Page 92 of Riot’s Revenge

For the first time since the shooting, it felt as though people were beginning to breathe again.

The rebuilt walls weren’t the only sign that things had changed. The Kings were gone. The war that had consumed so much of our lives had finally come to an end. Months of arrests, investigations and retaliation had dismantled what remained of the club, leaving the men responsible either dead or behind bars.

The threat was over.

There hadn’t been any celebration when the news came through. Nobody had opened champagne or toasted victory. The price had simply been too high. Shadow and Brandi were still gone. Tiny and Ripper were still sitting in prison cells. None of that changed.

The clubhouse doors opened behind me and a second later Riot’s arm settled around my waist. The simple touch felt so familiar now that I barely thought about it. “Enjoying yourself?”

I glanced up at him. “Maybe.”

His mouth twitched. “Sounds enthusiastic.”

A laugh escaped me.

As he looked out across the yard, I found myself studying him for a moment.

Riot had changed over the past few months. Not in any obvious way. Nobody who knew him would ever mistake him for soft, and he was still every bit as intimidating when he wanted to be. But somewhere between the funerals, the rebuilding and the endless responsibilities that followed Shadow’s death, something had changed.

The restless energy that had always seemed to simmer beneath his skin had quietened. In its place was a certainty I hadn’t noticed before. He carried himself differently, as though the weight he’d inherited hadn’t broken him, but forged him into something stronger.

Shadow’s death had hurt him deeply. I knew that. There were still moments when I caught him staring into space, lost in thoughts he rarely shared. But instead of making him reckless, the loss seemed to have sharpened his sense of purpose.

People looked to him before making decisions, even Reaper. Brothers sought his advice. Prospects straightened when he walked into a room.

Watching him, standing beside me with the evening sun catching the edge of his kutte, I realized I trusted him. Completely.

“Where’s Reaper?” I asked.

Riot followed my gaze toward the clubhouse. “Inside, pretending paperwork isn’t ruining his life.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Poor man.”

“Serves him right.” The affection beneath the insult was impossible to miss.

Before I could reply, Ghost’s voice carried across the yard. “Hey!”

Conversations paused as heads turned toward one of the picnic tables.

Ghost stood there with a beer in one hand and a grin on his face that immediately made me suspicious. Months of knowing him had taught me that Ghost rarely looked that pleased with himself unless somebody else was about to suffer. “Get your asses over here.”

Spider started laughing before Ghost had even finished speaking. That did absolutely nothing to ease my concerns. In fact, it made them significantly worse.

I turned slowly toward Riot. Unfortunately, he had suddenly become fascinated by something happening on the far side of the yard.

“What have you done?”

The grin that appeared on his face answered the question before he opened his mouth. “Relax, sweetheart.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s exactly what people say before something terrible happens.”

Ghost barked out a laugh loud enough for half the yard to hear, and even Reaper looked amused as he emerged from the clubhouse carrying a bottle of beer.

The fact that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves at my expense was deeply concerning. My suspicion only grew as Riot slipped an arm around my waist and started guiding me toward the gathering crowd. The brothers parted to let us through, several of them looking far too entertained for my liking.

Every instinct I possessed told me I was being set up. By the time we reached the picnic tables, most of the club was watching.

I stopped walking and folded my arms. “What?”