Page 118 of Riot's Thorn
“Why?” I ask—she’s mine and he’s gay. Why does he care?
“She’s good for you, and we want you to be happy. Plus, Jenson likes not being the only filthy rich one around here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
After putting Ben and Amy in their travel bag and packing some essentials, I secure them to my bike, and for the first time I can remember, I don’t feel the need to decompress from social interaction with my brothers. That’s not to say I won’t need it in the future, but it’s nice not toalwaysneed it. Maybe sometimes, I can just be okay now they’ve been making an effort to not keep me at a distance.
I’ll always be me, the one with crazy eyes who never smiles and would rather torture someone than put a bullet in their head, but I don’t feel like I’m feared by my own brothers anymore. Renovating this place forced us to spend more time together than we normally would and gave us something to bond over or some shit.
It’s dumb that a man like me, who willingly walks into what others would think of as scary situations all the goddamn time, is fucking terrified of change. Or maybe it’s more the loss of control. But whatever it was, I never felt safe to allow it to happen until Parker.
Makes me wonder what else that little thorn in my side has in store for our future.
CHAPTER FORTY
PARKER
I’ve just woken from a nap when I get a text from Roland he’s bringing by the last of the papers I need to sign. After what I’ve experienced, I’m even more anxious to get my nonprofit up and running. I hope I can do the cause justice.
Being as young as I am and never having worked in this industry, I worry I don’t have what it takes. But after all the research I’ve done, I learned it takes a lot of time, energy, and passion, three things I have in spades right now. I hate to think of it as a bonus, but now that I’ve experienced a lot of things I’ll be fighting against, it’ll be easier to gain the trust of those I want to help.
Even though Riot didn’t want me to get out of bed, I don’t feel right about having Roland in my bedroom, so I change into a comfy matching set, brush my teeth, and pull my rat’s nest of hair into a messy bun that looks slightly intentional. Once I feel like a human being again, I set myself up in the living room and wait.
I’m halfway into a bag of chips and starting the next season of my favorite show when Roland knocks and walks in. I had texted him earlier and asked if he’d just come in, since I’m still moving slowly right now.
“Hi,” he says, dressed in his usual bespoke suit. This one is gray and tan overcheck twill tweed with tan leather elbows, and when he unbuttons the coat, I see a matching vest with a leather chest pocket. Under the vest is a blue button-down and a chocolate brown tie. He looks like he just got a haircut because the fade from his black hair to his trim beard is tight.
No one could argue he’s not an attractive man. If I didn’t have Riot, there’s a chance things would have ended differently. His manners, his family, and his work ethic are all traits I thought were the most important to look for. But now I know better because loyalty should trump all. If you can’t count on your partner to be there for you, the relationship is doomed.
“Hi.” I sit up, my ribs smarting. “Thanks so much for doing this.”
“It’s no problem. I felt bad I left you in a lurch. It’s the least I could do.” He sits next to me on the sofa, and dang, the man even smells good. That’s when I catch sight of a black cast over his hand, wrist, and two fingers.
I gasp, pretending to not know about his injury. “What happened?”
He looks down at his cast, a fake smile on his face. “I got jumped.”
“Oh, god. When?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it, if it’s okay with you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Thank god. I’m not confident in my ability to carry on a lie, and I genuinely feel awful, since it’s my fault he’s hurting.
“Okay, just sign where there’s a tab.” He points to the spots that need my initials and signature.
“Why am I nervous?” After awkwardly scribbling something that looks close to my name with my injured hand, I set the pen down.
“There you go. Road Guardians is open to help victims of trafficking.”
I grin. “I have so many ideas. I can’t wait to start.”
“Is the name a nod to the biker club your boyfriend is in?”
“You caught onto that, huh? I figured it worked both for the club but also because victims are often transported out of their own cities and states.”
“I like it.” He stacks the papers and takes in my battered form. “What kind of accident did you say you were in again? Because those injuries aren’t consistent with a car accident.”
“You’re astute,” I say, making light of the situation. When he doesn’t smile, I sigh. “I’ll just say it’s better you don’t know what’s going on.”
