Foolish Riot (Riot MC Book 5)

by Karen Renee

  He squeezed her leg. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

  From the corner of his eyes, he saw her glaring at him. “Easy for you to say. Medical bills drive people with decent incomes to bankruptcy. I don’t have the most decent income, so —”

  “You know those ‘I Buy Ugly Houses’ signs?”

  Now he could practically feel her glare, and noticed she shook her head rapidly at his subject change. “Yeah.”

  “I do that.”

  “You flip houses?”

  “Yeah, but the real money is in the money.”

  She laughed. “Well, duh. Of course the money’s in the money.”

  He grinned at the windshield shaking his head. “No, babe. It’s in the financing.”

  “So you’re a loan shark?”

  His face went tight as he tried to control his anger. “No. Not the same thing. Not even close.”

  She propped an elbow on the edge of the door, rested her head in her hand and examined him. “You make money from the interest from these financing deals, right?”

  He waited a beat before he answered. “Yes, but—”

  She sat forward and spoke to the windshield. “You’re a loan shark.”

  “No,” he bit out. “Loan sharks collect a vig and the original debt. Someone doesn’t pay, they bust ‘em up to send a message. I have a debtor who doesn’t pay, I foreclose on their property. In no way do I resort to violence. What I do is aboveboard, what a loan shark does typically is not.”

  “Well, consider me educated. What’s your point with this change in subject?”

  He stopped for a red light, and turned his face to Trixie. “My point is that I have money. You don’t need to worry about this shit. Further, I don’t want you borrowing trouble. He was havin’ an off-moment when you spoke to him on the phone. Let’s see what we got when we get there. He still thinks you’re in high school and I’m some teenage punk, then we’ll set about gettin’ him into the Gardens.”

  Her head reared back and her eyes were bulging at him with incredulity. He bit back his smile because that was a look he’d never seen on her. His Trixie was definitely jaded, so it took quite a bit to get her attention. The car in front of them moved and Roll turned back to the road.

  “I’ve priced that place, Roll. They’re fuckin’ expensive, and Medicare only covers, like, I don’t remember, but I’m thinkin’ maybe half of their cost. You can’t possibly cover that for my Dad and still be able to provide health insurance for us both.”

  Roll pulled the car into the drive to Trixie’s father’s place and stopped. He cupped her cheek and turned her to look in his eyes. “You’re not getting me, Trix. I have money. I don’t live large. Sold my place off-Riot because the condo market was showin’ signs the time was ripe. This car and my bike are paid for outright. I do a cash loan for property, it’s liquid. That means a higher rate of interest. I make my money back and then some. Tellin’ you right now, don’t borrow trouble. Your dad may not need long-term care yet, anyway. Let’s see what we got in there.”

  He could sense she was going to acquiesce, but a questioning look crossed her face. “How do you know about the Gardens anyway?”

  His lips tipped up slightly. “Momma’s doin’ better now, but immediately after her stroke it wasn’t clear how much functionality she’d regain. Ray was lookin’ for all her legal documents, but I was lookin’ into care facilities for her in case she survived but things still went bad. Not gonna put my mother in a place like that and not have it be one of the best available.”

  Her lips pursed to the side for a beat. “Not that it matters, seeing as I’ve been in love with you since the first time you rescued my ass, but how much money are we talking about when you say you have ‘money?’”

  He shook his head. “High seven figures. I sold my rental properties, it could hit eight figures, but I like the steady income from those.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a goddamn millionaire? How did I not know this shit about you?”

  He kissed her wet and quick before she got good and riled. When he looked into her eyes, she still seemed pissed. “Baby, let’s go see your Dad. I wouldn’t want to get you home past curfew.”

  She groaned. “You are not funny, Roll.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Trixie

  Even though I told Roll he was not funny, he actually was. The problem was that I couldn’t allow myself to laugh at the notion of him getting me home, let alone me having a curfew again. My anxiety was rising as we drew closer to my childhood home. He was right; I shouldn’t be borrowing trouble, and there was no telling what we would encounter inside, but I was still worried.

  Once I was out of the car, I closed the door and walked up the wooden steps to the front door with Roll right behind me. My key was in the lock, but the door whipped open.

  Dad was standing there wearing a white wife-beater and khaki Bermuda shorts. “It’s about damn time you got home, Patricka!”

  My spine went straight and my chin dipped into my neck. His tone was almost combative, and the last time I heard him talk to me that way was when I was seventeen years old. I pulled my keys from the lock, exhaled as quietly as I could, and tried to get my thoughts together.

  Roll shifted behind me, drawing my father’s attention. “Mr. Baker, it’s me, Homer Rolland. We met two weeks ago. You were trying to sneak one of my cigarettes?”

  Oh, boy. Mention of smokes was not the way to go, not that Roll bothered to ask me. It was odd and surreal, but my father’s gaze visibly changed. I would swear I could see him settle back into lucidity. Roll must have seen it too, because his hand went to the small of my back giving me a gentle shove.

  “Yes. Homer! Why have you been a stranger? Get yourself and my daughter in here.”

  Dad opened the door wider, and when both of us were inside, he shut it. I didn’t know how long we would have this version of my father around, but I knew I needed to make the most of it. Wasting no time, I moved to him and gave him a hug.

  “You have lunch yet, Pat?” Roll asked.

  Dad’s eyes shifted to the left and back to us. “Um…yeah, Sandy and I had hoagies before she left.”

  Keeping my facial expression under control required serious effort on my part, but I shot Roll a look telling him that was not the case.

  “How long ago was that, Pat? Are you hungry at all?”

  My dad shrugged and moved to the small dinette table. “I could eat, if you kids are hungry.”

  I opened the fridge and saw there were cold cuts and cheese slices. My guess was that the nurse told him to make himself a sandwich or that he had the fixings for subs. This was not good. He was getting confused all too easily. I pulled out the meats, cheese, and condiments and moved to the counter to make everyone’s lunch.

  Later, I cleared our lunch plates, and while I was at the sink, Roll sidled up to my back. “I’m gonna get him settled in the living room. Noticed he’s got a nightstand. Want you to check it for documents, but don’t take too long. Could be wrong, but I think he’s still under the impression you’re all of seventeen years of age.”

  Roll distracted my father while I rummaged through the drawers, but I came up empty.

  I walked back into the living room, and my father’s eyes narrowed on my body. “Why are you wearing those shorts? Your ass is hanging out!”

  I had a pair of shorts (or three) where the bottom swell of my tush hung out, they were my go-to shorts for bike week, but these were not those. My ass was definitely not hanging out. It seemed Roll was right and Dad’s mind was telling him I was seventeen again.

  “Patrick,” Roll started sternly, “Do you have your affairs together?”

  I was surprised Roll asked that, seeing as how Dad was not with me in the here and now.

  “Derrick asked me that, too.”

  I blinked, trying to ignore my nausea.

  My dad grabbed the remote and the television blared, so I moved to the sofa next to Roll. Of all the i
nane sports on television, Dad settled on a professional bull-riding competition. Half an hour later, when it went to commercial, Roll looked at me. “He have medicine he has to take?”

  I nodded, but Dad heard him and spoke. “I know what I’m doing. Those home-health people are all over me about not missing my medicine.”

  Jesus! Talk about an about-face.

  “That’s good to hear, Pat. Do you have a living will or power of attorney?” Roll asked

  “Got a living will after Derrick died. It’s in a fire-safe in my shed.”

  Well, no wonder the nightstand was a bust.

  Ten minutes after we left my dad’s, Roll still hadn’t said a word.

  I was getting worried until he finally said, “You know, you’re gonna have to get his power of attorney.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You ever tell him about your uncle?”

  I sighed. It was a wonder he hadn’t asked me this before now.

  “I tried. He…It was…I don’t think you’d understand.”

  “Try me.” His tone said his patience was slipping.

  “Well, he was fifty-four when mom died at forty-four.”

  “Your point?” His voice was loaded with irritation, impatience and a touch of sarcasm

  I looked out the window at the passing trees. “His Parkinson’s started showing up. He also slipped into the bottle. I suspect Uncle Derrick kept him in booze, even though it made the Parkinson’s worse. Not long after, Dad lost his job; for almost two years things were really tight. I thought Dad was gonna throttle me when I told him I made flag corps. Thank God I had already confided some of my situation to the faculty member in charge. I don’t know how she did it, but I didn’t have to pay as many fees as the other girls.”

  Roll sighed, and I got back on track. “Dad got another job, but wasn’t around because of it. By then, Uncle Derrick was better at hiding what he was doing to me, plus Dad had bonded with him over mom’s death.”

  Roll pulled into a parking lot and found a secluded spot. “Did you ever tell him?”

  Tears of frustration stung my nose. “I tried to,” I croaked.

  “God damn it! Fuck!” He thundered and I noticed his grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled.

  “It doesn’t—”

  His eyes blazed at me. “Don’t. Say. It doesn’t matter. Christ! You’re going to the therapist, right?”

  “Told you I would.”

  “Get on that, babe,” he growled.

  “It’s Saturday, Roll.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said, tearing his hand through his loose long hair.

  “Jesus. He failed you. His own daughter. God. Every time he said that fucker’s name, you looked like a hunted animal. Eyes skittish, body strung tight, ready for flight, and if I didn’t know better, your skin paled too.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

  “If it wasn’t so wrong and wouldn’t cause you more heartache, I’d put a bullet in him. Save you the God-awful headaches coming your way.”

  “And you a boatload of money,” I deadpanned

  “The money doesn’t fucking matter,” he thundered, and I knew he meant it because of the ‘g’ at the end of the word ‘fucking’. When Roll was pissed and he wanted your attention, he enunciated.

  Roll turned down the blasting air conditioner. “Remarkable. So fuckin’ remarkable.”

  “What is?”

  His eyes glittered at me, incredulous. “You are.” He shook his head. “Nobody would fault you if you turned your back on a father who failed to protect, no. Hell, fuck no. Failed to pay attention to his little girl’s innocence, and didn’t die trying to save it for her.”

  Oh, God. My heart swelled as my belly warmed. The tone of his voice…I couldn’t take it, and yet I desperately wanted to memorize it, because it was a vow. He absolutely would die protecting his little girl. He absolutely would be attuned to her innocence. I didn’t know I could fall further in love, but hell if I wasn’t doing just that.

  “But, you? You stand by him, and you’re busting your hump at Walmart to take care of him because you have that much love to give. Fucking remarkable.”

  ***

  I was learning that Rage and Roll were closer than I realized. Rage was one of the last prospects to earn his patch before Teach passed away and Volt was voted in as President. I knew Roll had sponsored Rage as a prospect, but I underestimated the bond that formed between MC brothers. When Roll insisted Rage was going to help us get the rest of my shit, I knew better than to argue.

  Roll backed his Sonata into a parking space close to my front door. Rage did the same with the SUV he was driving. We all got out of the respective vehicles, but as we trudged up my walk, Roll’s phone rang.

  “Volt,” he said, looking at Rage, and he turned around for some privacy.

  Rage grabbed my keys from my hand and led me to my door. “Don’t actually need these fuckin’ things to get inside, but whatever. Let’s get this shit done, Trixie.”

  I followed Rage inside, and before I could close the door behind me I heard Rage grunt. Looking his way, I saw Iggy had hold of Rage’s bicep, and with his other hand he pulled something from Rage’s chest and plunged it lower.

  I didn’t know if I screamed or not. My vision narrowed to tunnel vision as my brain whirled to think of a useful weapon against a knife. One of the only things of my Momma’s I had was an old, elegant lead vase she had saved. The first flowers Dad sent her came in the vase and she loved it. As soon as I spotted it, I knew it was the only way to stop Iggy. I grabbed it and conked him over the head before he could plunge the knife into Rage a third time.

  Iggy toppled toward Rage and they both went down. I shoved him off Rage, yanked my shirt off, and pressed it to the gaping wound on Rage’s chest.

  “You sure know how to show a dying man a good time, Trix,” Rage muttered, his eyes on my sheer yellow bra.

  I wanted to grin, but this was no laughing matter. “Shut the fuck up. You are not fucking dying, dammit!”

  Roll came into the apartment. “Fuckin’ shit!”

  He took off his cut, ripped his t-shirt over his head and pressed the fabric to Rage’s abdomen. I leaned my weight into Rage, and moved a hand to take over at the abdominal wound.

  Roll stood up and pulled his phone out, calling God-knew-who. I saw Rage’s eyes drooping closed.

  “Don’t you dare, asshole. You stay with me!”

  Time was dragging on and nothing I said to Rage seemed to keep his eyes from closing. After what seemed like an hour, Liar, Major, and Yak came inside. This was when it sucked being with outlaws. An ambulance would have been here long before now, but I couldn’t voice that opinion.

  Yak tied up Iggy and carried him out in a fireman’s hold. I was amazed at his strength, but then again, Iggy had thinned out and appeared to be quite the tweaker. Roll pulled me from Rage as Major and Liar carried him out to Major’s truck.

  Roll shifted me so I was staring into his eyes. “Get a clean shirt to wear, quick, baby. Get Rage’s keys from Major, and follow them to the hospital in Rage’s SUV. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I shook my head just little. “Where are you gonna be?”

  He looked at me as if he didn’t want to tell me, and I should know better than to ask. “You know where I’m gonna be. See you soon, baby.”

  Roll

  Roll could not shove the guilt from his mind. Had Volt not called him, he would’ve been the one to take Iggy’s blade. It should have been him. He never should’ve asked for Rage’s help. If he hadn’t, his brother would probably be at a bar or with a willing woman.

  The brothers had voted to wait a day or two before going after Iggy, but it was irrelevant now, since the asshole brought himself to them. Stabbing a brother would buy him extreme retribution. As Roll followed Yak’s truck, the only solace he found was that he would get to issue his own retribution. It had been years since the brothers needed to use their remote prop
erty in Macclenny. The place was a full hour outside of Jacksonville, but Roll knew other brothers were already on their way there.

  When he and Yak pulled into the narrow dirt drive leading to the shotgun house, Roll counted seven bikes parked. Yak carried Iggy into the bare-bones house, and as Roll followed behind, he noticed Iggy was coming around.

  “Careful, Yak, he’s comin’ ‘round.”

  Yak had cleared the threshold, but said in a tone loaded with menace, “Good. It’s no fun when they’re not awake.”

  As soon as Roll closed the door behind him, Volt nodded to a wooden crate and Yak threw Iggy on it. The idiot made to stand, but Cal grabbed his biceps from behind, essentially chicken-winging him.

  “You fucked up, asshole.” Blood said from the other side of the crate.

  A distinct sound could be heard coming from Iggy’s throat as he tried to produce a lugie. “Don’t spit on my Vice President, cocksucker,” Roll said.

  Iggy shifted his bleary gaze to Roll and aimed for Roll’s boots.

  Roll looked to the other men. “I’m takin’ the first shots. Rage got into this club under my mentorship, and this asshole was in my woman’s home. Y’all ain’t stoppin’ me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, so how ‘bout you get to it,” Volt said.

  Roll pulled a rusty blade from his back pocket, and got to it. Dragging that edge across Iggy’s throat was satisfying, so he did it again, for good measure.

  An hour later, all the brothers present had taken shots at Iggy, but it was Roll who ended his life. He helped Cal and Yak carry the man to the grave the prospects had dug in the back of the property. Without a word, Roll turned on his heel and prowled back to his car.

  “Right behind you, brother,” Cal called.

  Roll lifted his chin, got in his car and drove.

  ***

  He tore his hands through his hair as he sat in a thinly-padded chair in the ER waiting room. Ending Iggy’s life wasn’t weighing on him like he thought it would. If Rage didn’t pull through, it wouldn’t matter how much retribution Roll achieved. Roll was torn from his thoughts when a prominent Southside Slayer came into the room. He was forced to watch from his seat as the dark-skinned man walked to Volt and Cal. Not being an officer in the club meant he had to keep to himself in times like these; normally that wasn’t a problem but today it further grated on his nerves. The conversation appeared to be one-sided, from the Slayer, and it dragged on so long Roll was glad to be out of that loop.