Page 48 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

PARKER

I toss my cell phone on the coffee table after a frustrating morning. Roland quit with no notice, leaving me stranded at the cabin. This was kind of expected. Men don’t like being rejected, especially men like Roland. I could tell it was already a struggle for him to accept me as his superior.

I’m better off, but I wish I had some notice.

Now, instead of spending the morning signing even more documents to sell off more of Dad’s assets, I’ve been on the phone with a car dealership, trying to talk them into delivering me a vehicle.

Not that it was too hard. When you know exactly what you want and are willing to pay cash, it tends to speed up the process.

I’d been wanting to go electric for a while, and this gave me the push I needed. Within the hour, my Rivian R1S will be delivered because fuck Elon. I hate that guy. The Rivian looks cute and has all the bells and whistles I never had with my sedan. I’m actually kind of excited.

It’s also the last of Dad’s money I’ll spend on myself.

After this, it’s all going to start up my charity.

I’ll take a comparable wage to others in my same position, but I’ll be working for it.

I expect this will be more than a full-time job for quite a while, but I’m ready for it.

In two weeks, everything Dad owned will be liquidated.

What Riot said to me yesterday has been playing through my head on repeat. He said I’d better be ready for when he comes for me. That he could show up at any moment is exhilarating. In true Riot fashion, I’m sure it’ll be the moment I least expect him, hopefully soon.

“I’m going to go get ready for when the car comes,” I say to Rebel, who’s on her laptop, doing some work.

“Okay. I’ll just be here.”

In my bedroom, I get dressed and apply some mascara and blush.

I’ve learned recently that men take me more seriously when I don’t have a full face on and wear my glasses, but I pack some contacts, eyeshadow, concealer, and bronzer to apply later.

I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to meet up with my roommates since I reappeared in the land of the living.

They were at the funeral to show support, but I didn’t have time to catch them up, so we decided a girls’ night out was necessary.

Rebel and her men aren’t happy with this decision, but they’ll have to deal because even though I wouldn’t call them close friends, we did live together for a long time.

I decide to wear a black body con dress that’ll be good for the club later and add a cream blazer to make it work appropriate. After choosing a pair of ballet flats, I move to my dresser to put on my jewelry. There’s a new necklace I haven’t seen before lying on top.

The gold chain is beautiful, but the pendant is a cheap glass vial with a metal loop attached to the cork so it can hang on the necklace.

There’s something in the vial, a lock of dark hair maybe?

Holding it up to the light, I nearly drop it when I realize that, yes, it’s hair, but it’s so much weirder than that because it’s definitely pubic hair.

Did he really give me a locket of his pubes? Sometimes that guy was so sweet; other times, he’s just so strange. What would make him think I’d want this?

But even as I think that, I’m slipping the necklace on, thankful it’s long enough for the vial to slip between my breasts. I add a couple more white gold necklaces to distract from that one. I’d never admit this to anyone, but I feel like I’m keeping a dirty little secret, and I like it.

Wait. If he cut off his to give to me. . . no, he wouldn’t. Would he? I dash into the bathroom and pull my dress up and my panties down. Oh, god. He did. He cut a patch of my pubes. How did I not wake up?

Grinning like an idiot and shaking my head, I right myself just as the doorbell rings. Time to start the day as a grown woman with pubes hanging from her neck. That’s not weird at all.

Shrugging out of my blazer, I ruffle my hair and apply a darker lipstick than what I had on earlier. After using a liquid liner to draw a wing and deepening my bronzer, I’m ready for the night.

It’s a short drive to the club where I agreed to meet my friends. Since it’s inside the Grand Sierra Resort, I leave my car with the valet. My three roommates, Penny, Renee, and Cass, are waiting for me outside the entrance. Their eyes widen when they see the two large men following close behind.

I introduce them to Paxon and Otto, telling them I’ll explain later. The girls cheer when we’re able to skip the line, thanks to the VIP table I bought for the night. I figured it was easier, security-wise, to ensure we have somewhere to commune.

The inside of the club is insane. The ceiling in the main room is tall enough to hang a full-scale airplane, but the Roman architecture is so large, it makes the club feel intimate even though it’s huge.

There are two levels of VIP tables and couches on either side of a large pool that is thankfully surrounded by guardrails so drunk partygoers don’t fall in, but they do hire girls in skimpy bikinis to play with beach balls and romp around on giant pool floats every weekend.

In the middle of both sides of the pool are platforms for go-go dancers and a DJ booth that hosts professional DJs from all over the world.

Two circular bars are located to the left and right of the booth, and if things weren’t crazy enough, there’s a centrally located, glass-enclosed restroom where there are more women showering and dancing in bikinis.

It’s definitely sensory overload, but if you drink enough cocktails, it’s a good time.

Paxon and Otto stand just behind our U-shaped sofa situated right in front of the pool. It’s a good location because we won’t have to go far in order to dance. The cushions are buttery soft leather, and there’s a coffee table in the center held up by thick Roman columns.

“Okay, now will you tell us about the two hotties you brought along?” Penny asks once our waitress has brought our first round of drinks.

I take a sip of my old fashioned to wet my throat so I can yell over the EDM. “Because of how my dad died, I thought it was best I had a security team. The cops still aren’t sure why he was killed, so I could be in danger.”

It’s the lie I decided to tell everyone who asks.

I’d never forgive myself if the Sons took any heat because of what happened, even if I haven’t decided whether I agree with this vigilante murder spree Killer and Riot are on.

Taking a life has to weigh on your conscience, even if you feel it’s justified, and I’d hate for either of them to wake up one day and regret not turning the assholes in instead of killing them.

“They don’t have any leads?” Renee asks.

I shake my head. “I’ve been doing nothing but dealing with my dad’s death for a month now. I don’t want to talk about it anymore; I want to shake my ass on the dance floor!”

“Hell yeah!” Cass shouts.

We stay in the space between the pool and our table, where Otto and Paxon can keep their eyes on me, but I block them from my mind as my hips begin swaying.

I don’t move to the beat because the beat is so intense, it moves me.

And for the first time in weeks, I feel like the nearly twenty-two-year-old college student I am.

Suddenly, nothing matters but some good old-fashioned girl joy as we drink, laugh, and shake our asses. There are no mass shootings, no badass biker abductions, no snuggling rats, no inheriting a billion-dollar company, and no flirting personal assistants.

The later it gets, the more people infiltrate the club until our section of dancing space is no longer just us four.

I decide to take a hydration break and slide into our booth.

One of the perks of reserving a table is the complimentary small cooler of bottled water on ice.

I pop the top off one and chug the cool liquid down as I people-watch.

My friends are all beautiful, so it’s not a surprise when they pair off with other club-goers. Renee and Cass somehow end up with a set of twins who look like frat bros, which is their type, and Penny is grinding against a masc lesbian who has me questioning my sexuality.

That brings up thoughts of Riot and how unapologetic he is about his sexuality. I’m not sure if I would’ve ever discovered how kinky I am if it hadn’t been for him. My pussy clenches at the memories of how much it turned me on when he called me names and used my body.

Since Riot was my first, I don’t know what vanilla sex would be like, and I hope I don’t ever find out. I’m quite literally ruined for all other men, and I’m not mad about it. He better not give up on me because if he did, the roles would reverse, and I’d be the one stalking him.

After the booze and water, my bladder begins to protest, so I catch Otto’s eye and point to the bathrooms. He rounds the booth and makes space for me to get out. I become the meat in a bodyguard sandwich as I’m led to the glass-enclosed bathrooms.

The line is a mile long, so I convince them to take me out into the casino. I breathe a sigh of relief when there’s a bathroom just outside the club with no line. It’s a U-shaped space with toilet stalls on one side and sinks on the other so no one is going against traffic to get out.

The jingling slot machines in the casino are so loud, the sudden lack of sound in the bathroom is drastic. I might even be the only person in here.

I suck in a sharp breath, and my body locks up when someone grabs me from behind. Their gloved hand is over my mouth, making it impossible to scream. My limbs flail as I struggle to get away, and my first thought is that Bart got me, just like Riot said he would. I should have fucking listened.

“Stop struggling,” a man whispers next to my ear; it sounds familiar, but I’m not certain.

“Who are you?”