Page 7 of Ride or Die

Maybe Cookie would slip his collar again at the park. Maybe Saint’d actually be there when she went next.

Chapter 3

Riley

The dive bar was half full with the drinking-on-a-Tuesday-night crowd, Riley and Kristi included. Someone stumbled over the rough-hewn wood floors, followed by barked laughter from a table of construction workers, and Riley pushed her French fries around her plate.

Old-fashioned décor hung from the walls, and every time a goal was scored on the screen, the bartender hit a button and the rotary-dial phone on the wall rang. Just in case anyone’d missed the roar of the people watching the game. The TV flicked to the news during commercial breaks. The never-ending litany of chaos and despair was depressing—there was always a war somewhere.

Riley pushed her plate towards the end of their table, stomach churning.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Kristi clamped the pink straw between her teeth, rattling the ice cubes in her glass. Her tanned face glowed red from the neon sign over the bar; it made her look edgier, not that she needed the help.

“You were there. When I got my last box.” Riley shoved the memory away. The old-style jukebox across the bar turned CDs around and around, reflecting rainbows onto the wall.

Riley drained the rest of her vodka soda, waiting for the warm tingle to dull everything, but it didn’t. Probably because it was a Tuesday and just one of those days where nothing went as it was supposed to.

“And?” Kristi’s jacket was open, framing her collarbones, and the sleeves were pushed up to her elbows. She was one of those people whose clothes always fit perfectly.

“And what?”

“Did you tell Andrew to get fucked?”

Riley exhaled a laugh and shook her head. She should’ve. “I was very professional. He just wanted me to pass on a message. Nothing exciting.”

“To who?”

Riley avoided Kristi’s piercing gaze. “Something for Nico. Nothing to do with me.”

“Hmm.” Kristi twirled the straw around her glass, an off-beat accompaniment to the country music that drifted from the jukebox. “You don’t think it’s weird that the police are calling your sketchy boss?”

Riley sighed. “Not my monkeys, not my—”

“You know that’s not a defensible position in court, right?” Kristi’s gaze almost hurt.

“Good thing I’m not going to be in court. You know how it works, Kristi. Keep your head down, and everything is fine.” It was Cascadian law. Maybe Nico skimped a bit on taxes, or took a bit off the top, but that had nothing to do with her. It didn’t hurt anybody. Not really.

Kristi shot her a disgusted look. “Fine.”

Riley relaxed a bit. Maybe they didn’t need to fight about Nico tonight. What a treat.

“We can talk about your dating life instead. Or complete lack of.”

“My favourite activity. Yay.”

The music shifted to a pop song that had been popular the year they’d graduated high school. “Is that what you call it?” Kristi looked her up and down, and a glint in her eye promised trouble. “Last I heard, it was drier than a desert down there.”

“Excuse me! Rude!” Riley glanced around. No one was listening, all wrapped up in their own petty dramas and the hockey game. She rattled her empty drink. Was it too early for shots? She groaned and shook her head. Yes, it was. Use your words.

Kristi was watching her with that blistering intensity, her blue eyes purple with the neon filter. A photographer would have loved it.

“I’ve seen people—casually,” Riley started and then bit her cheek. If she got defensive, it just gave Kristi more evidence for her case. Kristi’s legal ambitions had always made her difficult to argue with.

Kristi raised a perfectly shaped brow. “I don’t think two fucks in two years counts as ‘people.’ And one didn’t really count. So one person. Barely.”

It was like eighteen months. Come on.

“Wow. Excellent argument. Remind me why you haven’t passed the bar?” Riley said, flicking a drop of water across the table.