Page 56 of Riot’s Revenge

“You should probably head home,” I told her.

She stared at me like she wanted to say something else, then grabbed her purse and left.

Reaper watched her go before looking back at me. “Oh, this is getting bad.”

“Shut up.”

“You look miserable.”

“I’m fine.”

Reaper barked out a laugh loud enough to turn heads nearby. “Brother, you almost broke a prospect’s jaw because he handed you the wrong paperwork.”

“That kid’s an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Reaper said, “but, usually, you just insult idiots. You don’t try killing them.”

I grabbed another whiskey instead of answering and walked to my room in the clubhouse. I needed to be alone.

The clinic pissed me off worst of all. Maria had changed her shifts or just avoided me. I figured that out after the third time I showed up and got told she was “busy” while the nurses avoided eye contact the entire conversation.

The fourth time, an older nurse finally sighed. “She left through the back.”

I looked automatically toward the rear hallway.

“She saw your bike pull in.”

I was heading back toward the exit when one of the nurses hurried past carrying a stack of files and nearly clipped the reception desk.

A plastic tray tipped sideways, and folders slid across the counter. Pamphlets spilled out after them.

The nurse muttered under her breath while crouching to grab everything before it hit the floor.

I bent automatically to help, catching one of the brochures before it disappeared beneath a chair.

TRANSFER OPPORTUNITIES — SEATTLE MEDICAL PROGRAM

My eyes immediately snagged on the word ‘Seattle’.

The nurse reached for it too fast. “Maria will kill me if I lose that.”

“That’s hers?” I asked.

Regret crossed her face like she hadn’t meant to say that. “She’s considering options,” the nurse said carefully while taking the brochure back. “That’s really none of your business though.”

Seattle.

I stood there watching the pamphlet disappear back into the tray while something low and unfamiliar settled in my stomach.

Leaving the apartment was one thing, leaving the state felt different. I’d really fucked up and now, she was paying for it.

The ride back to the clubhouse seemed to take forever. Rain hammered lightly against my helmet visor while Seattle kept replaying in my head over and over again. By the time I got back, my mood was already black enough that everybody mostly stayed out of my way.

Mostly.

A prospect dropped a wrench beside my bike while I was checking the engine, and I grabbed him by the front of his kutte before I even thought about it.

“You trying to damage my shit?” I snapped.