Page 48 of Riot’s Revenge

The other Kings had scattered fast when I started swinging. The dumb bastards left their bikes and just ran. So much for not looking worried.

Shadow lit a cigarette and watched me quietly, then he said the last thing I wanted to hear. “They’re going after her because she’s yours.”

I laughed, short and sharp. “The fuck she is.”

“They ain’t watching the clinic because they need stitches.” He took another drag.

I looked away. “She’s nothing to do with this.”

“Really?”

“She’s a nurse.”

“She’s your nurse.”

“She’s not mine.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then why’re you bleeding all over the city because somebody’s watching her?”

Silence stretched between us, because I hated that he had a point.

“I’d do the same for anyone. She has info on our club, and I don’t want it getting out, that’s all.”

“That’s bullshit.” Shadow flicked ash onto the pavement. “I’ve known you too long for that.”

I looked away, across the street, to the clinic entrance, anywhere but at him. “She’s not my woman.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” he muttered and started walking back toward the bikes. Spider waited at the end of the alley for the cleanup crew.

That left me standing there, alone, thinking about why the idea bothered me so much.

21

RIOT

The ride home was a blur. The Kings. The clinic. That bastard’s grin.

Shadow’s warning.

They’re going after her because she’s yours.

Bullshit.

The apartment building appeared before I remembered half the journey. I killed the engine and sat there for a while, checking out the street and the alleyways but not seeing anything unusual. Then staring up at the lights in the living room window, which meant she was home. By the time I unlocked the apartment door, I’d almost convinced myself it didn’t mean a damn thing, that it calmed me knowing she was home.

The smell of food hit me first, then soft, quiet music.

Maria looked up from the kitchen counter as I stepped inside, her face lit up, until she saw my hands. “What happened?”

I looked down to see blood coating my knuckles. “Nothing.”

“Riot.”

I shrugged out of my kutte, throwing it over the chair at the table.

Maria was already crossing the room, grabbing a small first aid kit. Her smile was gone, and concern was etched into her face. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”