Page 14 of Fighting a Riot

Rage’s light brown eyes caught his. “The fuck it’s cool. He goes doin’ shit half-cocked, Lisa could be in danger. Hell, any of the old ladies could be in danger because he thinks he knows better than our president.”

Prime held his hands up in surrender. “No, Rage. I get it. No doin’ shit on my own. I got it.”

From the end of the hall Turk called out, “Yo, Prime! You got a shift at Platinum’s you need to get your ass moving.”

While Prime hurried away, Rage shook his head. “Jesus. How did that fucker ever earn his patch?”

Yak grinned and shrugged. “Don’t know. I wonder how you ever earned your patch, too, and I was there to vote your ass in.”

“Shut the fuck up, Yak,” Rage muttered and sauntered toward the common room.

Yak stood rooted to the spot though. Prime’s words about not doing anything on his own were stuck in his head on a loop. Why that bothered him, he didn’t know. All of them considered going renegade every once in a while, but something about Prime’s tone was off.

Yak’s bike roared up Blanding Boulevard, the sound a balm to his soul and a sense of calm against the chaos he’d dealt with in the past day-and-a-half.

Nora’s problems were handled –at least as far as he was concerned. She was her own woman and perfectly capable of confronting the shit life had handed her.

The light turned red and he eased his feet onto the pavement as he stopped his Harley. “Yep. Gonna stay away from her. Definitely.”

The light turned green and he rode four blocks before the rain started up again. It was a nasty deluge. Then, crazy Florida weather, it stopped after about five blocks. It lasted just long enough to soak him to the bone and make his ride downright miserable. The last three miles, though, there was no rain, which was a blessing.

By the time he parked his bike in his driveway, he was shivering.

Inside the back door, he shucked his motorcycle boots and socks. A stacked washer-dryer stood to his right. He tossed his socks into the open washer.

“Fuck it. Might as well do this shit down here,” he muttered, and stripped all his clothes and put them in the washer.

He took a hot shower, willing himself to think of anything but Nora.

Too bad he’d never had much willpower.

Recalling the sight of her sleeping in his bed at the compound had his dick semi-hard.

His mind conjured up the image of her laying into that moron. He’d wanted to kiss her in the worst way after she said she didn’t think life could get any worse or more embarrassing but it did. The moment she reminded him they’d be neighbors, he’d forced himself to turn on the freeze.

Watching her try to pay Major for using his truck had been more entertaining than he’d expected. Then hearing her try to wheedle information about Major’s favorite beer from Roll, Trixie, or the prospects made him laugh out loud. She was persistent as hell, and sexy about it, too.

Yeah. She was sexy as fuck.

His semi- became a full-on erection.

He groaned and took his cock in hand. This one time, he’d let himself fantasize about her. Then that would be it. It had to be. She had enough on her plate, and he didn’t want to add to it.

After he dressed in boxers and pajama pants, he went downstairs and started a load of laundry. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. Normally he’d finish the book he was reading at the clubhouse, but dealing with Nora had kept him from reviewing the financials for Platinum’s.

He sat at his small desk perusing the spreadsheet. Things were going well at the gentlemen’s club. Not as well as he’d like, but Turk said he was a greedy bastard.

Most would say the truth hurt, but Yak didn’t believe that. He was greedy and he owned it. If surviving the foster care system taught him anything, it was to keep a tight fist on what was yours because you never knew when someone would come along and try to take it from you.

His concentration on the numbers was interrupted by the sound of someone or possibly something splashing into the pool. Even though the small pool was fenced in to keep out toddlers and people who should know better, he wasn’t about to ignore that sound. Raccoons liked to use the pool as their personal toilet, which pissed him off.

His fingers spread the wooden slats of his blinds and he sighed.

Shit. They should have covered this.

From his bedroom window, he saw Nora swimming laps—or as much as someone could swim a lap in the kidney-bean shaped pool. Then she executed a forward somersault in the water.

She wasn’t a princess. She was a mermaid.

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