Page 62 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER FORTY

PARKER

I ’ve just woken from a nap when I get a text from Roland he’s bringing by the last of the papers I need to sign. After what I’ve experienced, I’m even more anxious to get my nonprofit up and running. I hope I can do the cause justice.

Being as young as I am and never having worked in this industry, I worry I don’t have what it takes.

But after all the research I’ve done, I learned it takes a lot of time, energy, and passion, three things I have in spades right now.

I hate to think of it as a bonus, but now that I’ve experienced a lot of things I’ll be fighting against, it’ll be easier to gain the trust of those I want to help.

Even though Riot didn’t want me to get out of bed, I don’t feel right about having Roland in my bedroom, so I change into a comfy matching set, brush my teeth, and pull my rat’s nest of hair into a messy bun that looks slightly intentional.

Once I feel like a human being again, I set myself up in the living room and wait.

I’m halfway into a bag of chips and starting the next season of my favorite show when Roland knocks and walks in. I had texted him earlier and asked if he’d just come in, since I’m still moving slowly right now.

“Hi,” he says, dressed in his usual bespoke suit.

This one is gray and tan overcheck twill tweed with tan leather elbows, and when he unbuttons the coat, I see a matching vest with a leather chest pocket.

Under the vest is a blue button-down and a chocolate brown tie.

He looks like he just got a haircut because the fade from his black hair to his trim beard is tight.

No one could argue he’s not an attractive man.

If I didn’t have Riot, there’s a chance things would have ended differently.

His manners, his family, and his work ethic are all traits I thought were the most important to look for.

But now I know better because loyalty should trump all.

If you can’t count on your partner to be there for you, the relationship is doomed.

“Hi.” I sit up, my ribs smarting. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

“It’s no problem. I felt bad I left you in a lurch. It’s the least I could do.” He sits next to me on the sofa, and dang, the man even smells good. That’s when I catch sight of a black cast over his hand, wrist, and two fingers.

I gasp, pretending to not know about his injury. “What happened?”

He looks down at his cast, a fake smile on his face. “I got jumped.”

“Oh, god. When?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, if it’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Thank god. I’m not confident in my ability to carry on a lie, and I genuinely feel awful, since it’s my fault he’s hurting.

“Okay, just sign where there’s a tab.” He points to the spots that need my initials and signature.

“Why am I nervous?” After awkwardly scribbling something that looks close to my name with my injured hand, I set the pen down.

“There you go. Road Guardians is open to help victims of trafficking.”

I grin. “I have so many ideas. I can’t wait to start.”

“Is the name a nod to the biker club your boyfriend is in?”

“You caught onto that, huh? I figured it worked both for the club but also because victims are often transported out of their own cities and states.”

“I like it.” He stacks the papers and takes in my battered form. “What kind of accident did you say you were in again? Because those injuries aren’t consistent with a car accident.”

“You’re astute,” I say, making light of the situation. When he doesn’t smile, I sigh. “I’ll just say it’s better you don’t know what’s going on.”

“Why? You can trust me.”

“Not with this.”

He looks me over. “Okay, well, if you change your mind, you know I’m always here.”

“Thank you for bringing this all the way out here. I appreciate it.”

Now would be the time when he says, “You’re welcome,” and leaves, but that’s not what happens.

Instead, he rests his forearms on his thighs and weaves his fingers together, at least the ones not covered in plaster, and looks contemplative.

It’s as though he has something to say but is hesitant to say it.

Because I’m curious, I give him time to formulate his words.

“Does what happened to you have anything to do with Mr. Banks?” he asks, and a shiver runs up my spine. There is no way anyone would make that connection without knowing about the parties and the trafficking. That’s the only tie I have to Bart.

“Why would you ask that?”

He looks at the ceiling, still choosing his words carefully. “What if what you think you know was so much bigger than you originally thought?”

“Listen, I’m hurting, I’m tired, and I don’t have time for riddles. Let’s talk about this some other time.” I need him out of my house. I don’t feel comfortable with where this conversation is heading.

“I don’t think so. What I have to say needs to be said now, before your boyfriend gets back.”

“Why? This has nothing to do with him.”

“See, I think it does.” He leans back, throwing an arm over the back of the couch, looking relaxed. Meanwhile, I’m wound tight. “I think he killed Bart and his wife. In fact, I can prove it.”

I was concerned about this very situation, and even though Riot assured me there was no evidence, I still went over different scenarios with him, seeking reassurance. He had a response for every question I posed, so I let it go. “That would be hard, since he didn’t do it.”

He shrugs. “If you’re certain it wasn’t him, neither of you has anything to worry about, right?”

I chew on my fingernail, wondering what the right play is. If he really does have evidence and takes it to the authorities, Riot will go to prison. The courts won’t care that they were awful people; they’ll just see that Riot is a murderer.

“I know you didn’t come to warn me, so just tell me why you’re here,” I say.

“If I take what I know to the cops, you can guess what would happen. But since I respect you, I thought I’d give you the opportunity to save him from a life sentence.”

“How?”

“Just attend one of our parties.”

My stomach drops like a ton of bricks. “What?”

“Don’t play coy. If I know your boyfriend killed Mr. and Mrs. Banks, then obviously I know about the parties,” he says, as if we’re casually talking about the weather.

“No.” With my mind spinning, it’s the only word I can get out.

“No problem. I can’t say I blame you; those parties can get a little intense , and you only just met Riot. You can’t be expected to sacrifice yourself.”

My brows furrow. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, right. You don’t know. Mr. Banks—Bart—he was just a buyer at the auctions. A middleman, if you will. This whole operation is so much bigger than you gave us credit for.”

“ Us ?” Dread washes over me like a wave, suffocating and chilling me to the bone.

“My grandfather is the one who started this side hustle, but the demand was so high, he shifted his focus. He kept his company as a front to launder money, but it was his illegal business that grew at an exponential rate. Now, it’s me and my father who run things, and we’ve taken it to an even higher level by not bothering to collect street trash.

We find the most desirable products. Now, our pockets are so deep, we’re practically lawless, untouchable. ”

“How could you?” I ask, knowing where this is headed.

“It’s just business. Kind of like how your boyfriend made murder his day job. I hardly think you’re in a place to get all high and mighty on me.”

“You’re talking about selling people. Sons, brothers, sisters, daughters, friends. They’re human, not commodities.”

“If it’s in your possession, it’s a commodity, and for the briefest of moments, you were in our possession. Since it was a special request, we bypassed the auction and delivered you right to Mr. Banks. There was a bigger risk than usual, so of course, we had to adjust our price accordingly.”

“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” I spit out, glancing at my cell on the coffee table. Why didn’t I keep it next to me? That was so stupid.

“I don’t value your opinion of me in the least.”

“Same. So how about you get to the point?”

“The point is, Mr. Banks didn’t pay in full. Because of our relationship, we gave him a professional courtesy and granted him a thirty-day grace period. Unfortunately, he was never able to make good on that courtesy, and that’s your boyfriend’s fault.”

“How much? I’ll pay you the difference if you leave us the hell alone and I never have to see you again.”

He tsks. “It doesn’t work like that. Mr. Banks had clients who paid for the chance to spend time with the Richter princess. If they don’t get that chance, we lose all credibility. You understand?”

“I understand you’re a psychopath.”

“There’s no need to name-call. I came here to give you the opportunity to keep your boyfriend out of prison. We’d much prefer you fulfill your obligations willingly.”

“You want me to willingly allow old men to fuck me?”

A sinister smile creeps onto his face, sending up red flags. “Sure. We’ll go with that.”

I stare into space, wondering how much of this is bullshit.

Riot was certain there was no evidence left behind, but what if he was wrong?

Would I go through with this in order to save him from spending his life behind bars?

The answer is yes, of course I would. I could endure one night if it meant all my tomorrows were spent with him.

The better question is, would Riot want me to go through with it?

There’s no doubt in my mind that he would not.

There’s still so much for me to learn about the man, but I don’t have to be able to finish his sentences to know if I agreed to this, it’d destroy him.

It might absolve him from prison, but he would spend the rest of his life blaming himself.

“No,” I say again, this time with more certainty.

He runs his hands down his thighs and pats his knees. “Okay. No problem.”

“That’s it?”

“It?” he asks sardonically as he removes his suit coat, draping it over the back of the couch before unbuttoning the cuff on his uninjured wrist and rolling his shirt up to his elbow to match the other one.

“No. That’s not it . What I was offering was the easy way, for both of us.

But if you want to play the hard way, I can do that too. ”

“What are you talking about?” I kick off my blanket, adrenaline telling me I’ll need to run.

“My father refuses to disappoint his clients, so he sent me to rectify the situation. It was a coincidence you called and got me through the door. It was an even better coincidence that your biker friend wasn’t home.

I was okay with shooting him on the spot, but I don’t enjoy clean-up.

” He shivers dramatically. “I find it to be beneath me.”

“But abduction is okay?” I scan everything within arm’s reach, searching for a weapon. I could break the plate my lunch was on, but it’s thick ceramic, and I doubt it would cause much damage. I could maybe reach my phone, but what good is that if I don’t have time to dial before he attacks?

There’s nothing. I’m completely defenseless.

He motions to the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I push myself back into the corner of the sofa and hold up my hands, as if that’ll do anything. “No.”

He grabs my uninjured wrist, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I do love a good fight. Your biker does too, from what I hear at the club we both frequent.” The look on my face must expose me.

“Oh, you didn’t know he went to sex clubs?

It’s necessary for men like us. He and I aren’t that different. ”

“He’s nothing like you,” I spit.

“Agree to disagree.” He tugs my arm, but before he can get me to my feet, I kick out, aiming for his junk but missing and hitting his stomach instead. His only reaction is a grunt.

Deciding he needs a better grip, he goes for my bicep, pulling me up with little effort.

I struggle, hitting and kicking, not making it easy for him.

Once my arm gets free, I swing up, digging my fingernails into his face and dragging them down his cheek.

Small pearls of blood dot the scratches.

It does nothing to get me free because he quickly gets me back in his hold, but I’m glad I visibly injured him.

“Let me go!” I shout, dropping all my weight.

He loses his grip again, and I fall to the floor.

Time feels so precious, so I don’t bother standing, knowing my ankle would just slow me down.

Instead, I crawl as far away as I can, which isn’t far at all.

He reaches for my good ankle and tugs, dropping me to my stomach.

This is the first time I’ve ever regretted not having carpet because I have no way to stop myself from being dragged along the hardwood floors.

Flipping onto my back, I drive my heel into his face and hear the crunch I was after.

Blood drips down his chin, and he releases me long enough to wipe it away.

“You stupid cunt.” He charges forward, grabbing me by my hair and pulling hard. Chunks of hair tear from my scalp, sending sharp, shooting pain through my head. I watch in slow motion as his hand rears back, and I squeeze my eyes shut in preparation for the slap.

But it never comes because there’s a pop I recognize from being near too many shoot-outs lately, and then warm, thick liquid is coating my face, and I’m falling forward.