Page 39 of Riot

But Chloe ain’t my problem to fix—not today, anyway.

I head for the bar, passing Diesel leaning against the wall in silence. He doesn’t say a word, just watching, waiting.

It feels like we’re all holding our breath.

I drop onto a stool, my back to the room so I don’t have to watch. Between my shoulder blades itches, like someone’s got a knife at my back. Even here, sitting at the bar in a room that’s been my home since I was seventeen years old, I don’t feel a second of peace.

My leg bounces as Riley wanders over. Instinct says to move, but I lean in, grinning like I’m not a ball of tension internally.

“You want a beer?” he asks.

I want a bottle deep enough to drown in.

“Ain’t hanging around for that long,” I say. “Grub not here yet?”

It’s unusual for that cunt to be gone when Crank’s here. Wonder where that slimy little shit is.

Riley shrugs. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Nic?”

“He was here an hour ago, but I don’t know where he went.” He leans over the bar. “They don’t tell the grunts shit around here.”

I snort. Some things never change.

“They tell you just as little once you get a patch, kid, but expect you to know everything.”

Something moves behind me. My shoulders stiffen, and my fingers drift towards one of my knives.

I don’t relax when Blade drifts up to the bar.

He’s right behind Crank and Grub on the list of people I don’t trust. The weaselly bastard sets off every warning light on my internal dashboard.

I turn on my stool, my shit-eating grin hiding the tension snapping through me.

“Where’s your brother?” he asks. No hello, how’s it going?Prick.

“How the fuck should I know?”

He scowls. “You see him, tell him I want a word.”

I let the monster peek out of the cage just a second. “Do I look like a fuckin’ secretary? You know there is this thing called a phone, right? You dial his number and talk to him like a big boy, all without draggin’ me into your shit.” I pull mine out of my pocket and show it to him.

He sneers, the long scar that runs from his cheek all the way up to his ear seeming to split the side of his face.

“He ain’t picking up.”

Probably because he knows it’s you.

“There’s also this thing called voicemail,” I say. “Leave a message.”

My phone vibrates in my hand. I glance down, expecting to see Nic or my brother’s name, but it’s Ivy.

A grin splits my face. I glance up at Blade, who hasn’t moved. “You mind?”

“Is that your brother?”

“No, it’s fuckin’ not.”

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