Page 34 of Riot's Thorn
“Hey, brother!” The giant pounds on Riot’s back with a meaty hand. Riot barely budges, proving just how solid he is, but his eyes go blank, and he swallows hard. The friendly touch clearlydidn’t hurt him, but it definitely made him uncomfortable. “Didn’t expect to see you here since you don’t normally show, and now especially since you have a little prisoner.” He glances over at me. “Hmm, maybe less prisoner and more willing accomplice?”
“I don’t think she sees it that way,” Riot mutters.
The giant, who I think goes by Lucky, judging by the patch on his vest, looks me up and down. His perusal has me shifting my weight and biting my lip, wondering what he sees. “Pretty little thing, huh?”
Riot growls, an honest-to-goodness menacing rumble that comes from deep in his chest. I take a step back, my heart picking up its pace as I wait for a brawl to break out. My eyes immediately look for an escape route, but I’m drawn back to the two men when Lucky hoots with laughter. It’s a loud, bellowing sound that can probably be heard for miles.
“I’m just shittin’ you, man.” Lucky braces himself on his thighs as he tries to catch his breath. He doesn’t seem to care that neither of us is amused.
“She wants a burger,” Riot says, getting to the point.
“Sure, sure. Come on over. I’ll hook you up.” He tucks his long hair behind his ears before reaching for my plate. “Riot’s got no manners, so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Lucky.”
“Thank you, Lucky.” I take back my plate, which now has a steaming burger on it. “I’m Parker.”
“Parker,” he repeats. “I like it. You doing okay over there in the boonies?” His tone is jovial, but there’s a serious connotation I don’t miss, along with the brief but inquisitive lift of his brow. Everyone seems to be so interested in how I’m doing, but I don’t know why, since none of them seem to have any intention of helping.
“The rats take some getting used to, but otherwise, yes. I’m doing okay,” I say.
“You got rats?” Lucky asks. “Shit. Don’t tell Tinleigh until we get some traps set, or she won’t want to stay here anymore, especially since we got the puppy. I swear, she treats that thing like her baby. If she thinks he could get bit by?—”
“You don’t know he has pet rats?” I ask in confusion, shifting my attention to Riot, who’s wearing his usual blank expression.
“No shit? How many? What are their names?”
Riot is no help and says nothing, which brings on some guilt. Was he keeping them a secret for a reason? If so, why? And does no one go over to hang out with him or whatever bikers do?
Since the owner of the rats is remaining mute, I feel obligated to answer. “There are two, Amy and Ben. You should see their enclosure. It’s actually really cool. They’re probably the luckiest rats to ever exist.”
“They aren’t,” Riot finally pipes in. “Rats are very social, so Ben and Amy would be much happier in the wild, where they’d have access to more of their own kind. But I think they are happier than they were in the glass box at the pet store.”
“Cool. Maybe I could come by and meet them sometime. Rats are cool as fuck, but still, don’t tell Tinleigh.”
“Tell me what?” A short, pretty woman dressed in low-rise, baggy shorts and a pink crop top that matches the streak in her hair walks over and tucks herself into Lucky’s side. The height difference between the two is staggering.
Wait, she looks familiar.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“No, I don’t think so. But I think you’ve met my twin, Myla?” At my confusion, she shakes her head. “Sorry, they call her Killer.”
“Oh my god, yes! You two look exactly alike and also not at all alike.”
“Yeah, we get that a lot. Myla turned emo last year, but don’t let her fool ya. She has a heart of gold.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Tinleigh, Lucky’s ol’ lady.”
Lucky grips her by the back of the neck possessively. “Baby, this is Parker, Riot’s . . .friend.”
I roll my eyes. How is it possible an entire group of people take no issue with Riot both killing my dad and holding me here against my will?
My subconscious whispers how I haven’t begged for help or even tried to escape. Not really. I just accepted my fate. Am I that weak? Or do I trust this man more than I’m letting on? Is Riot my savior and not the villain in this story?
Still, I can’t wrap my head around Dad and Grandpa being that evil. It seems impossible. Men who do those things are slimy criminals, like drug warlords or something, not men who dress in bespoke suits and have impeccable table manners. Right?
Tinleigh smiles, but her tone is even. “What’s it like living with Riot?”
“I couldn’t ask for a better captor.” Jesus Christ. Does anyone around here evenlikeRiot? My slight indignation at their treatment of him has grown into outright resentment. “We’d better go sit down so we can eat.”
This time, I take Riot’s hand, if only so people will stop asking me if I’m okay living with him. Definitely not because I want to lay some kind of claim on him so everyone knows he’s not the creep people make him out to be. I don’t care about his image. Not at all.
