Page 63 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

RIOT

“ S hh. It’s okay, Little Thorn,” I whisper with her curled into me on the couch.

I’m not being gentle for Parker’s sake; she seems to be fine. It’s me who’s losing my shit, but she’s kind enough to not point it out and let me do what I need to do. I don’t have a safe place in her cabin, so this will have to do.

“I knew you’d come for me,” she says, and I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her comforting scent.

“Always. I’ll always come for you.” We stay like that until Dutch and Golden show up and I have to help them take out the trash.

“Can I shower while you do whatever you have to do?”

“Yeah.” I lift her into my arms as carefully as possible. Any healing she’s done since Bart got to her is gone, and we’re back to square one. “I’ll stay and help.”

She grins. “You just want to see me naked.”

That would usually amuse me, but I still have the image of him holding her up by her hair, seconds from slapping her across the face, on a loop in my mind. She doesn’t need me adding to her trauma, so I push down the rage and say, “I’ll never turn down a peep show.”

“Don’t I know it.” She lifts onto her toes and kisses the corner of my mouth. “But I’m okay. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Call out if you need anything.”

Golden, Dillon, and Dutch help me remove the chair and rug splattered with blood, putting them in the back of the van to be destroyed.

I won’t bother replacing either one, since I plan to have her back home with me soon.

She can sell this place, keep it for a getaway, or burn it to the ground for all I care.

No matter what, she’ll never live here again.

Back in the living room, Golden and Dutch get Roland to his feet. Now that some time has passed, I’m glad I had the self-control to not kill the guy. . . yet. He doesn’t deserve a quick death.

He catches my gaze and smirks. Pretty soon, he won’t find anything amusing because the death I have planned for him is especially gruesome.

Until then, I need to restrain myself. But that doesn’t mean I can’t wipe that grin from his ugly ass face.

I punch him across the jaw, relishing in the stream of blood that flies from his mouth.

It’s even more satisfying when he spits out a tooth.

“Keep him alive until I can get to the Honey Pot.”

“Fucking gladly,” Dutch says, flipping the hair off his forehead.

“Is she okay?” Golden asks, always the caregiver.

“She will be.”

“Are you?”

I stare at him, unsure how to answer. There’s something ugly inside me right now, something I’m not sure how to get out.

I want to rage, I want to cry, I want to beat the shit out of someone—mostly Roland.

But they’re all fighting to get out at the same time, and it’s creating a whirlwind of emotion.

“Hold on a second. I’ll be right back,” Golden says.

My brothers force a cursing Roland out the front door and into the van. Due to the adrenaline, he’s not fully feeling the pain of getting shot in the shoulder, but he will be, very soon. And I’m fucking thankful for that knowledge.

Seconds later, Golden’s back with a pair of headphones and his sunglasses.

“It’s hard to dim the light when there aren’t any blinds, but the sunglasses will do the trick, and these are noise canceling.

Oh, and here’s a peppermint. Sometimes, the cooling sensation and the strong flavor shock to one sense can calm down the others. ”

I stare at him blankly, not understanding how he knew about my unique issues. “Okay.”

“If I had to recommend anywhere to chill out, I think that corner over there looks good. It’s a little darker, and there’s not a lot to look at or anything.

” He points to a spot between the couch and the loveseat.

Again, I just stare. “Oh, um, one of Ty’s friends gets a little overwhelmed sometimes, and his dad told me what to do. I figured it’d work for you too.”

I take his offerings. “Thank you.”

“No problem. See ya later.”

I put the headphones on, press the button for noise cancellation, and place the sunglasses over my eyes. Sitting in the spot Golden suggested, I pop the peppermint into my mouth, surprised when he’s right. The flavor is too strong, but the cooling sensation is nice. I’ll have to remember that.

Ten minutes later, that tornado of emotion has calmed, and I feel okay to get up. I reverently set the headphones and glasses on the kitchen island so I’ll remember to take them back to the clubhouse. Then, I get to work cleaning up, my mind draining of all thought as I work from top to bottom.

Sometimes, my job requires someone to disappear without a trace, so for those situations, I had to learn to clean the right way. The steps are like second nature to me now.

Once the house smells heavily like bleach and I’m certain there isn’t a drop of blood anywhere, I set off to find my woman.

Standing in the doorway of her room, I take a second to feel the wave of calm, knowing she’s resting.

There are a few more things to wrap up before she’ll be safe, but that’ll be taken care of real soon.

Then, we can get down to the business of living our lives.

She relayed everything Roland told her to me, and it wasn’t until then that Bart’s cryptic words made sense. I thought he was just trying to save his hide, and once he realized his death was imminent, he said whatever he had to in order for it to go quick. That was my mistake.

I strip to my boxers and climb into bed next to her, surprised when she sighs and turns into me, curling her body around mine.

There was no question in my mind that I was keeping her forever, but against all odds, I managed to convince her to care for me, to feel safe with me, to want me back.

I refuse to thank a god I don’t believe in, but I can’t deny there’s something working in my favor.

I don’t deserve a second of her affection.

“I love you,” she says sleepily, and fuck, those words kickstart my heart into overdrive. I never thought for even a second that I’d ever have the love of a woman, but here she is.

I want to say it back. Fuck knows I feel it. But it’s so much more than that, and if I say those three little words, she might think that’s all I feel.

What I really want to say is that she’s written herself on my soul. That I live for her alone. That she owns me as much as I own her.

Not even that’s enough, though. So instead, I say, “You’re the thorn in my side.”

I feel the corners of her lips turn up. “I know.”

“What is this?” Roland cries. “Where am I?”

“It’s more or less a coffin, rubber-lined to keep the mess localized,” I say, walking around the single wooden box currently holding two full-grown men and making sure the rubber is secure.

Roland hears moaning next to him, but he can’t see who it is.

I have their heads strapped down, along with their limbs so they can’t touch or escape.

Not that they’d be able to get out of the basement at the Honey Pot.

Plus, it’s more secure than Roland Sr.’s mansion.

I should know, since I broke in and took him.

“Who’s there? Who’s next to me?” Roland, who turned out to be a junior, is on the verge of a panic attack, and I can’t say I blame him. This shit is twisted, even for me.

“Roland?” Senior says groggily.

“Dad? You took my dad too?” Roland shrieks.

“All you had to do was leave Parker alone, and we never would’ve crossed paths again.

I never would’ve known you were involved.

” I hold the blade of my knife up to the light, admiring the straight edge.

It’s perfect for precision slicing and minimizes the risk of punctures.

That’s important when making a gourmet meal, but it’s also important for what I have in store for Junior and Senior.

“You went after her again?” Senior sounds annoyed. I guess his kid never learned how to obey. Either way, it doesn’t absolve him of his sins just because he wasn’t directly involved in the incident with Parker.

It’s been two weeks since then, and my girl is doing better each day.

She’s able to put more weight on her ankle, and her gunshot wound is healing beautifully.

Although she’s pissed she won’t have much of a scar.

Apparently, she wanted to tell people who asked that she’d been shot.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand how her mind works, but I can live with her craziness if she can live with mine.

The bruises on her face are starting to fade, and the headaches she was plagued with after Roland ripped hair from her scalp are lessening, but most importantly, she’s less fearful every day.

The first few nights, she woke up screaming at least once.

I managed to keep my shit together, but only by driving out here and beating the shit out of Roland each time I had to hold her so she could sleep.

The last two weeks haven’t been good to him to say the least.

“I’m sorry, okay? Just let us go, and I’ll never even look at her again.”

“I understand why you want her. She’s beautiful, smart, and has a sharp tongue, which gets her in trouble all the time. She’s a thorn in my side, but she’s my thorn, and what kind of man would I be if I allowed you to share the planet with her?”

“Listen, son. Roland gets fixated sometimes,” Senior tries to reason. “And clearly, I’ve let his leash extend too far. I swear on everything holy, I’ll rein him in.”

“The problem with that is, Roland is here because of Parker, but you’re here because of all the women and children you’ve harmed,” I say, slicing across his stomach but not deep—just enough to draw blood.

“Shit!” Senior curses, his whole torso heaving. Unfortunately, I had to strip them of their clothing, and now, his saggy balls and gray pubes have me hoping I die young, with tight balls and a working cock.

“Have you ever heard of dermestid beetles?” I ask, slicing across Junior’s thigh before walking around to Senior and giving him a matching slice.

“No. What the fuck does a beetle have to do with anything?” Senior asks. “And why do you keep cutting us? What are you going to do to us?”

I circle the wooden box propped up on a couple of sawhorses.

With each pass, I make another cut. One of these days, I’ll be patient enough to find out if death by a thousand cuts is real because Parker asked about it, but that’s not today.

There’s no time for that now. I have about an hour before I meet Parker at the clubhouse to show her our new home.

I’m nervous and anxious and have already spent some time decompressing today.

But it’s also a good day because these two fuckers are going to die. Well, they won’t die today, but I’m at least getting things going.

After hearing them ask what I’m doing for the tenth time, I slap a strip of duct tape over their mouths.

I can’t enjoy the slight resistance of the skin before the blade slices through like butter with all that noise.

Each part of the body feels different. The layer of fat on the stomach is easy to slice if you hold the skin taut, while thighs require a little more force.

I pay attention to the feel of each cut, getting lost in the process.

I’m about two seconds from slicing through their vocal cords when I take in my work and decide it’ll do. There’s enough exposed flesh to do the trick.

I grab the bucket in the corner, hearing the most unusual sound. It’s unlike anything I’ve heard before, like the sound of a thousand people typing on keyboards, only quieter. The clicks are fast and so many, the best word to describe it is that it sounds like an infestation. And in a way, it is.

Popping the lid off the five-gallon bucket, I dump the beetles on top of both Rolands and quickly put the top on the box, since these guys can fly. The beetles only eat decomposing flesh, but without food or water, these two won’t last long.

I really like the thought of them spending days in the dark, strapped down, bugs crawling all over them, laying eggs on and in them, and not getting a break from that unique clicking sound. It sounds like a shitty way to go out. Exactly what they deserve.

The two men’s screams are muffled from the tape, but the abject horror is still clear. Five years ago, I watched a documentary on dermestid beetles and how anthropologists use them to clean decaying flesh off bones, and ever since, I’ve wanted to do this.

I check the live feed on my phone, making sure the camera is up and running.

I needed a way to see when the beetles were done, because if I opened the lid and released thousands of bugs into Rigger’s precious brothel, he’d lose his shit.

Once only bones are left, we’ll take the box over to Levi and have him incinerate them for us.

With everything as it should be, I flip off the light and leave the two pedophile assholes to their torture. It’s actually genius, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t have to change my clothes. There’s not a drop of blood on me.

I wonder how Parker feels about keeping beetles as pets. They could really come in handy.