Page 30 of Riot's Thorn
When he brushes past me and tucks himself back in his corner, I feel even more guilty. But I shouldn’t, right? There’s nothing I can say that’s worse than what he’s done to me. Insults are nothing compared to murdering my dad and holding me hostage.
If that’s true, then why do I feel like shit?
CHAPTER TEN
RIOT
Looking around, I see why she wouldn’t like it here. It’s dark and old, but why get rid of something if it’s still functional? I think back on the mansion where her dad lived, and I guess it makes sense. If I updated my place when my brothers did, would she be happier? Would she want to stay?
Ben and Amy crawl over me, feeling my distress and wanting to make it better. Rats might be smart for animals, but their logic is shit because there’s nothing they can do to fix this. I appreciate their effort, though, so I give them scratches.
I think I know what I need to do, even though I turned down the idea initially. Pulling my phone out, I click on Rigger’s text. Church was last night, something mandatory for ranking members. Being the Road Captain, I should’ve been there, but Cy is lenient with me.
Cramped spaces and loud voices can sometimes be too much for me, so instead of simply exiting the room and going somewhere quieter, I’ve been known to flip tables and shove people out of my way. Cy says it creates a hostile work environment for my brothers, so he allows one of them to update me afterward. Last night, it was Rigger’s turn.
Most of his text is bullshit business updates and stuff I don’t care about. Back when our business was illegal drugs and gun running, my job was integral to the daily workings, but now that most everything is legit, I’m only needed when we go on charity runs and other unimportant shit.
Honestly, it was nice when I was asked to help Killer. It gave me a purpose. Sure, I take protection shifts at our brothel, the Honey Pot, and sometimes I’ll help Bones at his head shop, Dope, but it’s boring and forces me to be social, something I’m not good at. Killing, though? That gets my blood pumping and requires my specific skillset. I hope Killer’s list never ends.
I scroll down a ways until I read that the club is having a cookout tonight, something I didn’t even consider last night. Maybe it would be good for Parker to get out of the cabin. Maybe if she saw my brothers with their women, she’d come around to the idea of staying.
The idea of the massive crowd that will flood the clubhouse tonight fills me with unease, but I’m willing to endure it for Parker. That notion makes me pause because I’ve never really been concerned with the desires or feelings of others. This is my life, after all, so why should I spend energy ensuring someone else’s happiness when I could be focused on my own? Yet, here I am, torn between my usual self-interest and this unfamiliar urge to prioritize Parker’s happiness.
With that thought, I realize it’s time to confront the truth. I need her to stay, and while it would be ideal if she also wanted that, I’m not above resorting to desperate measures, like keeping her captive for as long as it takes. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone, and Parker is the first person I’ve been able to tolerate. She might be my only chance to find the same partnership some of the other guys have, so I need to put in some effort.
I shoot off a text to Rigger telling him Parker and I will attend and ask if he’d fill everyone in on the situation. His response is quick. “Sure, brother.” Exactly what I thought he’d say.
Peeling myself out of the corner, I stand up straight and tuck my phone in my pocket. Ben and Amy aren’t happy when I call them to their enclosure, but they obey. It’s not like I’m forcing them into some brightly colored plastic cage like you see at the pet store. That felt like torture to me, so I did a lot of research and created a six-foot, bioactive, naturalistic environment where they forage for their food, build their own nests from what they find handy, and can climb branches and live plants to get to the many levels.
Once I’m certain Ben and Amy are safe, I turn to face my house guest. “We’re going to a club party tonight.”
“We?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“No, I’m serious. I can show you the text if you don’t believe?—”
“I believe you. I just don’t know why you think I’d want to go to a party.”
“You said you feel cooped up. Plus, this will get you away from my disgusting cabin.” I stare at the carpet, which is the most beautiful shade of teal. I know it’s old, but when I went to find replacement flooring, all the carpet was beige, and I’d rather see colorful but dingy carpet thanbeige.
“I’m sorry I said that. It was rude and judgmental, two things I try hard not to be.” She sighs. “I’ll go to this party, but I’m not lying to anyone. If they ask, I’ll tell them who I am and why I’m here.”
She thinks it’s a threat that might get her rescued, but she’s clearly never been around a motorcycle club. We’re loyal to a fault. They could see me shoot Parker at point-blank range, andno questions asked, they’d help me hide the body and then give me an alibi if the cops came sniffing. They won’t bat an eye at an abduction.
“That’s fair.”
She stands, clasping her hands in front of her. “Do we need to bring anything?”
“Bring anything?”
“I’ve never been to a cookout. Old rich fucks can’t be bothered unless an event is catered, climate controlled, and have important people in attendance. But I’ve seen casual cookouts on TV, and it seems customary to bring something to share.”
“No, it’s not like that. Sugar, Mustang’s Mom, does all the cooking for us. Sometimes the girls help, but Sugar’s pretty controlling, so a lot of times, she’ll kick ’em out of the kitchen after five minutes.”
“Can I help? Maybe not cook, but surely there’s stuff to set up, right? How many people will be there?”
