Page 49 of Riot

“But he’s not here, is he?” Miguel matched my tone.

I glanced up at him. “He will be.”

The sound reached us both at the same time.

Motorcycles. Faint at first, barely a rumble on the edge of hearing. Then louder. Closer. Growing from distant thunder into a roar.

Miguel’s grip loosened a fraction. His head turned toward the front of the house, and something flickered in those dead eyes. Not fear. Calculation. The expression of a predator reassessing the odds.

“Your boyfriend has good timing.” The words came out flat. Displeased. He released my wrists with a suddenness that made me stumble. Pain shot through my shoulders, radiating down my arm where his fingers had dug in. “We’ll continue this conversation another time.”

Miguel swung the kitchen door open, slipping through it without a backward glance.

My legs refused to hold me. Sliding down against the cabinets, I hit the floor hard. My whole body shook. Tremors racked my shoulders, my hands, and my thighs. I couldn’t catch my breath. Couldn’t think past the roar of blood in my ears.

The front door slammed open. Boots pounded against the floor.

“Calvin!”

Riot appeared in the kitchen doorway with Reaper and Mayhem right behind him. His eyes swept the room, noting everything in a single glance. The dropped turkey. My position on the floor. The open back door swaying slightly on its hinges.

“Miguel.” His name came out as barely a whisper. “It was Miguel.”

Reaper and Mayhem scented the air then were through the back door in seconds, moving fast and silent, reminding me exactly what they were.

Riot crossed the kitchen in three strides and lowered to one knee in front of me. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. The touch was gentle. Grounding. The complete opposite of the grip that had been on my wrists seconds ago.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” His voice was just as gentle as his hands. “Focus on me. Give me those beautiful hazel eyes.”

I forced my gaze to meet his. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me as I steadily grounded myself in his presence.

“Slow your breathing.” His thumbs traced slow circles on my skin. “Match mine.”

Following his instruction, I dragged air into my lungs. Once. Twice. The trembling didn’t stop, but the edges of my vision started to clear. Riot’s face came fully into focus—the set of his jaw, the controlled fury burning behind his eyes. He was angry. Furious. But every touch remained tender.

“He grabbed me.” I searched his eyes, unsure what I was looking for. “My wrists. He twisted my arms behind my back and said—and said—he said we’d continue this conversation another time. He was going to—”

“He’s gone now.” Riot’s voice dropped to something low and fierce. “He’s not getting near you again. I promise you that.”

My hands found his cut, fingers gripping the leather like it was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly turned sideways. Pressing my forehead against his shoulder, I let myself shake. Let him hold me while the terror slowly drained from my body, replaced by exhaustion and relief.

“You’re here.” The words were muffled against his shirt. “You came for me.”

He rocked me in his arms, one hand cradling my head, the other pressed into my back. “Always.” He said it like it was obvious. Like there was no other possible answer. “When you’re in trouble, I’m there. That’s how this works.”

Footsteps approached from the back door. I froze, and Riot’s arms tightened around me.

Reaper and Mayhem entered…with Ramos. Mayhem had my brother’s shirt twisted in his fist, shoving him toward the living room.

The hell? I shoved away from Riot and staggered to my feet, quickly following.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Ramos shoved Mayhem away, but I knew it was because Mayhem let him.

“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing between them.

Mayhem shrugged. “He’s who we found outside. Figured he could answer a few questions about your attack.”

Ramos seemed genuinely confused, and then his features darkened. “You think I’d attacked my little brother?”