Page 42 of Riot’s Revenge

“You done yet?”

“My final exam is in two weeks.”

“So, no.”

“So, no.”

The weird part was how normal all of it had become. Cooking while he watched TV, or him cooking while I studied. Him coming and going through the apartment, dropping onto the sofa, stealing food, and complaining when I studied too late. Him showing up with takeout when I’d forgotten to eat.

We’d slipped into the routine so quietly, I couldn’t remember when it started. Only that one day, it had been Riot’s apartment, and then it felt like home. The thought tugged at my chest. Only a few weeks to go before I had to look for something else.

A few nights later, I’d been called to the clubhouse. Riot had picked me up and sat me at the bar when we waited for the brothers to arrive and Reaper walked into the clubhouse bleeding. Again.

I wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Boxer had a bruised rib, and Ghost had split his knuckles. Some prospect whose name I still couldn’t remember had managed to sprain his wrist doing something spectacularly stupid. The brothers lined up with varying levels of enthusiasm while I patched them together.

“You charging by the stitch yet?” Ghost asked.

“I’m considering it.”

“You’d make a fortune.”

“I know.”

Ghost grinned.

Boxer complained dramatically while I changed the dressing on his shoulder. Nobody offered sympathy. It was business as usual.

At some point, I became aware of loud voices near the bar and glanced up.

Reaper was sitting in a booth arguing with Lucy, Ghost’s sister. It didn’t look like a serious argument. It looked like the sort that happened when two stubborn people cared too much about each other.

Lucy folded her arms. Reaper said something, and Lucy rolled her eyes, their heads close enough to kiss. Then Ghost showed up, and he and Lucy left. Reaper watched them all the way to the door.

I found myself smiling.

“What’s funny?” Riot asked.

I looked back at him. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed.

I was terrible at lying. My gaze drifted toward the door Lucy had disappeared through then to Reaper.

Riot followed my line of sight, and a knowing look crossed his face. “Poor bastard.”

I laughed. “Why?”

“He’ll spend the rest of his life chasing after that woman.” The amusement in his voice didn’t quite hide something else, something softer.

Later that night, the apartment lights had been switched off, I found myself awake for no reason at all. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the city beyond them was dark.

Beside me, Riot slept. Actually slept. Not half-dressed and preparing to leave while he reached for his cigarettes. No heading back to the clubhouse. He was sleeping with one arm rested heavily across my waist. His breathing was slow and steady.

My gaze drifted toward the alarm clock. Three in the morning. I should’ve been asleep, but I found myself staring at the ceiling with a ridiculous smile threatening the corner of my mouth. It was scary because somewhere between the shared meals, late-night study sessions and chaotic clubhouse visits, I’d stopped thinking about when all of it would end and started wondering what would happen if it didn’t.

19