Page 5 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER TWO

RIOT

W hat the hell is wrong with this bitch?

A better question is, what the hell is wrong with me?

The second I saw her hiding, I should’ve put a bullet in her skull.

It doesn’t matter that she couldn’t pick me out of a line-up or that I’m not leaving a trace of myself behind; witnesses are a liability, and I don’t do liabilities.

So what am I waiting for? I should just toss her limp body to the ground and take care of the problem.

Instead, I shift my hold and lift her into my arms. All her fight is gone, shock taking over.

I see it in her vacant eyes that stare ahead, unseeing, as a steady stream of tears rolls down her ruddy cheeks.

“Riot,” Killer says. “You know what you have to do.”

“Yeah—whatever the fuck I want to.”

I take in the girl’s long, dark eyelashes, her too-big, black-framed glasses that have dropped down on her button nose, and the sharp point of her chin. Kill her or take her? Because leaving her behind is sloppy, and I don’t do sloppy.

Something deep inside begs me not to kill her. Why did I choose now to grow a conscience? Glancing at her dad, I dismiss that thought because I have no regrets about taking him out. So if that’s not it, what is it?

“Where does that leave us, Little Thorn?” I growl as I hear the shouts of men growing closer. Apparently, Killer missed a few. That’s a shame. “I don’t like making rash decisions, so I guess you’re coming with me.”

“You’re outta your goddamn mind.” Killer darts to the door, her feet crunching on glass. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

I tuck the girl’s glasses in my pocket and heft her over my shoulder, walking out the front door as if I own the place and this happens every day. Thoughts of what I’ll do with her creep in, but I push them away for now. One thing at a time.

Pulling my Glock from my waistband, I make my way around the mansion, keeping my ears perked and my eyes focused. The girl weighs next to nothing, so I’m able to keep my normal pace, staying light on my feet.

There’s a shift in the air to my right, something a normal man wouldn’t pick up on, but I’m not a normal man.

I turn, aiming and firing before I even see the guard sneaking up on me.

Red blossoms over the middle of his chest. It’s beautiful, like watching a time-lapse of a red rose blooming.

I wish I could take a picture, but guards are like cockroaches; if there’s one, there’s a hundred lying in wait.

Sifting through parked cars, I find the nondescript, older model, black sedan right where I left it.

There are at least three others just like it in this very lot, making it too common for any onlookers to discern.

Killer’s vehicle is already gone, telling me she got out safely.

I wish she hadn’t seen this lapse in judgment, but it’s too late for that. I’ll have to answer to her later.

I open the back door and toss the girl in, taking a few seconds to pull her arms behind her and zip-tie her hands. I’ve never kidnapped anyone before, but I can’t risk her coming out of this trance before I get her. . . where? The clubhouse?

It says something about me that I’m certain none of my brothers will be surprised to find me carting a passed-out girl into my cabin, but they would have questions, and I don’t have any answers. It’s best to keep this quiet until I do.

There’s a chance Killer will rat on me, but I don’t think so. Ever since I was tasked with helping her cross names off her list, we’ve built. . . not a friendship, but maybe an alliance with mutual trust. I guess we’ll find out since this is the first time that trust is being tested.

“Fuck,” I curse, shutting the door. What the hell am I doing? I should end this now, dump her on the sidewalk and put a round in her head. Quick. Painless. Humane. It’s the right thing to do, but I can’t.

Climbing behind the driver’s seat, I wonder if I’ve gone soft.

Would I have made the same decision ten years ago?

Can’t say for sure since this hasn’t ever happened before.

Besides, it doesn’t matter right now anyway, does it?

This assassination just turned into a kidnapping, and people tend to get worked up when pretty young white girls go missing.

There will be a manhunt, and the cops will be under pressure to find her.

I throw the gear into reverse, and as the damn cockroaches appear, guns in hand, I speed away, leaving them with nothing. Any video feed of the last twenty minutes is gone, thanks to our enforcer Satyr, which will leave all investigators stumped.

Everything will go off without a hitch because this is what I do.

It’s my purpose. I found people who could use my particular skill set, people who don’t mind that my morals and ethics are questionable, my conscience hanging on by a thread.

The number of people I’ve deleted from this Earth is obscene, and I don’t feel guilty about any of them.

On the other hand, I’ve never hesitated to take a life before either, so never say never, I guess.

Realizing I have nowhere to take her except home, I steer toward the clubhouse. Just add it to my list of mistakes, since I seem to be stockpiling them today.

I glance in the back seat, checking she’s where I left her.

Attraction is something I rarely feel, but seeing the girl on her stomach, hands bound behind her back, covered in blood has me fucking hard as stone.

Even with black lines of mascara running down her face and her hair a mess, I have the urge to fuck her, not kill her, and that doesn’t happen to me. Ever .

When I’m a mile from the clubhouse, I hear her stir from her shocked stupor. Terrible fucking timing. I split my attention between the road and her, noting she’s trying to pull her hands apart. She hasn’t realized why she can’t move them, her brain no doubt still foggy.

I’ve seen this before, when someone sees something they don’t have the capacity to deal with.

It’s always the same. They space out for a while then slowly come back to reality.

The problem is, once they’re fully awake, they’re also usually in fight-or-flight mode, which is highly inconvenient right now.

Kicking up rocks, I speed down the gravel drive to the Garage, our legitimate car repair business, and the clubhouse that sits next door. The gates are close enough to see now, but with the way she’s trying to sit up, I think my time is almost up.

“What is—? How am—? Am I—? Oh, no. No, no, no, no.” She softly vocalizes her confused thoughts, and all I can think about is how I love the sound of her voice. It soothes the chaos in my mind.

“What the hell?” she cries, and a quick glance over my shoulder shows her twisting her wrists unhelpfully.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” I say flatly. My brothers give me shit about my monotone voice, but when all your emotions were extracted from you long ago, there are just no fucks left to give about anything.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“I’m your savior, and I think it’s pretty obvious you’re in a car.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To my place.”

“What? Why?”

Her loud struggling grabs my attention, and I see the moment she sits up and gets a look at me without the balaclava.

Her eyes widen, and I’m sure she recognizes me from earlier, when I held the door open for her.

I’ve never been more confused than when she stepped out of her car and my chest suddenly felt constricted.

I don’t typically have emotional reactions to people, especially women.

“Haven’t decided,” I mutter.

“Wait. I know you,” she says accusingly as I catch her gaze before turning into the parking lot. Thankfully, the gates are already open when I pull up. “You were the guard at the front door.”

I grunt as I park on the side of the clubhouse, the closest I can get to my cabin without off-roading.

“Why are we here?”

I circle the car and open the back door. “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”

“What?” She looks around. “No. I want to go to the police station. I need to tell them. . .” Her voice cracks, telling me she’s about to lose it. “My dad, he was. . . I think he’s. . . I have to report the break-in.”

“Guess I’m carrying you.” I pull her up to stand and crouch to put my shoulder into her middle before lifting.

“No! Stop! This isn’t right!” She squirms, and I struggle to walk and keep hold of her.

“Knock it off,” I warn.

I grow concerned when one second, she’s fighting, and the next, she’s frozen. I realize why when she yells, “The mask! You’re him! Oh, my god. Help! Someone help me!”

It’s then I realize I left the balaclava tucked into my back pocket. That’s not ideal.

She doubles her effort, and the bitch is stronger than she looks.

I wrap both arms around her legs and pick up my pace, pissed my cabin is the furthest one back.

It felt like a good decision at the time, because I enjoy my own company enough to not need any interaction with the outside world, but it sure is biting me in the ass right now.

“I warned you.” I bring my hand down on her ass, swift and hard. It has the desired effect because she clamps her mouth shut, only releasing small whimpers. “Better.”

We reach the main gravel path that travels the length of the property.

On the left is the clubhouse, and on the right are small cabins where all the ranking members live.

Actually, that’s not true anymore. Cy, the club’s prez, Rigger, the VP, Mustang, the secretary, and Lucky, the sergeant at arms, all moved out of their cabins once they found partners.

They haven’t given them up; they just use them for emergencies or if they want to get shitty and can’t drive home.