Page 95 of Ridin’ Dirty

His hands stopped moving; but as he met my gaze, I didn’t mourn the loss of the massage, too hungry for his answer.

“No,” he stated simply.

I searched his face, hunting for a contradiction in any part of his expression.

I found none.

“I don’t think I’ve been that sure about anything in all my life,” I whispered.

“I said it before—I was careful. Meticulous. It needed to be done. There was no room for fear. And any Stallion who claims to be afraid of a King inherently believes we are inferior to them, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Shit they’re into? The way they wield their supposed power? No. Fuck no. They don’t scare me at all.”

Somehow, he said a lot without saying much at all. I was smart enough to be sure, there were layers to his words, but I only knew enough to understand what was on the surface. I wanted to know more. I wanted him to unpack his secrets.

“’67 Ford Mustang.”

I knit my eyebrows together in a scowl of confusion.

“What?”

“Been tryin’ to figure out how you ended up with a ’67 Ford Mustang. She’s a beauty, and you take good care of her, but it’s the only vintage thing about you.”

I opened my mouth to respond then sealed my lips closed, still trying to recover from the whiplash he gave me in changing the direction of our conversation. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about the shit storm raging outside the four walls in which we were closed. Part of me wanted to push, to dig, to get him to tell me anything. But while he didn’t invite me to explore his darkest secrets, he did invite me to be with him now, on our new couch—me in hardly more than a sleep shirt, him in sweatpants, and his kutte nowhere in sight.

Gathering myself, I rotated onto my back and gave my toes a wiggle, signaling I would follow him into lighter conversation so long as he continued rubbing my feet.

He didn’t disappoint.

“It was my dad’s. My parents didn’t have much when they died, but he did make sure my brother would inherit the car after him. For a long time, my aunt and uncle—they’re the ones who took us in—they let it sit in the garage collecting dust. They were, well, I won’t get into all that, but it’s a miracle they didn’t sell it to the highest bidder in the middle of the night.

“Anyway, as soon as my brother could, he moved out and took the car with him. He made sure it got the love and attention it needed. I didn’t know until he started riding, but he never actually wanted it. He wanted me to have it.”

Looking up at the ceiling, I brought to mind the memory of the day he handed me the keys.

“He told me it wasn’t fair, how he had more time with mom and dad than me—how he was going to remember them better than me. He thought I deserved to have what they left behind.”

I felt the sadness in my smile as I met Riley’s eyes and admitted, “One of the last nice things he ever did for me.”

This time, it was Riley who wore the scowl as he let what I shared settle.

“Provin’ my point, baby,” he muttered after a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Wild Stallions turn boys into men. Copper Kings turn ‘em into fuckin’ monsters.”

In spite of the horrid relationship I now had with my brother, it still hurt to hear someone call him a monster. But it was hard to argue, so I didn’t say anything in reply.

The music coming from the TV caught my attention, and I looked over to see they announced the next eliminated chef. Another episode was coming to an end. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been on the couch, so I reached for my phone to check the time, cursing when I saw it was nearly one in the afternoon.

“What’s the matter?”

Reluctantly, I sat up, pulling my feet away from his hands as I replied, “I’ve got to be at the diner in an hour for my shift.”

“Fuck that. Play hooky.”

I grinned, and I couldn’t say whether it was because I was amused he thought I could get away with such a thing or giddy he wanted me to stay.