Page 22 of Riot's Thorn
It would make sense that someone hurt him badly, since I really don’t think he knew it was me he was choking. Something about my slap triggered him—or maybe not. He’s demonstrated he’s a violent man, and Dad always told me when someone shows me who they are, believe them. If I believe who Riot has shown me he is, why should I give him the benefit of the doubt?
The front door opens and closes again. Did he have a change of heart? He doesn’t seem like the type of man to back downfrom his decisions, even if he knows they’re wrong. Boots thud down the hall, coming closer, but it’s not Riot. The footfalls aren’t as heavy, telling me the person is smaller.
Even though I know I can’t hide, I still look around. If I were chained to the outer post of the headboard, I might be able to slip under the bed and hope they don’t see my arm, but my left hand is cuffed to the middle of the bed, and I’m lying on the right side. It won’t do me any good, but I still reach for the covers and pull them as high as they’ll go, which is only to my neck.
A slight knock sounds three times before the door cracks open. I’m looking in the place where Riot would be, but all I see is the hallway through the four-inch-wide space. My gaze shifts down until one big blue eye grabs my attention.
Whoever it is must decide it’s okay to come in because the door swings open all the way to reveal a petite woman with short black hair around my age. She’s beautiful, but the same darkness that emanates from Riot comes off her too. Was this the other person in the mansion? If so, is she here to do what Riot can’t?
“Hi,” she says, not looking the slightest bit unnerved I’m cuffed to the bed.
“Hello,” I reply warily.
“I’m not here to hurt you. The opposite, actually. I saw Riot having a beer in the clubhouse, so I popped over to check on you.”
“Clubhouse?” I ask, taking in her attire. She’s wearing a black cropped tank, baggy black jeans with holes in the knees, black boots, and a black leather vest with a patch that says “Killer” on the lapel. It’s the same vest Riot has. I can’t see the back of hers, but I’d guess it also has the scary embroidered skull patch with Sons of Erebus around it. After seeing the emblem on the coffee mug, I noticed Riot’s vest hanging by the front door, which was all the confirmation I needed. I haven’t found the right time to bring it up and ask the many questions I have.
“Do you know where you are?” She cautiously approaches.
“No.” Feeling less concerned because she hasn’t attacked me, I push the covers down, not realizing I’m exposing my neck, which no doubt has bruises around it, and from the woman’s reaction, they’re bad.
“He did that?”
“Yes.”
“Fuckin’ hell. That asshole.” She shakes her head, muttering to herself. “Could they not have given me a babysitter who doesn’t walk the line of insanity?”
“Babysitter?” I ask.
“Yeah, sorry.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “First, you should knowI’mthe reason your dad is dead, not Riot.” I open my mouth to argue because I know what I saw, but she cuts me off. “He’s just in charge of making sure I stay safe while I go on my. . . missions. He’s supposed to leave the killing to me, but this one really got to him. Normally, he’s not emotionally invested in what I do, but when I told him the ages of the girls and boys being trafficked. . . well, I guess even he has limits.”
A sudden rush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. She thinks Dad was a pedophile too, and it’s humiliating, both because I never knew and because I’m his daughter. I’m still not certain they’re telling the truth, but the more I learn, the more I’m starting to believe.
“Do you have proof?” I ask quietly. Even if it’s damning, I need to know the truth.
“You’re fucking with me, right? You think I’d go into a mansion with tens of armed guards, risking my life, for something I wasn’t sure of?”
“I-I don’t know you,” I stutter, feeling the rage emanating from her.
“You don’t have to know someone to answer that question, but okay.” She holds out a hand. “Hi. I’m Killer, the newestmember of the Sons of Erebus. Want to know how I got my road name? Great, I’ll tell you.” Her words are strung together without pause, so I don’t bother answering. “After being beaten, abused, and violated by multiple men, I had a choice to make: either go to therapy and try to heal or get vengeance. Guess which one I chose?”
This time, she waits for a response. I whisper, “Vengeance.”
“Smart cookie.” She boops me on the nose. “I research, I study, I watch, and I never act until I’m absolutely sure the monster I’m hunting deserves what they get.”
“A monster like my dad?”
“I don’t mean to be cruel, but yes.”
I want to think she’s trying to fool me, but I can’t think of one reason why. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“I know it must be a hard pill to swallow, but choke that shit down because it’s true. Your dad bought women and even some children. He’d then invite all his buddies, who paid your dad a ridiculous amount of money to rape and abuse said women and children as if they weren’t even human, over for his special parties, as if they were put on this Earth to suffer for the benefit of old, rich men. And before your dad, there was your grandpa. This has been going on for quite some time.”
“I’m going to be sick.” I lean over the side of the bed, and thanks to Killer’s quick thinking, there’s a trash can under me before the first fiery stream of bile comes up my throat. It’s been a while since breakfast, and I didn’t have lunch or dinner, so I retch more than anything.
“Let it out.” Killer bundles up my hair in her fist.
I spit and spew until there’s nothing left and I dry heave, fat tears streaming from my eyes. Once my stomach is done cramping, I sit back up, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt. “Sorry.”
