Page 32 of Riot

“Property?” I finish.

He clears his throat. “Yes. Which means you're also, uh, with the club by association.”

“You mean, I’m club property too?”

He reaches toward me, cupping my face. “It doesn’t mean what you think it does. It just means you’re protected, should anything go wrong.”

“Uh huh.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “It’s important to me that you’re safe.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest. I wished it wouldn’t, but it’s like I have no control over my emotions when it comes to him. “Why, Riot?”

He takes a breath. “Because I don’t trust many people. I would never want to see you get hurt.”

I want to be mad at him for following me, for finding out where I live — which I’m sure wouldn’t have been too hard, realistically. But I see a flash of… pain, or something, cross his eyes for a brief moment and it makes me halt whatever it was I was going to say.

“Okay.”

Now it’s his turn to frown. “Okay?”

“I know you’re just being overly growly, or whatever it is you bikers do when you go into protection mode.”

“Overly growly?”

I wave a hand. “Alpha. You’re an alpha male.”

“We pound our chests under a full moon, too.” I see a small smile and I’m glad he’s back from wherever he went just then. I’m sure if he wanted to tell me then he would. It’s not like we really know each other, even though he just pulled my tits out of my top in public and treated my body like an amusement park.

“I think I’d like to see that.”

His eyes soften. “Play your cards right and you just might.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips, taking my hand as he pulls me behind him. I go willingly. I’m nervous, but also excited. Having a man like Riot in my bed gives me a little sense of unease because I know he’s experienced. And I’m not. Well, I’ve had a few boyfriends, but I’ve never done the one-night stand thing. I’ve always been in some kind of relationship. Not that I expect this is a one-night stand; then again, what is it exactly? I’m not even sure.

We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re friends who…fuck?

I don’t know if I like the sound of that, but before I get a chance to voice my questions, I hear a whimper. I come to a halt as Riot turns. “What?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

We both quieten and then I hear it again. A cry. It’s close by.

“I heard it,” he says. Still keeping hold of my hand, we look around. I spot a dumpster just outside to the left of the entryway. There’s some minor remodeling at the apartment block across the road, and though they’ve been told to move the bins from public view, the company hasn't done that yet.

My heart races wildly. There’s a side gate where you can exit the parking garage. When we step out onto the sidewalk, we both hurry to the dumpster.

When Riot pulls out the flashlight from his back pocket, I feel a little smug. I gasp as he shines the torch on something moving, and howling… under all the kerfuffle, a dog appears.

“Oh my God!”

“Fuck,” Riot mutters.

The dog can’t sit up, and it looks like it has a broken leg by the way the front left one is angled. Wait, somebody dumped a dog in a dumpster?

My hands rise to my throat and I try to control my breathing. I’m not cut out for these kinds of things. I can go into a showdown with the mafia and a motorcycle club, survive a shooting, help women escape from a trafficking ring, but seeing an animal in pain like this? I’m toast.

Riot climbs into the dumpster at the shorter end, and the dog whimpers when he pulls him into his arms. He’s big. I don’t know what kind of dog, but he’s brown with half a white face and half sable. He looks scruffy, his ribs showing as I wonder how long this poor animal has been in here.

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