Page 90 of Rider Daddies
But every time I think about her leaving, it hurts.
It’s the same reason I lit up when she told me she should stay—I want her in my life, even though she’s terrible for me.
I wanted to claim her in order to keep her.
But Lucia is too fiery.
One day, she’ll get bored of this place and leave, drilling a bigger hole in my chest than the one my parents carved when they left the world.
I stand in the dark waiting for the cops to emerge. They’re taking their sweet time.
To make matters worse, my balls fucking ache. Fuck the cops. It’s Ryder and Saint who I’m the most pissed off at. They’re the biggest cockblockers this world has ever seen.
Ryder especially always gets his own fucking way. He needs to taste loss for once in his life. Sometimes, I question if his heart even broke when our parents died. Even after they were gone, he continued being his same, egotistic self that only cared about himself.
The cops reenter the night, looking even more sinister than when they first arrived on the scene and broke up…I can’t even put into words what that was.
Silent like two birds of prey, the pair step down from the veranda and walk themselves over to Lucia.
One of them takes out their phone and brings up a picture.
Lo and behold, Lucia Bianchi.
I squint my eyes, getting a better look at the photo. She looks so…different. She looks good in fancy white blouses and suit pants. Maybe too good. Her face is straight for the cameraman, depicting the seriousness that comes with working at a law firm.
The cop raises the phone in line with Lucia’s face while the second cop attempts to draw similarities.
It’s a good thing Lucia has had quite the makeover since arriving here. The professional look has long gone from her face, and I’m glad—she doesn’t look anywhere near as happy in that photo as she does here.
Praise the Lord for white tank tops and denim jeans—it seems they are the best disguise.
The second cop flicks his eyes back and forth between the photograph and Lucia’s face, eyes sinking so far into his face that in a minute, they’ll be disappearing into his cheeks.
“Sunshine Motel,” Lucia says, keeping a straight face. “I heard about that.”
“Really?” questions the first cop. “What did you hear?”
Bravo, Lucia.
“It was a murder scene, blood everywhere, but the victims went free.”
“They did.”
I frown. She’s trying to go about this in a backward way, finding out if the victims got away. But we’re skating on thin ice.
Unless she wants to reunite with her psycho pretty boy, she should keep her mouth shut and forget that she cares.
“All victimsbutLucia Bianchi.”
I huff out a sigh. “Are we done here, officer?”
The cop turns to the one still holding up the photo. His face is lit up from the screen, showing a hard brow as he consults his partner. The first cop nods, so the photo-holder finally relieves himself of his duty, phone returning to pocket.
“That will be all, yes. Thank you.”
They walk together into the night, hopping into the cop car that they very strategically parked up ahead to avoid disruption.
It’s a piece of shit Ford that looks like something a grandma would drive.
