Page 12 of Fighting a Riot

I shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I don’t know. I hadn’t slept well the past couple nights after getting the call from my doctor. Add Destin’s bomb and I guess all the stress caught up with me. Plus the wine and champagne probably didn’t help either.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re making excuses for that moron?”

I shook my head. “It isn’t intentional, that’s for sure. Destin said things, really hurtful things. I stumbled into that room with tears in my eyes. My intention was to just sit down and get my head together, but all the chairs were put up on the tables, and so I slunk down on the floor.”

He glanced at me. “Right, and so you just decided to curl up and close your eyes?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I don’t even understand why we’re hashing this out.”

Yak blew out a breath. “Because part of me really thinks your drink might have been tampered with. I saw her get out of his car in the parking lot, and I suspected they’d been fooling around. Hell, she probably got out because he saw me approaching his car. That’s serious deception, Nora. Plus, I can’t believe she thought she had time for that shit… unless she knew you would be impaired.”

His words stung. I fought my lip quivering and nodded. “Right,” I whispered.

“Yeah. I don’t mean to rub salt in the wound, but then for her to take off with your keys and wallet only to be with your ex, that’s so fuckin’ shitty I can barely wrap my mind around it.”

“Still don’t see why this matters,” I murmured.

His chuckle held no humor. “That level of planning, I really suspect she fucked with your drink. And that matters because if she did that, it wouldn’t have just been her ass in a sling, mine would have been, too.”

I turned to him. “I… somehow, I don’t think that’s entirely true, Yak. You can’t control what every patron does in your establishment.”

“Whatever. Was your head pounding when I woke you?”

I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t.”

“Well, I guess that’s good. No need for me to terrorize a bitch like her.”

Chapter 3

Feel for Yourself

Yak

By five-thirty, Yak had taken Nora to her car and followed her back to the house. She leaned against her trunk while he angled out of his twelve-year-old rustbucket.

He slammed the door and rounded the hood of his car. “Stop leaning on your car. You’re gonna ruin your clothes, princess.”

She straightened and wiped her hands against the back of her legs. “How am I supposed to leave if your car is blocking me?”

This was another issue he’d had with Roll’s prior tenant. Constant coming and going meant he’d had to leave his car at the clubhouse more often than not. That wasn’t as much of an inconvenience as he’d expected, but the jackass had nearly clipped Yak’s bike one night. That had been the moment he started setting money aside. Nobody else was going to live behind him if Yak could prevent it.

He shook his head at Nora. “Don’t worry about it. I gotta head back to the clubhouse, right after I shower. My car will stay at the compound because I’m riding back on my bike.”

“Won’t that be dangerous since it’ll still be raining?” she asked.

He blinked, unaccustomed to a woman giving a damn about his well-being. “I don’t know, I’m not Ron Burgundy’s weatherman wingman, Nora.”

Her lips quirked as she tried not to laugh.

Fuck.

She had dimples, but only when she fought smiling. If her smile didn’t bowl him over, those damn dimples would get him instead.

He offered her a curt nod. “Right. I get back, I’ll park my bike where you won’t hit it and all will be fine. You got keys. Trixie brought you food. I gotta get to the clubhouse before seven, so… have a great evening, Nora.”

She aimed a closed-lip smile at him as she nodded. That smile wasn’t fake, but it was damn sure laced with disappointment. Working with dancers and cocktail waitresses, he disappointed women every damn day.

The idea of disappointing Nora sat like a lead weight in his gut and he hated it.

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