Page 2 of Fighting a Riot

“Oh, no,” she whispered as she looked around the room. “I think one of my coworkers has my purse.”

Yak had started shoving the table back in place, but stopped when he spied a cell phone on the floor. “Think that’s yours, Nora.”

She picked up the phone and frowned. “Great. It’s out of juice. Story of my life.”

He shook his head. “Come to the bar. I think we’ve got chargers for two types of phones up there, maybe one of those will fit.”

The sound of her shaky breath got his attention. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears and she had her lips pressed together so hard, he had to act fast.

“It’s all right. Seriously, a dead phone isn’t the end of the world.”

She closed her eyes and four tears ran down her cheeks. Her green eyes opened still looking watery. “It isn’t that. It’s… even when I call an Uber, I have nowhere to go. My fiancé broke up with me over the phone while I was here.”

Yak bit his tongue. A man who did that ranked as a world-class asshole, but he couldn’t tell her that. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but it’s probably—”

“For the best?” she finished. “Is it though? He found out I’ve got breast cancer and he’s splitting on me. We can’t even get our deposits back and I’m gonna have outrageous medical bills and, God, it makes me so nauseous even though I haven’t started chemo yet!”

Shit. That man wasn’t an asshole, he was the scum of an asshole. Yak knew about cancer from caring for both his parents, who suffered from the hideous disease.

He hated the idea of Nora not being able to sleep in her own bed, but taking her home so he could beat up her ex-fiancé wasn’t going to help her either.

“I got somewhere you can stay.”

A leery look entered her eyes. “Don’t take this wrong way, because I really do appreciate the offer, but I don’t know you.”

He chuckled. “You’re right, you don’t. My place is at the Riot MC clubhouse, so there will be witnesses if you need them. You don’t even have to stay in my room. I can put you in another brother’s room if you want. But the sheets are clean, and if you’re hungover, there’s nowhere better to be since Punc makes a mighty hangover remedy.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungover, exactly.” She grimaced. “Oh God! I slept on the floor in here!”

“Yeah, well, there’s a shower too, so you’re covered that way.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

Yak shook his head. “The real question is can you ride on the back of bike?”

Her eyebrows crunched down. “A bike?”

He grinned and nodded. “Yeah. I ride a Harley, so if you’re not in good enough shape for that, I gotta call someone else to pick you up.”

His blood rushed south at the sight of her biting her lip as she deliberated for a moment.

“I think I can ride.”

He gestured to the door. “Then let’s go.”

Nora

With zero grace, I clambered off Noah’s—or rather, Yak’s—motorcycle. Getting on hadn’t been too difficult, but after he powered down the engine, I hadn’t wanted to get down.

After all the bad news I’d had in the past few days, being on the back of this motorcycle was the first time I’d felt clear and free. The wind roaring in my ears obliterated the endless worries and negative thoughts rolling through my mind. Air rushing around my entire body felt like a freedom I’d never known. Warm early-morning sunshine on my skin mixed with a slight nip in the Florida winter air created a heady combination.

While I stood next to the motorcycle, I watched Yak dismount. His body lifting and twisting off the Harley gave new meaning to the term ‘masculine grace.’

I shook my head. I had no business watching Yak like that. If Destin hadn’t called me last night and broken things off, I’d still be happily engaged.

More like happily duped, a cynical part of me piped up. Right on track to marry a jerk who doesn’t truly believe in wedding vows, especially not the ‘in sickness and in health’ portion.

Yak pulled my tiara from his saddlebag and I took in his man-bun. The underside of his scalp had a close cut fade that was only noticeable because of his hair being up. Part of me thought I should be embarrassed gawking at him, but the realistic part of me shoved all mortification aside. He’d found me passed out on the floor… staring at him was nothing compared to that.

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