Page 106 of Rider Daddies
“Good girl.”
I think that is the most foul thing I have ever heard come out of Tristan’s mouth, but at least he’s no longer holding Willow at gunpoint.
He slips the weapon back under his black blazer and looks at me with a keen look in his eye. The face of a man who has had his twisted desires met.
Before I have time to look back and give the boys a nod of reassurance, Tristan grabs me by the wrist and walks me away to his car.
“Willow,” he calls, his back turned toward her.
Willow trails after him, her feet scraping against the gritty sand as all three of us head toward our ride for the night.
It’s not all bad—at least I get front seat without having to call shotgun.
I thumb the button, hoping to roll down the window, but Tristan beats me to it, locking the feature before he even has time to jump into the driver’s side.
Being back in a car again has made me realize that I prefer motorcycles.
I also prefer my drivers to be a little rough around the edges, sweating gasoline and sin.
Twice my age, preferably, with moves in the bedroom.
The only thing Tristan knows how to do between the sheets is work up a sweat.
I belt up, not because I’m eager to get moving, but because Tristan is an anxious driver who swerves anytime another car gets too close.
God forbid the carbon-plated body gets crashed into.
“Enlighten me. Where are we going?” I ask.
“Home sweet home,” Tristan says, starting up the engine. “The house has been empty without you.”
Bright lights suddenly flicker on. Craning my neck to look through the rearview mirror, I see my three saviors behind me finally doing what I have always wanted them to do—work as a team.
They line up on their motorcycles, getting ready to chase.
And it ison.
Tristan notes them as well, but this doesn’t faze him. He slams his foot on the gas, jerking me forward, and we’re off, sailing through the desert, quickly reaching a hundred miles an hour.
One good thing has come out of this—Willow has stopped crying. She sits in the back completely frozen, her eyes wide with horror as she holds on to the seat in front of her for dear life.
This is the first time Tristan doesn’t seem bothered about keeping his car in pristine condition. The car speeds over undulations as we cruise through the desert, the hood scraping against tarmac as Tristan takes the next dip in the road too fast.
And the boys are right behind.
I glance over my shoulder, grimacing. They need to stay out of this. How do they expect me to make a life out here if there’s no clubhouse?
The engine grumbles as the car reaches maximum speed. I turn back around and face the front. My pulse is drumming so erratically in my neck that I don’t know how long I can function like this.
A cardiac arrest is possible.
But I’ll only be able to rest in peace when I know that Tristan is doing the same.
I can kill another person and get away with it.
Tristan might be more involved in public affairs and have more of a name than Manual ever did, but that’s not going to stop me from killing a man who deserves death just the same.
I look out of the back window and see them catching up.
