Page 67 of Rider Daddies
What if I’m the reason police break up the club?
Why did I get such a kick out of killing…?
Tequila—I’m begging for you to save me.
I lift onto my tiptoes and unscrew a bottle, pouring a generous amount into my glass, topping up with ice.
On top of all this madness, I still have Tristan on my mind. You’d think that murdering a man would distract you from the other troubles going on in your life.
Wrong.
Tristan’s betrayal still stings like a high school bitch. For one full year, he had me fooled. Why didn’t I see the signs?
Looking over the lip of my glass, I spot Ryder, Saint, and Ash immersed in deep conversation over in the back corner.
They’re a package deal if I’ve ever seen one.
The fine lines on their faces make the concept of aging seem appealing. One look at them has my heart flipping. Seeing them rush to my protection last night is up there as one of the greatest things to go down in history.
Their faces, hardened in fury.
Their bodies, like human wrecking balls, ready to fight.
Don’t even get me started on the way Ryder swept me off my feet and carried me like I was nothing. I was mad at him in the moment for ignoring all of the other victims—still am—butif I isolate the moment when he flung me over his shoulder andkilledto protect me, it gets me wet.
Very wet.
Maybe the tequila wasn’t such a good idea. All it does is enhance my sexual attraction toward them.
I’m running out of panties. I keep getting them soaked.
They’re all to blame.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll go commando and put on a little show of my own.
See how long they can resist…
If it’s anything like it was a few nights ago when we were all in extremely high spirits, they stand zero chance.
And let’s not forget that they still want to “claim” me.
Brand me as theirs.
They think this means that they can each have me separately…shame they’re about to sign without reading the terms and conditions first.
A message pings through on my phone just as I’m about to pick up from where we left off.
It’s Mamma asking how things are going.
My heart does a little tug. I pick up the device and stare at the screen, zombified. Mamma and I don’t lie.
But technically, it’s not lying if Ikeepinformation from her.
I text back that I’m fine and safe—just needed to get away to clear my head. I avoid the topic of when she can expect me to be back. Can I ever return to normality after manslaughter?
Fuck me.
I set the phone down and pick up my drink, letting the warm burn send my body into relaxation mode.
