Page 55 of Riot’s Revenge

“Just . . . stay.”

“You walked in here smelling like her and expected me to stay?” My voice broke violently. “Take a fucking shower, Ricky.”

Silence crashed between us.

Riot stared at me like he didn’t know how to answer.

Because, for me, it had never just been about sex. It was intimacy, trust, and the feeling of home we’d built together, and he’d dragged another woman through all three.

I grabbed the bag before he could say another word and pushed past him toward the front door, grabbing my books as I went.

That time, Riot didn’t try to stop me, and that hurt worst of all.

23

RIOT

Maria stopped answering me after that night.

At first, I figured she just needed space. Fair enough. Walking in on me and Brandi fucking wasn’t exactly the kind of thing people bounced back from overnight. Still, after a week of unread texts and calls rolling straight to voicemail, irritation started creeping in. Where was she even staying?

I sat in the apartment kitchen staring at my phone while cold coffee sat untouched beside me.

Me: You working today?

Delivered, but not read.

The apartment felt weird without her there. Too quiet in the mornings. Too clean in places she normally left clutter. The couch blanket she dragged around during study nights was gone, along with half the little things I never noticed until they disappeared.

I kept catching myself looking for her automatically. Walking into the kitchen expecting to hear music playing softly from her phone while she cooked or waking up halfway through the night expecting warm legs tangled with mine.

Every time the apartment stayed empty, annoyance crawled higher under my skin.

The clubhouse should’ve fixed it. Noise usually fixed everything. Music loud enough to shake walls. Bikes roaring through the lot. Brothers yelling over cards and whiskey while women climbed into laps like nothing in the world mattered beyond that night.

Instead, I found myself checking my phone constantly without realizing I was doing it.

Ghost noticed by the second night. “You waiting for somebody?” he asked from across the bar.

I locked my phone and slid it face down. “No.”

Ghost snorted but walked away.

Women still came around me, same as always. One brunette sat beside me and started dragging her nails slowly up my arm while she talked about something I wasn’t listening to.

All I could think about was Maria standing barefoot in my kitchen, stealing fries straight off my plate while she studied.

The brunette laughed. “You even listening?”

“No.” I got up and walked away before she could answer.

That started happening a lot. I stopped taking girls upstairs. Not intentionally, I just couldn’t be bothered. They didn’t have the same appeal as before.

Brandi approached me near the bar one Friday night and slowed slightly when I looked up at her. Embarrassment crossed her face almost immediately, the kind that comes when somebody realizes they helped wreck something that mattered.

“You okay?” she asked carefully. Her perfume hit me before I answered. It was the same one from that night.

I leaned back slightly without thinking, Brandi noticed, and her expression closed off almost instantly.