Page 51 of Riot's Thorn
“Cute, huh?”
“Yeah, cute.”
“Hey, what’s your real name?” I ask.
“Why do you want to know?”
I prop my head up on my chin, admiring how soft he looks first thing in the morning. It’s as if life hasn’t had a chance to piss him off yet, so his handsome face is relaxed. All too soon, he’ll be scowling and clenching his jaw, but for right now, I get him like this.
“No reason. I just want to know. Do you not want to tell me?”
“Lucas Wise,” he says, as if it doesn’t belong to him.
“Lucas, huh?” I squint to see him more clearly since I don’t have my glasses on. “You look like a Lucas.”
“I haven’t been that guy in a long time.”
“Well, Riot suits you too,” I say, sitting up and stretching. Since I only put on a pair of panties and one of his white T-shirts, it’s no wonder Riot’s eyes catch on the way the fabric clings to my breasts.
“Where are you going?” He makes a grab for me, but I’m too fast as I slide out of bed. “Come back. We didn’t get a chance to finish what we started last night.”
“Pretty sure we did, and I told you it wasn’t happening again.”
I dart into the bathroom, but before I can close the door, I hear Riot mumble something like, “We’ll see.”
Yeah, we will. He’s gorgeous and makes my body come alive, but we are wrong for each other in too many ways to count. So many ways, I can’t even envision what it would look like to be with him. He just needs to let me go.But then what, Parker?
I’ve had a hard enough time grasping each moment as they come, let alone thinking about a plan if I got away. Where would I even start? It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. The cops will obviously want to know where I’ve been, so I’d have to lie. As fucked up as it is, I can’t throw Riot under the bus.
I’d have to get ahold of Dad’s lawyer because I can’t imagine how complicated it’ll be handling his estate. I cover my forehead with a hand, as if that’ll stop my brain from exploding. I don’t even know how much Dad was worth, but I know it’s a lot. And it’s all going to me; he said as much when he updated his will last year. What the hell do I do with all that money?
If everything Riot and Killer have said is true, I won’t have the chance to spend a dime before I’m being buried right next to Dad. I can’t let that happen, so I’ll have to hire personal security. Maybe after some time, Bart will see I have no intention of saying shit about what he got up to, and he’ll leave me alone. Fucking creep.
An idea forms as I lean on the bathroom counter. Dad’s money could go far in helping all the women and children who fall victim to trafficking. Seems like a good way to atone for my family’s sins.
After washing my face, I turn to dry off with a towel when I notice a pile of Riot’s clothes on the ground,nextto the hamper. Rolling my eyes, I pick them up. The shirt is wet, which is weird. Was there a sudden downpour I didn’t know about? It’s not impossible, since storms roll in and out so quickly in the desert. Whatever. I toss them in and go to pick up my toothbrush, but a flash of red catches my eye.
My palm and fingers are smeared with dark red. Not a normal red either. It looks like blood. I flip on the water and hold my hand under the flow, wondering if I cut myself on something. Rubbing my skin, I don’t feel any kind of sting, and now that the blood is gone, I don’t see any injury.
I glance over my shoulder at the pile of clothes. Riot’s shirt was wet. . . Oh, god, it’s soaked in blood. I choke back a sob because I know this means he killed someone last night. I know firsthand who he is, so I don’t know why it’s such a shock.
A knock interrupts the frantic scrubbing of my hands. I don’t know whose blood it is, and it’s making me paranoid.
“You okay?” Riot calls out.
“No, I’m not fucking okay!” I return.
“Open the door, Little Thorn.”
“No. Go away.”
“Open the door, or I’ll break it down,” he barks. I know he’ll do it, and since I like having a bathroom door, I give in. With a shaky hand, I flip the lock, letting him do the rest of the work. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you kill someone last night?”
“No,” he says, not looking at me. He seems to have a hard time with eye contact when he has big feelings, but it’s not necessarily a tell.
“Then why were your clothes soaked in blood?”
