French restaurant is better than the salad I have waiting for me. “Okay. Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re being seated in front of a large window that looks out on the garden. The small bistro has limited seating with a reservation list miles long; I should know, because this is one of my favorite places to come with Dad. Was one of my favorite places.

Roland shakes his napkin and lays it on his lap in the practiced way tells me he’s been to finishing school, just like me.

It makes sense, considering who his dad is, and it’s admirable he’s lowered his status to be a personal assistant just to learn the business.

It’s a good reminder I need to let him go.

He’s overqualified with all the decisions I’ve made over the last couple of weeks, and he’ll no longer be getting the knowledge he wanted to receive when he took the job.

“Wine?” Roland asks when the waitress approaches to take drink orders.

“Sure. I’ll let you decide.”

“How about the Meursault 1er Cru Sous Le Dos D’Ane Leftaive? The 2018?”

“Excellent choice,” the waitress says, her posture straightening because her tip just went up with the nearly thousand-dollar wine.

“How are you feeling?” Roland asks once the waitress leaves us to look over our menus.

I sigh. “This was the last big thing on my list to accomplish, other than selling the mansion. Now it’s just a million little things, which doesn’t feel as daunting.”