Page 8 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER FOUR

RIOT

“ N o,” she grits out. Then her eyes close, and she exhales before blinking them open and softening her tone. “Please.”

“Just don’t give me problems, and you’ll be fine.” I give her a little shove toward the hall, but she only gets a couple feet closer before she turns back to me.

“Riot, please.” It’s the first time she’s used my name, and an emotion hits me I can’t label. It’s the same way I felt when I first saw her. It confuses me, and I don’t know how to handle it.

“You’re being dramatic.”

I didn’t think she could look any more pathetic, but she somehow manages. Her doe eyes, slightly magnified through the advanced prescription of her eyewear, droop and her chin quivers.

“I don’t want my first time to be like this,” she says in a small voice, and it hits me that she thinks I’m going to force myself on her.

Her accusation, combined with the way she’s using her emotions to manipulate me, pisses me off. Mom used to do the same thing. She’d make me feel like shit for things I didn’t even do, and when I’d try to explain, she’d turn to tears, making me feel guilty.

“Fuck off,” I bite out, startling her. She winces and takes a step back, not understanding my anger. “I’m not a fucking rapist.”

“How was I supposed to know that? I don’t know you.” I study her, trying to gauge if she’s being genuine or if it’s just another ploy.

“I meant actually sleep. Fuck me. You really think I’d do something like that?”

“How am I supposed to know? Is that so crazy? I’ve seen you do unspeakable things today.”

“Yeah, actually, it is.” I stalk toward her, but for every step I take, she takes one back until she hits the wall.

Her long, slender neck cranes to look at me, and I place my hand around it and squeeze.

Her soft, delicate skin looks so good with my darker, weather-roughened fingers spread over it.

“I’m not a good man. What you saw today was nothing—just another day in my life.

But I have never and will never put my dick somewhere it’s not wanted. ”

The veins on her neck swell the same way the ones on my hand do, our bodies syncing the way they react to how I hold her in place, though for different reasons. Hers pulses in fear while mine is from excitement.

“Okay,” she chokes out, pulling at my hand. “I didn’t understand.”

I should squeeze harder, cut off her air supply completely.

It wouldn’t take long for her to pass out.

After that, it would be easy to continue until her heart stops in her chest. I could chalk this whole thing up to being a failed experiment and go back to living my life.

No more confusion or frustration. No more complications.

This could all be over. Isn’t that what I want?

Instead, my hold loosens a fragment, and my free hand smacks the wall above her head in frustration, but I don’t want her to know how badly I’m struggling, so I play it off as needing to brace myself.

My grip relaxes even more until she’s able to fit her fingers between my hand and her throat, easing some of the fear in her eyes.

A knock on the door breaks the tense moment, and we both glance in that direction. My hand quickly moves to her mouth, cupping it to stop her from making noise. My other hand grips her by the arm and drags her into my room. The space is small, barely big enough to fit my queen bed and dresser.

I prepared for possible complications to the sleeping arrangements while she was showering and got a pair of handcuffs and a strip of fabric ready on top of my dresser.

When I push her down on the bed, she opens her mouth to either yell or say something, giving me the opportunity to tie the makeshift gag.

It muffles her complaints as I pull her hands behind her back and cuff her.

Once that’s done, I take a zip tie and thread it between her joined hands, securing it around the wrought iron posts of the footboard.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d better stay silent,” I warn and leave the room, shutting the door behind me. She immediately ignores me, attempting to shout, but I can barely hear her as I step into my living room in time for another knock to sound.

I swing the door open, a scowl in place, and find Rigger and the little tattletale, Killer, on my porch. So much for the trust we’ve been building.

“What?”

The club’s VP looks around me and says, “Can we come in?”

“No.”

“Did you take that girl, Riot?” Killer asks.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is our business because the news is reporting what happened today is an abduction gone wrong. They’re saying the whole point of the break-in was to kidnap her, and when her dad tried to stop it, he was killed.

” Rigger folds his arms across his chest. He’s fooling himself if he thinks I’m intimidated.

“So?”

“So?” Killer mocks. “Do you know what happens when a pretty, white college girl disappears? Everyone gets involved. It’s not just local PD; it’s state law enforcement, the Feds, the fucking National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, not to mention every single person who sees the news.

They all rally together, leaving no stone unturned, and you can’t be sure no one saw anything that could give us away. ”

“No one saw shit.”

“Does that mean she’s here?” Riot asks. “Or did you. . . take care of the issue?”

“Isn’t it better you know nothing? Plausible deniability and all that.”

“Brother,” he lays in. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t need your help.” I try to close the door, but Rigger blocks it with his booted foot.

“I don’t pull rank often, but I’m doing it now. I haven’t told Cy what’s going on, but if you don’t cooperate, his place will be my next stop.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say.

“Never claimed otherwise.”

I blow out a breath. “I took her. But if I hadn’t, she would’ve been dead by now.

I don’t need to tell you the man we killed today is just a pawn in a much bigger game.

One sweep of that house will reveal what her dad was doing there, and his boss, fuckin’ Bart Banks, will want to silence everyone who was there, just in case. ”

Bart became a blip on our radar when we opened the Honey Pot, and he contacted Rigger to let him know if we ever needed girls, he could get them for us.

We haven’t spoken to him since; all our women are hired willingly and legally, but that offer was enough to pique Prez’s interest. We asked around and did some digging because knowledge is power, and you never know when knowing something like this will come in handy.

I guess that time is now.

According to what we dug up, Bart is part of a complex trafficking system set up in tiers.

After the women and children are acquired, they enter the top tier of the system.

The richest men, like Bart, are in this tier.

They pay for the victims and use them how they see fit; whether that’s keeping them for themselves or renting them to their friends, like Bart did for Parker’s dad.

Since Bart is a businessman, he saw an opportunity to make a shit ton of money off the backs of these women and children. Once his friends are done with them and want a new crop, Bart sells them back, and they drop down to the next tier, where men with less money purchase them.

By the time they hit the bottom, if they even survive, they’re a shell of who they used to be. At that point, they wash their hands of them and drop them off on any city street, or, if they have even an ounce of humanity, they kill them and end their suffering.

It sounds fucked up for us to know this happens and not stop it, but if we intervened each time we heard about something fucked up going on, we’d end up broke and probably dead since it’s an unspoken rule that everyone minds their own fucking business.

Besides, Bart is just one tier. If we took him out, someone would replace him, and since we’ve never discovered who is at the top acquiring these women and children, there’s just no point. Until the traffickers are gone, this won’t end.

“Which is what you should’ve done,” Rigger says.

“So why didn’t you?” Killer asks. The petite woman cocks her head, trying to understand me. If anyone in this world could, it would probably be her.

The reason we were even at that house in the first place was because of her kill list. She seeks out men who hurt those weaker than themselves and kills them.

Like most of us, she’s developed some unhealthy coping mechanisms from her trauma, but she never harms the innocent, and the little thorn hasn’t done a damn thing.

“She didn’t know what her father was doing. She still doesn’t, not really. But she’ll definitely pay for his crimes if I let her go.”

Rigger smirks. “When did you grow a conscience?”

“I didn’t.”

“Sure looks that way to me.”

“You need a plan,” Killer says, pushing past me and walking inside.

“I’m trying to be nice here, but if you don’t go the fuck away, I won’t be held accountable for what I do.” I turn but stay in the doorway, giving Rigger the opportunity to come in too.

“Where is she?” Killer looks around.

“None of your goddamned business. Now please fuckin’ leave.” My patience is growing thin, and I don’t like how close they are to her. I’m the one who saved her, so I’m the one who gets to decide what happens to her.

“You need a plan, brother,” Rigger says, plopping down on my sofa as if this is a social call.

After inspecting my kitchen, Killer opens my fridge and pulls out a beer, not asking before cracking it open. “He’s right. I know you’re concerned Bart will want to eliminate her too, but in my eyes, you only have three options to protect her.”

She doesn’t offer up those options, letting me know she wants me to ask.

This woman is always playing power games.

I guess it comes from too many men taking away her choices, so now she feels like she always needs the upper hand.

It’s something I usually admire about her, but not when she’s using it against me.

She wants me to admit I need her help, which we both know I do because I have no idea what to do with the beautiful girl in the other room, but not enough to let her win, so I remain silent, not giving in.

Eventually, she rolls her eyes and says, “I fucking hate you.”

I grunt my reply because there’s no question about that.

“You can hide her away for years and years until people forget. You can kill her?—”

“Not fuckin’ happening,” I growl out, exposing myself even more, but just the thought of watching the light in her expressive eyes go dark infuriates me.

Something about my response has Killer grinning like an idiot.

“Then there’s option three—you make her yours so she’s under the club’s protection.

Bart likes his world to be civilized, and having a dirty biker club after him would destroy his image.

So, if he knows she’s yours, he knows she won’t talk, and he’ll leave you alone.

She’ll have to call the cops, though, and tell them she wasn’t abducted, just hiding out of fear because of what happened.

Then people will stop combing the fuckin’ desert looking for her. ”

“You think I should marry her?” I deadpan.

“Crazier things have happened. Look at me and Judge. I spend my free time making men bleed, and he spends his doing charity.”

I shake my head. “She won’t want to marry me. I killed her dad and kidnapped her.”

“Just make her understand what’s at stake. She can either hide away for the rest of her life or get hitched to the grumpiest bastard to ever walk the Earth.”

I scowl. “Thanks for the advice, but you’re bat shit crazy. I’ll figure this out on my own.”

“Fine. Do it your way.” She hands me the untouched beer on her way out the door.

“For what it’s worth, I think Killer is right. I don’t see any other options.” Rigger tucks his hands in his pockets and leaves me standing alone, the room quiet save for the muffled cries of distress coming from the other room.

I chug the beer—not because I want it, but because I don’t let things go to waste.

There was a time in my life when a beer was a luxury I didn’t think I’d ever be able to afford.

Now, my bank account doesn’t even notice the cost of a six-pack, but the thought that it could be taken away at any moment never goes away.

It’s the reason I didn’t renovate my cabin when everyone else did.

Well, everyone but Mustang. He and I come from similar backgrounds.

The difference is, Sugar worked her ass off to make sure Mustang was taken care of while I was the one providing for my mother.

The outcome was the same, though. We’re both frugal as fuck.

After depositing the bottle in the recycle bin, I brace myself on the kitchen counter while I try to think of a different plan. Nothing comes to mind until I start thinking about Killer’s idea. Could I marry her?

I’ve never once thought about marriage, probably because I’ve never been attracted to another human being before. I’m not even sure if that’s what this is. As far as I know, there’s no test I can take or list of symptoms to reference. So, how do I find out?

This could be a psychotic break for all I know.

It would surprise no one if it were. Everyone knows there’s something different about me, but they don’t even try to learn more, not that I’m not complaining.

I enjoy my solitude. And if I got married, that solitude would be gone.

She’d be here in my little cabin all the time.

Why does that not scare me?

First, I need to make sure she’s not a manipulative bitch because I refuse to put myself through that hell again. It didn’t end well for Mom or me. I guess it ended worse for Mom, but still.

Time to find out who this girl is, starting with her name.