Page 27 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Eight

Wringing out the mop, I inspect the wood floor for any traces of blood I might’ve missed. Satisfied, I drop the mop into the bucket and peer out the front window, spotting the two blue and whites that have been parked outside the house for God knows how long. At least the assholes were considerate enough to get rid of the caution tape surrounding the property. It’s the least they could’ve done considering they ransacked the house.

Drawing the blinds closed, I draw in a deep breath and glance around the empty house. The silence is fucking torturous and I debate on going back to the hospital. My phone beeps, alerting me of a text. I fucking hate text messages. Mainly because I’m shit at replying. It takes me twenty minutes to type a sentence and most of the time it doesn’t make any sense because my fingers are too big, and I hit all the wrong keys. I’d also like to get my hands on the bastard who invented autocorrect. No self-respecting man should ever tell a brother to go duck himself.

Not recognizing the number, I swipe to open the message and am surprised to learn it’s Maria.

Hi, it’s Maria. I’m just checking to see if there was any change in Nico.

I’m a dick. I promised I’d get in touch with her once Nico woke up and until now, she’s been the furthest thing from my mind. However, as much of a piece of shit that makes me, I’m still not willing to play the text game. Hitting send on the number, I lift the phone to my ear. It rings three times before it goes to her voicemail and that raspy Brooklyn accent drifts through the line. The woman’s got a great voice.

“Lady, it’s Wolf,” I start, running a hand over my beard. “Call me back.” Short and to the point, yet I don’t end the call. “Got your number, now.”

The phone beeps causing me to pull it from my ear and glance at the screen. Ending the message, I open the new text.

At work.

Realizing she won’t answer the phone, I attempt a text. Five minutes later, I hit send.

Ok.

I wanted to tell her to call me when she gets off but that would’ve taken me a half hour. Having enough of the phone, I shove it in my back pocket. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I note it’s ten o’clock at night and I’ve got nothing to do. No kids to annoy and no brothers to hassle. I could make a sandwich. Scratch that—I don’t remember the last time I went to the supermarket. Sighing, I reluctantly park my ass on the sofa and grab the remote. Wondering if MacGyver is still on, I flick through the channels and finally settle on some reality show. Keeping my eyes on the screen, I watch some kid with spiky hair chant about putting on a fucking t-shirt. When he starts running around the house shouting the cabs are here, I turn the television off and toss the remote across the room.

It’s no wonder this country is fucked.

Got a bunch of idiots running around, chanting about getting dressed and getting their asses in a car.

Grabbing my keys from the coffee table, I push myself from the couch and hesitantly reach for my cut. I might not be the club treasurer anymore but, I’ll always be a Knight. Shrugging it onto my shoulders, I shut the lights and head out of the house. Straddling my bike, I glance in the side mirror and spot the cops watching me from their patrol cars.

They’re probably fans of the fucking show I was just watching.

Rolling my eyes, I throttle the engine and back out of the driveway. Flipping them the bird, I ride past them and let the wind carry me. I’ll never be the guy who sits on the couch with a beer in one hand and a remote in the other. I was born to ride, to make that thunder you hear when my tires roll down your street.

It’s not long before the tension dissipates from me and I realize I’m parked in front of Rab’s Bowling Alley. Dismounting, I hang my helmet on the handlebars before making my way towards the entrance. Entering, I’m taken back by how packed the place is for a Wednesday. People of all ages fill the glow in the dark lanes and loud music plays overhead, washing out the sound of the balls knocking down the pins.

Searching for Maria, I start to wonder what the fuck I’m doing here. It’s not like I’m going to trade my boots in for a pair of bowling shoes and telling her I paid a seventeen-dollar toll just to tell her Nico woke up makes me sound pathetic. Combing my fingers through my hair, I decide to tell her I was in the neighborhood. Royal Crown bakery is just a few blocks down and they make a killer sandwich.

Lie in place, I spot her standing next to some guy who, judging by the shirt he’s wearing, appears to be part of a league. Diverting my attention away from the man, I take in Maria. Even at a bowling alley she’s all done up, wearing those fancy shoes of hers. Pairing them with a pair of form fitting jeans, I notice she also has a fantastic ass—something I never bothered to look at until now.

Up top she wears a simple blouse that falls off her left shoulder, baring the slightest glimpse of olive skin. In this day and age, women falsely think the more skin they show, the sexier they are. What they don’t realize is a man likes a little mystery and a woman’s best laid secret is her body. There ain’t nothing sweeter than taking the time to unravel and discover all the soft curves she keeps hidden beneath her clothes. I’m willing to bet Maria’s got some great fucking secrets under those fancy threads of hers. As a man who has had his share of women, I can honestly say I’ve never had one who exudes both sex and class on the regular. However, Maria Bianci nails both every time I see her. I don’t know if she’s drinking from the fountain of youth or if she had her son Anthony at a really young age, but the woman looks great.

Really fucking great and I’m not the only one who notices.

The man standing next to her, drapes his arm around her shoulders, letting his fingertips trail over the exposed patch of skin. Smiling at him, she flicks his wrist, brushing his hand away. The douchebag doesn’t get the hint and moves his hand back to her shoulder. Instinctively, I curl my fists as I stride towards them.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Lenny,” Maria says, turning to face him.

“Ah, that’s bullshit, baby,” he slurs. “You and me used to be good together.”

“Funny,” she muses. “Couldn’t be that good if we’re not anymore.”

“I wasn’t ready for you back then.”

“I hate to break it to you Lenny, but you’re still not. Don’t beat yourself up about it though… I’ve yet to meet a man who is.”

His other hand moves to her hip and I see red.

“Think the lady made it clear she don’t want your hands on her,” I growl, coming to stand behind her. Getting a whiff of her perfume, I keep my eyes glued to the piece of shit hitting on her. His hand falls from her hip as she spins around to face me. Peeling my eyes off the dick, I meet her fiery gaze. Those brown eyes spit fire and burn through me.

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