Page 111 of Rider Daddies
In a relationship, you’re supposed to know everything about one another. I knew nothing about the man except that he was charming, knew how to dress, and was good at his job. His parents moved away, apparently. I never spoke to them and only saw one photo, taken from when Tristan was just an infant.
It makes me feel sorry for him…kinda.
The man stole my freedom and tried to control me. I was a Barbie to him. Something that he wanted to keep and possess, and have all to himself.
I clench my jaw, fighting to stop a tear from slipping out of my eye. God knows why I’m shedding tears for a man who wanted me so much that he tried to involve me in a sex trafficking ring.
The sensible thing to do would be to drive him to the nearest mental asylum and have them rewire his brain.
But I’m over being fucking sensible.
Tristan saw me kill Manual.
He’s also way too involved with the cops for my liking.
“You don’t love me,” I tell him.
“Yes I do.”
“No.” I tighten my hands around the steering wheel. “You think you do. But this isn’t love, Tristan.”
Why does it feel like I’m saying this to myself too?
Tristan wasn’t the only one who thought we were in love.
If I had never met the bikers, I’d still believe that what we had was real.
I bite my lip, focusing on the road ahead. Can you love someone after two weeks of knowing them?
What I have with the brothers is strange. Every time I’m with them, my heart does this little lurch. They don’t even have to say anything, don’t even have to do anything. My opinion of them could never change. With them by my side, it feels like I could conquer the world. Like I could go through a hurricane and still be standing on my own two feet.
I want to hate Tristan, but I fucking can’t.
I want to kill him, to end this once and for all, but he was still part of my journey and it feels rude to kill the man who encouraged me to reevaluate my whole outlook on life.
Maybe I should be thanking him.
The thought vanishes from my head when he pulls me away from the wheel to reclaim it.
It makes all of this easier that he’s back to his usual self, over the whiplash.
“Give me back my car.”
“In your dreams.” I boot him in the groin by accident which sends him flying back in pain.
But only for a few seconds.
“You’re coming back with me.” He drags me out of the seat, so I step on the brake again, hoping to induce another wave of terrible whiplash since he’s being naughty and not wearing his seat belt.
But the first round must’ve made him immune.
“They’ve turned you into a murderer.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing, Tristan?” I press down on the gas pedal and begin to steer the car this way and that to knock him off-balance. “Some people need to be killed, like your best friend Manual. What was the deal with you and him, anyway? You bestied so hard that he got you to work for him, or did you just pay him for the contract offer? I know you. You only do something if it feeds your sick, twisted desires.” I lift a foot into the air and kick, this time inthe stomach. “You should be thanking me. I’m doing you a favor. With you dead, we’ll both be free of your plagued mind.”
Before I can take my next breath, Tristan wraps the bra around my neck and pulls my head toward him with brute force.
I have to give it to the guy—he’s stronger than he looks.
