Riot (Rebel Riders MC Book 2)

by Zahra Girard

  “These guys are the worst band I’ve ever heard… since last week. And until next week,” she says. “I think I need a refill. You want one?”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  She gets up and slides her way through the crowd towards the bar.

  I’d hoped that coming here would help take my mind off Riot, but it turns out that was wrong. Being here with Hannah just draws my mind back to the time that I was here with him, where he let me drag him around, just to give me a feeling of comfort and safety.

  It’s then I understand that, in such a short time, so much of my life has become tied to an MC again — my favorite bar, my job, my home — they’ve all been touched, they all make me think of him.

  And there’s nothing I can do to change that.

  If I want to escape it, I’m going to have to do what I do best: move on. Start over.

  I take out my phone while Hannah’s still at the bar getting me another drink. Before she gets back, I call my landlord and tell him that, starting tomorrow, I’ll be moved out and if he has any problems with that, he’s welcome to take it up with any of the Rebel Riders or the police officers on their payroll. I tell him I’ll send him my forwarding address for any mail once he has it. I doubt he’ll give a damn — he’ll probably be happy to see me gone.

  In a way, I feel better once I hang up that call. Still wounded, still hurt, still guilty over what I did to Riot and his club, but I feel like I’ve finally got a path, even if it’s one that’s leading me to an unknown destination.

  I start fiddling with the map app on my phone. I want somewhere far from here. Some place that’ll feel removed, where I can start all over again.

  “What’s that look about?” Hannah says, taking her place again at the table and putting a full margarita in front of me. “Did I miss something?”

  I smile at her. “Do you know anyone near Seattle?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Riot

  It’s when times are tough that you learn what your family is really made out of. Who you can count on, who’s reliable, and who actually gives a damn about you. And this fight with Fury and his nomads has done nothing but bring us all closer together. We were tested, but instead of breaking, we’ve become even more united.

  When I get back to town, heading straight to the hospital with my mom riding behind me on my bike, it looks like the entire club is there — the parking lot is full of bikes. Bull’s the first one I see, standing outside the door smoking a cigarette.

  I help my mom down from the bike and she goes running into the hospital to check on my dad while I head over to our club VP.

  “How’d it go down, brother?” He says.

  “Fury and the nomads are dead.”

  Bull’s eyes widen slightly. “All of them?”

  “We got Creole to lead some of them on a long chase into the hills south of Redwood City. Thrash and I hit up Fury’s bar and broke out my mom and Emma. Then we caught up with Fury — Creole led him right where we wanted him, we had an ambush point near where that road just south of Sullivan Creek turns into a tunnel, right before it hits the bluffs.”

  Bull nods. “It’s tricky driving up near there. Good work. How’d you get Fury to follow you?”

  I shrug. Even with everything that’s gone down, I still can’t tell him about what went down with Hammer’s murder. That’s a secret that’ll have to stay buried. “You know how Creole is. Voodoo mind games and all that shit. How are things here?”

  “Fine enough. Your dad got out of surgery about an hour ago. He’s recouping fine. Banshee will be okay, too. Though we’ll have to pour our own drinks for a while,” he says, chuckling. “I sent Rooster and some prospects to go salvage the grow op. It’s rough out there, but it ain’t a total loss. Duke’s strip club, however, is going to take a lot more work. He’s out there right now, poking through the wreckage.”

  “Fucking hell. I suppose we’ll be calling church soon to figure this shit out?”

  “Soon enough, yeah. But right now, we just need to focus on our family and make sure everyone’s healing and whole,” he says. “Speaking of which, why the hell are you blathering out here when you should be in checking on your dad?”

  I laugh. “I wanted to give my mom and him a minute alone first.”

  “A minute alone? He’s in no condition to fuck her, Riot. Get in there — you won’t be interrupting anything.”

  Chuckling, I pat him on the back and head inside. There’s just as many bikers as nurses in the hospital halls, and every one I pass stops me for a second just to check how I’m doing and tell me that they’re glad I’m safe.

  I knock on the door to his room and wait a second before I go inside. Just in case. I know my dad, he’s a marine and he wouldn’t let a bullet wound keep him from answering the call of duty.

  Inside, he’s laid back in his hospital bed, strapped to an IV, his upper body wrapped in bandages. He looks paler, and the wound makes him look so much older and frailer than I’m used to seeing him.

  But he grins and sits up when he sees me come in.

  “How you holding up?” I say.

  “I’ve had worse,” he says. “Probably the hardest thing about being here is they won’t let me have a damn beer.”

  “Alcohol thins your blood. It makes you heal slower. Of course, they’re not going to let you have a damn beer,” my mom says.

  “But they’re fine offering me a fucking opiate buffet. This world is upside downs,” he says. “How did everything work out with the club? I’ve been hearing rumors all night.”

  I shrug. “It’s been a rough night. And there have been some casualties. But the threat’s over.”

  “You sure?” He says.

  “I took care of it myself.”

  My dad nods, approvingly. “Good work, son.”

  “Where’s Emma?” My mom asks.

  “Gone. Thrash saw her safely home. I’m going to have her things sent to her. Then, wherever the hell she ends up, I don’t give a damn,” I say. My voice brims with agony and hurt just saying that — I’d trusted her, I’d stepped out on a limb for her like I’d never done for anyone before, and, to pay me back, she put my family at risk.

  “You know she didn’t mean for this to happen. She tried to get me out of there,” she says.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I snap, clenching my fists. “What she did — keeping secrets, putting everyone at risk — is unforgivable. This isn’t up for discussion.” My mom looks like she’s going to press the issue further and I sure as hell am not up for it. Red’s betrayal — and the damage inflicted on my club — has opened up a wound the size of the Grand Canyon inside me and I am not interested exploring those feelings or whatever the hell my mom has in mind. I turn to my dad, “I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. Get some rest, dad. I’ll check in with you later, okay?”

  Then I turn and walk away.

  I pass by Bull on the way out and check in with him, let him know I’m heading home and I’ll be available for anything the club needs.

  I head home.

  Idly, I pick up a package left on my doorstep. A small box from some company I don’t recognize, though it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bought something while drunk, so I take it inside and set it on my coffee table.

  This place feels so empty without her. In such a short time, she’s left such a mark on my life. I decide to call it a night. I retire to a bed that still carries her scent. To figure out how I’m going to heal the damage to my family and my club. To plan a way forward. Without her.

  The woman I loved.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Emma

  “Over here is where your desk is. All of your equipment has been installed. You’ve got your headset, your computer, and your scancard for the office printer. Any time you need to print something, you just scan your card, input your six-digit PIN, select your print reason, and then choose your print job from the queue.”

  I blink, trying to focus and remember eve
rything that my new supervisor, Monica — a woman in her late forties, with a hairstyle that looks like it was put together by a blind orangutan — says as she walks me through the office.

  My pen darts and squiggles its way along my notepad as I try to keep up with her breakneck explanation. At least if her job here at Collins & Morningworth — a small customer-service outsourcing firm in Seattle — doesn’t work out, Monica has a future as an auctioneer.

  “Now, we handle a variety of clients here at Collins & Morningworth, but your position is in our insurance claims department for our client, Primavera Blue Healthcare. Specifically, you’re going to be handling claims denials.”

  “Denials? Just denials?” My stomach is halfway on it’s way to sinking to the earth’s core.

  Monica nods and her massive haphazardly-constructed hair bobs like a haystack in the wind.

  “The phone menu is designed to pre-assign customers to either an ‘approved’ or ‘denied’ pool. Those whose answers to the questions place them into the ‘denied’ pool will be sent to your phone. It’ll be your job to hear their concerns and then explain to them that their claim has been denied. If they wish to appeal, you can send them the forty-seven-page appeal application. That’s where the printer comes in. You’ll obviously be in charge of printing and mailing the applications to the clients yourself.”

  I take a calming breath and remind myself that I’m lucky to have landed a job within a week of moving to Seattle. Ten days ago, I was calling my landlord and ending my lease and, abruptly, quitting my job at the Port of Redwood. This is what it takes to start over. And, thankfully, Seattle is mostly biker-free.

  Even if it sucks, this job will help me get on my feet.

  And besides, I have rent to pay. Seattle isn’t cheap.

  “Any questions?”

  I can’t help myself.

  “Just out of curiosity, how long did the person before me work here?”

  “Sixteen days,” she says, then, changing her tone to be much more cheerful, she adds, “But the person before her was here for a whole three months.”

  “Oh,” is all I can say.

  “I’ll be honest, it isn’t the easiest job. But your resume shows that you’re well qualified. And we’ve given you the best desk in the office — you get a window view.”

  It’s true. From my desk, I can see the lot next door, where a parking garage is under construction. And, in the alley next to the construction site, there’s a homeless man. Masturbating. Furiously.

  “Well, I look forward to exceeding both of them.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do great, Emma,” Cindy says. “Our IT guy, Jeff, will be along in a few minutes to help you get set up on the network and answer any other questions you might have. Welcome to the team.”

  I sit down at my desk as Cindy heads back to her office. This is my life now. This is starting over. Again.

  * * * * *

  Day three at the job from hell ends as a success. I only thought about quitting eleven times today, and my bus across town isn’t so full that I’m not able to find a seat. I even get halfway home before some guy with a serious case of manspreading gets on, sits down next to me, and forces me to become intimately acquainted with the wall.

  I still hurt from everything that went down with Riot and all the pain I caused him and his family, but I know that, in time, I’ll be able to put a new life together. I did it once, how hard can it be to do it again, right?

  Running, starting over, it’s what I do. I’m good at it. This time should be no different.

  Stepping off the bus into one of Seattle’s famous gray, drizzly evenings, I start in on the two-block walk that’ll take me to the rundown apartment I’m renting until I can find somewhere better.

  The air smells like green — pine trees and cedar — and, when the breeze shifts, I catch a hint of the ocean’s salty scent. I start to feel hopeful. Seattle might be grayer than Redwood City, and colder, and rainier, but I don’t have a single memory of him tied up in anything around me.

  Everything’s Riot-free.

  When I get home, I hunt around in my fridge for some sort of dinner and settle on reheated boxed macaroni and cheese from last night — the only actual food I have in my fridge, aside from a half-dozen eggs and a packet of deli turkey — and I wash it down with a glass of wine the size of a 7-11 Big Gulp.

  There’s a knock at the door and I frown and turn down the trashy reality TV show I’m watching. My TV can’t have been too loud. I wonder who it is and hope it’s not my neighbors coming over to tell me to be quiet.

  I hope my neighbors aren’t assholes.

  I get to the door and open it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Those words fly out of my mouth the second I lay eyes on the man on my doorstep. He’s soaking wet from the rain, his hair is mussed, there’s a several-day stubble on his face, but he looks so handsome I could cry from the way it cuts up my insides.

  Trademark dimples and piercing baby blues stare back at me.

  I’ve missed him in ways I can’t even express to myself.

  Riot.

  He takes a small box out from behind his back and holds it out to me.

  “What’s this?” He says.

  He came all the way up here to ask me about a box?

  I take it from him and then recognize the company logo on the soaked packaging. It’s been opened, he’s obviously looked at what’s inside.

  “This is for you. You said you’d always wanted those photos of your family. I restored them.”

  “You did this for me?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  I draw a shaking breath and I look away. It feels like there’s a vise around my heart.

  “Because I love you.”

  He looks like I’ve hit him. Whatever mask he’d been holding on to that’s kept him looking cool, unconcerned, uncaring, completely cracks. I see a glimpse of the man inside, the man who is in pain. For that second that the mask drops, I can see how lost he feels and how much he misses me.

  “Can I come in?” His voice so gentle.

  I nod and step back from the door. “Sure.”

  I watch him carefully as he enters, still unsure about why he’s here. I still remember the warning that prospect gave me. And the threat that lay behind the words.

  Riot comes over to my couch and sits down, holding the box, which he opens and takes out the framed photos that I’d worked so hard to restore. He holds them for a while, looking over each one before gingerly setting it down on my coffee table.

  “These came a few days ago. I didn’t open them at first. I was busy, there was a lot of work to do to help the club, there were a lot of people hurt. I had to stay strong, I had to be the rock for anyone who needed it. But the other night, I opened it. And it fucking broke me,” he looks up at me, his voice ragged. “This might surprise you, but I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in my life. I’ve fucked up more times than I can count. But chasing you away was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

  Listening to him, feeling my heart grow in my chest, I realize I’ve forgotten what hope feels like. Is this it?

  Carefully, I take a seat next to him and he reaches out, placing his hand on my leg.

  “Red, I didn’t do right by you. I didn’t listen, I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, and I hurt you. When I saw what you’d done for me, how much you cared for me and my family, I had to come here and give you the truth. I need to apologize. I was a fucking fool,” he says, staring into my eyes, his voice shaking with intensity. “A fucking fool who didn’t realize just how much he loves you until he lost you. And how much he wants you back.”

  “Riot…” I start to say, but then stop, because my voice is catching so hard in my throat that it hurts. Part of me is screaming to go with him, to leave this all behind, and just figure it out as I go. The other part of me — the louder part — is telling me to be cautious. “I can’t just pack up and mov
e again. I have an apartment here, I have a job…”

  “I know it’s hard to even think about leaving your job at Collins & Morningworth…”

  “Wait, how do you know where I work?”

  “I looked you up. I wanted to make sure that you were doing okay. And I wanted to see you,” he says, shrugging. “But that’s not the point. Alice — you met her before — runs her own consulting company and it is growing fast. She’s going to be renting out a small office space in Crescent Falls, and she’s going to need someone to help manage that space, as well as probably work individually with a few of her clients. It’s a good job, with good opportunities to grow.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me to come back?”

  “I’m trying to let you know that you’re wanted. That you have people that care about you.”

  “I don’t know if I can be around the MC.”

  “We can take that slow. Together. The job with Alice’s company is totally separate from the MC. You can be as involved or uninvolved as you want to be. You’re better than answering phones for some insurance company. You deserve more. There’s a community waiting for you in Crescent Falls. A community that wants you back,” He says, squeezing my hand. “Just like I want you back.”

  I bite my lip, wavering.

  It’s a tempting offer, but it’s asking so much.

  “You look like you need some convincing,” he says. He leans in, his lips nipping the sensitive part of my neck and the stubble of his beard making me shiver.

  “Riot…”

  His lips press to mine, cutting off whatever the hell it was I was going to say.

  All I feel is the heat blooming between my legs and the solidity of him — his muscles, his presence — against me. I give myself to it. Drown myself in his scent, in the forcefulness of his kiss.

  Leaving my lips, he pulls back for a second, just long enough to pull my shirt up and off my head. My bra follows. His lips kiss to my breasts, teasing and toying with my nipples until they’re painfully erect.