Page 78 of Riot's Thorn
“Parker Richter?” the one with muddy brown hair asks, and I nod. “I’m Special Agent Larkin, and this is Special Agent Ayala with the FBI.”
“Please, come in.”
Once everyone is seated, I tell them everything I know, leaving out the Sons and what they told me about Bart Banks. I let them know where to find the photos too. I also let them draw their own conclusions about why the basement wasn’t part of the search when the mass murder happened, and they seem to understand why it took me two weeks to resurface. My concern that they’d find it suspicious and go check out my story was unfounded, thankfully.
Two hours later, I leave the FBI agents at the mansion and show the Midnight Security team to the mountain house where I’ll be living for now.
I was shocked Riot didn’t show up at the mansion while I was there. Or maybe he did and left when he saw the unmarked cars. I ignore the twinge of disappointment, reminding myself I have things to do before we can be together. If he hasn’t moved on by the time I finish, then we can reassess.
Still, my girly heart wishes this were a fairytale and that my Prince Charming would ride up on his bike and rescue me. But now is not the time for daydreaming. It’s time for logic and strategy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
RIOT
The thing about hiding in a cabin on a mountain is that there are trees. A lot of trees. And trees give you a place to hide that could be right outside your bedroom window and still be a ghost.
Which is what I’m doing right now.
The cabin Parker’s staying in looks more like a multi-million-dollar contemporary mountain home. To me, when you live in nature, you should do your best to blend in. This place doesn’t blend. It’s two stories with a weird mix of sloped and flat rooflines, constructed of timber and steel with a variety of siding materials, including faux rock.Fauxrock in a place where real rocks are plentiful.
The only thing I do like is that each wall is mostly windows, giving panoramic views. Plus, the windows mean there aren’t many places she can hide from my prying eyes.
Currently, my little thorn is doing what thorns do and being a pain. I don’t think she was even gone for three hours before I found her—at her house, right where I knew she’d go. The only surprises so far have been the man who picked her up—still not sure who he is—and the security team she hired. At least she’s taking her safety seriously.
Following them was a little tricky because I knew they’d be watching for a tail, but since I chose to drive a white sedan, which is one of the most common vehicles on the road, I wasn’t discovered.
Damn, she looks so pretty in that dress. Why didn’t I bring her dresses when she was staying with me? It’s laughable that I thought plain clothes would keep me from making her mine. What a missed opportunity to see her looking like this.
That’s okay; she’ll soon be back, and I’ll make sure she has all the dresses she could ever want. Only short ones, though, because that woman has legs for days. It’s only been hours, and I fucking miss those legs wrapped around me.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to find Lucky’s name on the caller ID. The other thing about trees is that they’re natural sound suppressors. I don’t have to walk far before I know no one in that house can hear me.
“Yeah?” I answer hotly, not happy about missing precious minutes of daylight to watch Parker through the window.
“Bro, what the fuck? Seriously, what the ever loving fuck?” he barks, and since he’s inhumanly large, his voice is naturally loud, hurting my ears.
I pull the phone a good three inches from my head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Your cabin.”
“What about it?”
“It’s destroyed. What the hell were you thinking?”
“That it needed work. Parker wasn’t comfortable there.”
He scoffs. “I can’t imagine why. You took a fucking demolition hammer to it and then sent a text asking if I’d help you fix a few things.” He goes from loud to yelling. “Fixa few things? Are you out of your goddamn mind? Never mind, don’t answer that. I already know you are.”
“Is that a no, you can’t help?”
“I’m not a contractor or an architect, two things you fucking need if you decide to demolish your house.”
“It’s still standing,” I say in defense.
“What the hell ever, dude. Get a fucking clue.” The call disconnects.
As I reclaim my tree, I wonder if I went too far. What was I supposed to do? After I made it out of church and discovered Parker wasn’t with Sugar and that Sugar hadn’t seen her in a while, I lost my shit. My rage couldn’t be contained. I thought Parker and I were on the same page. I thought she understood. I thought she knew what it meant to be mine.
