Page 8 of Riot's Thorn
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my place.”
“What? Why?”
Her loud struggling grabs my attention, and I see the moment she sits up and gets a look at me without the balaclava. Her eyes widen, and I’m sure she recognizes me from earlier, when I held the door open for her. I’ve never been more confused than when she stepped out of her car and my chest suddenly felt constricted. I don’t typically have emotional reactions to people, especially women.
“Haven’t decided,” I mutter.
“Wait. I know you,” she says accusingly as I catch her gaze before turning into the parking lot. Thankfully, the gates are already open when I pull up. “You were the guard at the front door.”
I grunt as I park on the side of the clubhouse, the closest I can get to my cabin without off-roading.
“Why are we here?”
I circle the car and open the back door. “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”
“What?” She looks around. “No. I want to go to the police station. I need to tell them. . .” Her voice cracks, telling me she’s about to lose it. “My dad, he was. . . I think he’s. . . I have to report the break-in.”
“Guess I’m carrying you.” I pull her up to stand and crouch to put my shoulder into her middle before lifting.
“No! Stop! This isn’t right!” She squirms, and I struggle to walk and keep hold of her.
“Knock it off,” I warn.
I grow concerned when one second, she’s fighting, and the next, she’s frozen. I realize why when she yells, “The mask! You’re him! Oh, my god. Help! Someone help me!”
It’s then I realize I left the balaclava tucked into my back pocket. That’s not ideal.
She doubles her effort, and the bitch is stronger than she looks. I wrap both arms around her legs and pick up my pace, pissed my cabin is the furthest one back. It felt like a good decision at the time, because I enjoy my own company enough to not need any interaction with the outside world, but it sure is biting me in the ass right now.
“I warned you.” I bring my hand down on her ass, swift and hard. It has the desired effect because she clamps her mouth shut, only releasing small whimpers. “Better.”
We reach the main gravel path that travels the length of the property. On the left is the clubhouse, and on the right are small cabins where all the ranking members live. Actually, that’s not true anymore. Cy, the club’s prez, Rigger, the VP, Mustang, the secretary, and Lucky, the sergeant at arms, all moved out of their cabins once they found partners. They haven’t given them up; they just use them for emergencies or if they want to get shitty and can’t drive home.
That’s something else I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to leave this place? I can’t imagine anywhere better. It’s perfect. I have my own space, the forest gives me privacy, my only neighbors are my brothers, and Sugar cleans our cabins and makes us all our meals. I’d never give up my place here.
Not a chance.
With luck I don’t deserve, I make it all the way to my porch without anyone seeing me. At least, I think. The glass on the sliding door of the clubhouse has that coating on it where they can see out, but no one can see in. But I think they would’ve approached me if they saw.
I type in the code for the lock and swing the front door open before setting her down and locking up tight behind us. Her eyes go comically wide. She’s terrified. I don’t blame her.
I remove the stupid-ass suit jacket I was forced to wear. While I’m at it, I yank off the tie and unbutton the top of the shirt that’s been choking me since I put it on. I’m too used to my everyday uniform of jeans, a T-shirt, and my cut; anything else feels wrong.
“Who are you? Why am I here? What do you want with me?” She doesn’t even breathe as she asks all the questions.
I don’t answer right away, but I make sure she sees me clear my gun and tuck the bullets in my pocket before setting it and my wallet down on the entry table. Don’t want her to get any ideas about using it on me.
“Name’s Riot. This is my place. No fuckin’ clue why you’re here.” I put her glasses back on before removing my knife from its sheath on my belt, watching as tears roll down her cheeks and her chin quivers.
“Please don’t kill me. Please. I promise I won’t tell anyone what you did.”
Yeah fucking right. She’d sing faster than a canary.
I circle her and wrap my hand around her throat, pulling her back to my chest. I’m glad she’s only a half foot or so shorter than me. Lucky and Judge make it work with the pocket-sized twins they’ve hooked up with, but I prefer not to have to bend in half to look someone in the eye—or, in this case, deliver a message.
Placing my lips at her ear, I whisper. “Are you going to behave if I take the zip ties off?”
