Page 26 of Riordan's Revenge

“Wait,” Riordan said.

I lifted my gaze to his. My cheeks burned.

He slid that dark gaze to Tyler.

The bear took the hint and jumped up. “Need to make a call. I won’t be far away. Don’t leave this room.”

At his exit, Riordan sat back. “You’re jealous of Moniqua. Why?”

Because her lips had been around his dick. Because she touched what was mine. I pouted and glared back. “What difference does it make?”

“I want to know.”

“So ye can tease me? Nice.”

The tormenting glimmer in his eyes didn’t cease. “Maybe I’ll give you a detailed description of what she felt like to make you run from me again.”

My breathing stuttered. Oh God. That had no right to be so hot, yet the antagonism sent flames of heat through me.

Riordan had teeth. I liked it when he snarled.

A dismissive huff was all the answer I could give, and I stabbed Moniqua’s number with my finger. She answered immediately.

“Riordan.” Her voice was breathy down the line. Vomit.

“No, it’s Cassie from the warehouse. I’m just borrowing his phone.”

Silence met my words, then, “Uh, hi, Cassie. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. I wanted to ask ye something.” I framed the question about Alisha.

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that, too, since she was found dead shortly after, but it was only one of the girls who said it. She was just gossiping.”

“Who?”

“Dixie? She’s really sweet. One of the few people who’ve been nice to me there.”

Dixie wasn’t a suspect. She was a dancer, a sex worker, and also my friend. About as capable of murder as Lottie. We’d drawn another blank. With fading energy, I moved on to make Moniqua the job offer.

“Stripping and sex work in the brothel aren’t for anyone to take up casually. Ye can go behind the bar, or there’s a cleaning crew that always needs people. It isn’t glamorous but it’ll keep ye safe.”

She hummed. “Can I think about it? It’s really kind of you to offer. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, it’s just not where I pictured myself, you know?”

Aye, because she’d pictured herself under Riordan.

I told her she could message back whenever then got off the call, stabbing the screen with more violence than was necessary. I hadn’t wanted Moniqua to be reasonable. It would’ve been waymore fun if she’d been a bitch to me. I would’ve had an outlet for my twisted mood.

Tossing Riordan back his phone, I stomped to the door and called out, “Tyler? Ye can come back.”

He was right outside and followed me in. Gestured at Riordan. “I’ve got something for you. Arran sent it.”

From his waistband, he produced a gun. More specifically, a Glock 17. A nine millimetre, self-loading, boring-as-fuck pistol, commonly used by the police. I knew that because I still had the matching one I’d stolen from Arran’s office when I’d taken the sedative needle.

Riordan accepted it. Turned it over.

“There are other weapons in the house,” Tyler was saying, “but those belong to Struan, Cassie’s older brother, and I wouldn’t touch anything belonging to that madman without permission. Right, Cassie?”

I faked a smile.

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