Page 110 of Rider Daddies
Of course she knows. Just because we ended our friendship, it doesn’t mean that she still can’t read my mind.
“I won’t ask you again. Would you like to join Tristan in the grave?”
“Lucia.” Enter Ash. His voice sounds so hard that I could touch it. “Don’t you dare.”
“Willow, you need to get out,” I say, totally dismissing Ash’s comment. “If you want me to think about forgiving you, you’ll do as I say.”
I slow the vehicle, waiting for her to get her shit together and do as I say.
After giving her a moment to think about it, I hear the sound of the door cracking open. I slow down to a crawling speed as she exits the vehicle, leaving Tristan and me alone.
Some would call this a date.
Others a joyride.
Tristan brings himself back up, wincing. Maybe the whiplash will be good for him—knock the mental illness out of his brain.
It’s a shame he has to be like this.
If he was normal and less obsessive, he’d make a good boyfriend.
Not to me, of course, but I know there are lots of girls out there who are dying to meet their perfect lawyer boyfriend who dresses in suits every day…cough, cough—Willow.
“Why do you have to be like this, Lucia?”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel in case he tries anything. “Is it off-putting?”
“You’re not the girl you once were.”
“So, why do you still want me?”
It’s a big question to ask an individual who’s being held hostage by their own sick thoughts, but if he can fight and win complicated cases in court, he can answer my one, simple question in the car.
“I love you.”
Isn’t that phrase supposed to be expressive?
Tristan says it in the most monotone voice ever.
Held hostage by his thoughts.
I look back into the rearview mirror and see the brothers keeping their distance, all still on their bikes, but crawling, waiting forsomething to happen. I don’t need to see their faces to know they’re in some kind of dispute. They point fingers at the Corvette. The abrasive way Ryder and Saint turn their heads to Ashalsoconfirms my suspicions.
Ash back at it again, trying to keep the two youngsters in line.
He must know that this is the only way for us to win. Staging Tristan’s death to make all of this look like an accident is the only shot we have at keeping the clubhouseandme safe.
I’d be offended if the adrenaline wasn’t thumping through me like thunder.
I’ve killed.
I can do it again.
Except this time it isn’t as simple.
I sigh, tearing my gaze away from the mirror to face Tristan. He hasn’t noticed me looking yet, so I watch his face.
The frustration on his face isn’t real. None of this is real, not even to him.
