Foolish Riot (Riot MC Book 5) Page 5

  I shook my head and muttered, “Jesus Christ. Men.”

  “You could say that again. Feel like a change of scenery? I could hang with you in Blood’s room, or hell, I bet Natasha would let you take a soak in her killer garden tub if you wanted to. She doesn’t live too far from here, and I’ll take you home after.”

  I was debating that, because it sounded like a great idea, but a deep voice rumbled, “She ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  I tried to bolt upright, but sadly, it was a struggle, and my head felt like it was full of marbles.

  “Fuck,” I hissed.

  The faint sounds of people shuffling permeated my brain. Suddenly, I was lifted in the air, and I was in Roll’s arms. His unmistakable scent of cologne, leather, and smoke could not be avoided. He went straight to his room, and kicked the door closed behind him. Putting me on his unmade bed, he grabbed my wrist to look at my arm. I snatched it away from him, and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. In the past ten years, Roll and I had both put on weight. However, Roll’s extra weight was deceptive because it was mainly muscle. He was still just as nimble as he was the first time he confronted me at the picnic table out back.

  He loomed over me. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  My gaze narrowed on him. “I’m sick and tired of hurting because of you. I’m leaving. I was already putting distance between us. But now‒ it’ll kill me to do it‒ but I’ve got to get away from all things Riot MC.”

  “He really carve an ‘H’ into your arm?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Now let me up. I’m leaving.”

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Christ! This is ridiculous. You can’t do anything for my face or my arm. I’m going home,” I said, pushing on his shoulders.

  Roll shrugged out of his cut, and tossed it on a wing chair behind him. He was wearing a black sleeveless muscle shirt with his faded jeans. He leaned over me and gently pushed me down onto my back. “You’re spending the night with me.”

  “Ha! Spending the night with you, why would I bother? I’ll just wake up alone in the morning. I can do that just as well at my place.”

  Roll grabbed me under my arms and situated my head on a pillow, then he laid down next to me. He planted his elbow in his pillow, and rested his head on his fist, “I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  “Why the about-face? What happened to not getting my hooks in you, no settling down and all that?”

  “They found you at work, means they know where you live. You ain’t goin’ back to your place until this shit’s taken care of.”

  I held his eyes for a moment as I let it sink in that nothing had changed. It wasn’t a real about-face from Roll; he was just keeping me safe. I rolled onto my side, facing away from him, and tried to sleep. I couldn’t do it, though.

  I rolled to my back and, staring at the ceiling, I asked, “Why do they want you?”

  “Club business.”

  “Of course,” I said snidely.

  “Trix. I had no idea they’d do somethin’ so fucked up. Things are gonna escalate, but I can’t tell you any more than that.”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position, and I was grateful the marbles sensation was gone. Roll’s hand wrapped around my bicep. I looked at him. “I’m goin’ to Blood’s room. I ain’t stayin’ in here with you. Might be nearly a decade too late, but I’m takin’ your advice. I’m gonna find me a regular man.”

  Roll sat up, and cupped my face with his hands and said firmly, “A regular man ain’t gonna fuckin’ cut it for you.”

  I was impressed that he remembered my words from so long ago, but I peeled his fingers off my face. “I was nineteen when I said that. I’ve changed. I was wrong about a lot of things when I was younger, and I was probably wrong about that too.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Roll

  Roll watched Trixie leave his room. He wouldn’t go after her, just yet. Little did she know, he had a master key to all the rooms in the clubhouse, so when he was good and ready, he’d let himself into Blood’s room and convince her to come back to his room. He had been young also when they met, and her words made him realize that he was the one who was wrong.

  When Volt called to tell him Trixie had been beaten and Heathen had carved an ‘H’ into her, Roll had reflexively hurled his cell phone across the room. Losing his temper meant he didn’t know where the ‘H’ had been carved into Trixie, and the only thing Roll could think of was her lying on the concrete at the compound bleeding out.

  He rushed to the clubhouse, but Volt, Cal, and Blood blocked his entry. After they calmed his ass down, they explained that she was banged up pretty bad, but she was okay. The cuts were stitched up, but would likely leave a scar. His blood boiled at the thought of Heathen breathing the same air as her, let alone touching her. Bringing any woman into the issue between Heathen and Roll was taking things too far. Scarring her though…that was not done. It had been a while since Roll fucked a man up, and he was itching to get his hands on Heathen.

  First things were first, though, and he needed to get Trixie back into his room. It’d be a cold day in hell before he let her walk out on him, on them. He may have repeatedly told her that she wouldn’t get her hooks into him, but he lied. It was bravado he spewed at her to give her what she deserved out of life. In reality, her hooks had been planted in him for a damn long time. At the party where he first saw her, the asshole who took her to be gang-raped had got to her before he could make his approach. The moment he’d laid eyes on her gleaming brown hair, voluptuous figure promising curves a man like him could sink his fingers into, and those warm brown eyes, he wanted to find out more. Her shrill scream over the blaring music had him bolting into the room. His fury clouded his vision and he couldn’t bring himself to haul her out of the room. He did the next best thing he could, and made sure the fuckers holding her down were out cold.

  By the time he found out her full name and age, his life had shifted. When he finally got her in his bed, he didn’t want to be selfish, but he couldn’t help himself. She would have to decide to call it quits.

  After March of the prior year, though, he realized things had changed. When she told him about Melissa and Starla going after Mallory, he was surprised as shit that she mentioned it at all. She and Melissa had been tight, while she and Mallory had not gotten off on a good note, and he admired her all the more. When Rainey came back into the fold with Vamp, Trixie welcomed her as if there had never been a six-year hiatus. Trixie was the epitome of good people. He had been a coward, hiding behind the excuse of not getting bogged down with an old lady, but nobody knew the real reason he wanted her to find someone else.

  Other brothers recognized Trixie for the primo Ol' Lady material she was, but luckily Roll had never had to claim her in church. She took care of that for him, by only letting Roll bed her. When he saw her on the couch this afternoon, he knew he had been taking her for granted.

  He didn’t take her to Volt’s place when Vamp made Rainey his old lady; he knew she would be uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to do that to her. But there had been no getting out of her being down in Daytona when Cal made Mallory his old lady. She tried to hide the chip on her shoulder, but Trixie was never good at keeping her bristling attitude buried. It was one of her most attractive qualities as far as he was concerned; she wore her heart on her sleeve and he never wondered where she stood.

  ***

  What happened to Trixie should have warranted an immediate session of church, but Liar and Beast were both out of town. Patch and Major were working and could not get away. That should not have mattered, but since Roll had not claimed her, and she wasn’t an old lady, church was postponed until the next day. To say Roll was bad company did no justice to the phrase. He tried shooting pool, but he couldn’t see straight.

  Ambling up to the bar, Roll caught the eye of the latest prospect. “Three fingers of Crown.”

  “Go to the kitchen, Prospect. Clean it and make it sparkle,
” Blood growled as he sidled up to the bar.

  Roll turned his incredulous gaze to his brother and VP. “The fuck?”

  “You don’t need three fingers of anything right now, man.”

  Clenching and unclenching his fists, Roll grumbled, “Who the fuck made you my keeper?”

  “The woman in my room who isn’t my woman, but should be your fuckin’ woman.”

  Roll kept eye contact with Blood for a long moment. “Thought this club stayed the fuck out of a brother’s business. Especially if that business involved who he fucks or doesn’t fuck.”

  Blood’s head tilted enough to indicate he gave that statement consideration. “Sure. Until it means a good woman gets attacked.”

  “This happened to Laura would you bust the balls of every brother who had her?”

  Blood’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Not the same thing.”

  Roll’s chin dipped skeptically.

  Blood sighed. “Church tomorrow morning. Come sober, brother. That’s an order.”

  Roll fought against narrowing his eyes at Blood’s retreating back. His VP stopped, and said over his shoulder, “I’m leavin’, by the way, but her dressing needs to be changed out before midnight. Pretty damn sure you can handle that.”

  Even before the confrontation with Blood, Roll had been seeing red. Shooting pool normally righted his head, and because of the strategy involved, it forced him to slow down and control his mind. None of that had happened tonight, and his own Brother telling him not to hit the booze turned those visions of red to visions of crimson. The shit-storm was just beginning to swirl, and the feeling Roll had was akin to a frozen lead weight in his belly.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Yak. “Man, don’t let him get under your skin. None of this shit is right. I may not know what’s what, but I do know that.”

  “It’s my fault,” Roll muttered.

  “Really? You whispered in that asshole’s ear to carve his initial in her arm? Don’t think so, man.”

  Roll turned to Yak. “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t. But, I don’t agree with our VP. You ain’t right in the head. Go. Take a ride. Hit the Golden Anchor, any nearby titty bar, fuck, I don’t know. Get the hell outta here. I’ll make sure she’s good until you get back. Blood mentioned changing her dressing, but Abby said she’s also supposed to take some pain meds ‘round nine. I’ll get those in her, and you can take care of the dressing before Blood claims she’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

  Considering the offer, Roll shifted his head from side to side. “Nine o’clock isn’t that far away. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll run out for an hour, tops. Get her stuff I know she loves, snacks and shit. Gonna get her in my room when I get back, and then I can take care of the meds and the bandage.”

  Yak shrugged one of his bulky shoulders. “Whatever you say, man. Just tryin’ to help out. My room’s just upstairs if shit goes sideways on you.”

  When Roll returned to the Riot clubhouse on his Fatboy, he realized he’d been a colossal moron. He was a biker to his core, so he should have known that the only thing to right his mind about things this extreme would be a ride on his hog. Regardless, Trixie’s favorite shit was in a grocery bag in the saddlebag. Three bags of Funyuns, some Ding-Dongs, Spicy Doritos, and Ice Breakers gum.

  He had a new strategy where that stubborn woman was concerned. Any weapon, any knowledge, little or big, was going to be at the ready for the battle he knew he had on his hands.

  Quietly, he slid the master key into Blood’s door, and opened it. Trixie was curled up on top of the made bed. He stood still in the room for well over a minute to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and to make sure she was sleeping. When he was certain she was, he gently carried her to his room down the hall.

  Once he had them both locked in his room, he saw her sleeping form was getting restless. He grabbed the large bottle of water on the nightstand and opened it.

  When he had her pain pills ready, he murmured, “Trixie, time for your painkiller, babe.”

  Her moan was whiny, but she rolled to her side and began to sit up. She flung her hair over her shoulder, but not before Roll admired those blonde locks with lavender tips. He thought she would notice his presence or that she was in his bed at a minimum, but she was still half-asleep when she washed down the pills with the glass of water he handed to her.

  “Thanks, Blood. I owe you one, ’gain man. You an’ Abs’re the best.”

  Roll’s eyebrow crunched down because, over the years, he hadn’t realized her connection with Blood and Abby went so deep. Before he could coax any other information from her, Trixie plopped back on the bed. Once it was clear she was down for the count, Roll tucked her in, and stripped down to his boxers.

  Sleeping next to Trixie was always the best sleep Roll ever had, but from a very young age, Roll slept light. When Trixie began to shift and twitch in the bed, Roll awakened. Darting his hand out from under the covers, he grabbed his phone, pointed it to the floor while simultaneously powering it up. Craning his neck, he caught sight of the time, and promptly killed the power to the phone. In an effort to pay attention to Trixie’s reactions, he kept his body still and took shallow breaths. Her movements calmed, and he relaxed while hoping she was done for a little while. He should’ve known better than to hope, because Trixie’s movements changed. She wasn’t fidgeting, she rolled to her side like a stiff body.

  With their on-again off-again history, he knew two things: she was angry, and she was trying to hide from him even if it was physically impossible. He’d taken his fair share of beatings over the years. She had to be in pain, and it was time to change her bandage anyway. He flipped on a bedside lamp, and watched her body flinch. “Calm down, and stop stewin’.”

  She turned her head to him only to snap, “What am I, a Crockpot to you?”

  The look on her face told him she wished she would’ve kept her knee-jerk reaction to herself. So, when she spoke again, he knew it was to protect herself. “You can’t just order me to stop stewin’.”

  He couldn’t have stopped his chuckle if he tried, so he didn’t try. “Trix, people may say they sleep like a log or they were sawin’ logs, but you’re the only person who’s as stiff as a log in bed. That’s how obvious your mood is right now, but like I said, ‘stop stewin’,’ because whether you realize it or not, it ain’t gonna do you any good, lady.”

  The look she drilled at him was meant to incinerate, even if it failed to do so.

  He shook his head. “Got church in the morning. Need to change your bandage. You need to get more sleep, but not until after I get you some food and more Advil. It’ll help the pain and it’ll bring down the swelling.”

  “Don’t bother,” she bit out.

  If she was trying to trip the trigger on his temper, Trixie was perilously close to succeeding. Roll took in a deep breath while clenching his teeth.

  Only after he exhaled did he speak. “Your face is swollen, and so are your ribs, and possibly your arm, too, but I haven’t taken a good look at it yet to be sure. Heathen hasn’t ever been known to take care of any damn thing, let alone his knives. You need to be taken care of, and I’m damn well gonna be the man to do that.”

  Trixie twisted in the bed so quickly Roll couldn’t believe the sheets didn’t tear free from the mattress. “Now you’re gonna take care of me? Well! It must be my lucky day.” She paused to inspect the ceiling. “Oh, but wait! Club first, bitches second. How could I ever forget.”

  “Trixie,” he growled.

  Had the assholes not beat her so badly, he knew she would have been adorable shaking her head at him while narrowing her eyes. His welling anger about her bruises kept him from telling Trixie her anger was cute, which worked because telling her that would land him her knee to his groin. He grabbed the supplies for changing her bandage and made short work of it. Keeping his fury in check while inspecting her wound was a challenge Roll wasn’t sure he could overcome, but he managed it. Pulling T
rixie into this shit was wrong, but that ‘H’ on her forearm made his blood boil.

  Heathen would pay.

  ***

  The somber mood in the room was stifling. It reminded Roll of a similar meeting from a couple of months ago. Brothers were shooting looks at him, none of which helped his guilty conscience. When Cal called the meeting to order, Volt laid out the situation.

  Blood crossed his arms on his chest. “This situation is especially fucked-up because she isn’t an old lady.”

  Volt sighed. “You’re right. It shouldn’t matter, but—”

  “He carved a fuckin’ ‘H’ into her arm!” Roll growled.

  “Seein’ as how I fuckin’ stitched her up, I’m aware,” Blood said. “Don’t need to be reminded.”

  “Are you claimin’ her?” Volt asked. “She’s been around and she’s like family, but are we goin’ after the Devil Lancers for this? If she’s your property, it’s a no-brainer. As it stands…”

  Roll slammed his fist on the table. “After everything she’s—”

  “Shit or get off the pot, Roll,” Blood matched Roll’s volume.

  “It isn’t that simple,” he said, in a low voice.

  “Are you claiming her?” Volt asked again.

  After a deep breath, he said, “Yes. She’s my woman.” He just prayed she would stick by him.

  “Why’d they go after Trixie to start with, and what do they want with you, Roll?” Razor asked.

  Roll sighed, but looked Razor in the eyes. “My best guess is that either he or another Devil Lancer saw me with Heathen’s Ol’ Lady.”

  Blood’s fist landed on the table. “You’re bangin’ Heathen’s property? Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”

  “I’m not fuckin’ her,” Roll thundered.