Page 40 of Riot's Thorn
“I don’t have a home. Not anymore.”
“You have the cabin.”
“That’s not my home,” I insist.
“It’s the closest thing you have right now.”
Completely done meeting people and thinking about what may or may not have happened, I nod. Riot takes my hand and leads me back the way we came. If I thought people were interested in us earlier, they’re riveted after Riot’s explosion and openly gawking.
A pretty, older woman steps into our path. “Hey, doll. I noticed you two didn’t eat much, so I made up some plates.”
Riot takes them, thanking her, but when she looks at him expectantly, he grunts in annoyance. “Parker, this is Sugar. She’s Mustang’s mom. She also does all the cooking and cleans up after us assholes.”
Sugar’s red-painted lips tip up in a beautiful smile. She doesn’t look old enough to have given birth to Jenson’s big biker. If she wiped off the thick black eyeliner and eased up on the blush, she could pass as his sister. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I nod at the plates. “Thank you. That was very kind.”
“It makes me happy to take care of these lugs.” She wipes her hands on jeans that look like a second skin. “You’ll probably see me around. I pop in to tidy Riot’s place once a week. Unless you’d rather I not?”
“Oh, um, don’t change your schedule because of me. I don’t know how long I’ll be around anyway.”
That comment earns me one of Riot’s growls, which has Sugar stepping to the side. “Okay, great. I’ll see you soon then.”
We make it to the cabin without any other interruptions. Riot morphs right before my eyes once the door is shut and locked. He slips his leather vest off and hangs it up before pushing off his boots. The severe expression he wore at the party softens, and his posture becomes more relaxed.
I follow his lead, slipping off my flip-flops. Tonight has been insanely overwhelming. On the one hand, it was interesting meeting his club and seeing their dynamic. On the other, I don’t know how to process what three different people have now told me.
“You wanna eat?” Riot holds up a foil-covered plate.
“Sure.” I lower onto the sofa, thinking eating my feelings sounds like the perfect idea.
He hands it over, then walks over to his rat pantry. After releasing his pets, he takes his plate to his corner to share his meal. I like that he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence as we eat. It’s not even uncomfortable.
The burger is cold and plain, but I don’t taste it; my mind is too busy running in circles. I don’t know what’ll have to happen for me to fully grasp and accept what I’ve been told, but it still doesn’t feel real.
Thinking about that has me wondering about the second issue I can’t make sense of. I glance up and take in this issue as he feeds his rats little bites of potato chips and fruit salad. I’ve asked him over and over what he plans to do with me, butI refuse to accept I’ll spend the rest of my life trapped between these walls.
“We need to finish our conversation,” I say.
Riot’s nearly black eyes shoot up to me, cunning and altogether beautiful. Even with the mask lowered, he emits an air of danger, a defense mechanism he seems to have honed throughout the years. “Okay.”
I move closer, taking a seat on the floor across from him. Ben and Amy freeze in place, lifting onto their hind legs. Their little noses flitter, assessing for danger. When they sense none, they run over to me.
Making Riot trust me means I need to be okay with his rodents, so I allow them to inspect me. I don’t move a muscle, not wanting to startle them. They crawl onto my lap, stopping to sniff every so often.
“Relax. They sense your fear,” he says, his tone giving away his amusement.
“Easier said than done.”
“They won’t bite. They’ve been handled since they were pups.”
“That doesn’t help either. What if they don’t like me?”
“They like you. If they didn’t, they’d keep their distance. Rats aren’t predatory; they’re opportunistic.”
“Can I pet them?” I ask, wondering if their fur is as soft as it looks.
“Sure.”
