The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5) (8 page)

“Rock.”

“Babe,” he growls, leaning into the table. “Eat what I fuckin’ order you and be happy, or I’ll force you to.”

“Force me to?” I roll my eyes skyward. “You’re insanely pushy, but force isn’t your thing…” I start to say, until I realize the error in my words, “…with me,” I clarify. I’m sure he forces other people to do all kinds of shit they don’t want to do. “I’m getting’ the damn fries.” I’m shutting this shit down.

“Fine. Give her whatever the fuck she wants.”

The poor lady is still standing at the table, clutching the menus to her chest and staring at me in horror.

“Fries, please.” She nods and runs off as fast as her feet can carry her.

Rock’s head turns to the waves through the window, his eyes focused and serious. His hair has been cut short recently, but he hasn’t given his beard much thought. It’s longer and sloppier than usual. He looks so pensive with the light stress lines around his hard eyes.

“Why do you always do that?” I ask him softly. His head turns slowly at the sound of my voice, and he stares intently at me. After a moment passes, he licks his lips and narrows his eyes. “Because I know you, and I know what you want.”

“Not always,” I counter, but even to my own ears, it sounds like a weak lie. He does know me, even better than I know myself. It’s scary.

“
Always,
El.”

Onion Rings & French Fries

Rock

“These are gross,” El mutters before she throws the fry back into the basket. She’s pouting. I’m not gonna lie, there’s some deep satisfaction in hearing those words out of her mouth. I fucking told her.

Why she thinks I don’t know her baffles the shit out of me. I don’t just pretend to know the woman, because I fucking
know
her. Sure I don’t know every little thought that’s in that pretty little head of hers, because let’s face it, she’s a woman, and I’ll never figure them out. But I think I know everything important there is to know.

The waitress has been avoiding our table. I’d usually say it was because of the cut, but I’m guessing it was the bitch fit El pitched while the lady stood there like a deer in headlights. She’s either scared or uncomfortable with us. Hell, it’s probably both, but I wave her down anyway, not giving a fuck.

“An order of onion rings.” She nods and heads towards the kitchen without so much as a look back.

El annihilated her burger and sucked back her shake. I won’t gloat, but she should listen to me more often.

“Come on, eat ‘em.” I shove the basket of cold fries in front of her. I can’t fucking help myself.

“No,” she snaps, hurling a fry at me.

“Put it in your mouth, babe. You know ya want to.” I can’t say it without laughing. She hates me sometimes.

“You’re dumb.” She crosses her arms when she catches me smiling at her crazy ass. This happens sometimes. She gets a wild hair up her ass and changes shit up, only to be sorely upset afterwards. El’s a habitual kinda girl, and we’re both birds of a feather. That’s why we’re still doing this shit, fucking each other’s brains out, while being the best of friends, acting like a damn couple, but with none of the other benefits.

“My little pain in the ass.” She’ll fight me on anything, even over some fucking French fries we both know she hates.

“My giant asshole,” she counters. Her face says sweet, but her voice screams a big ‘fuck you’. I’m laughing even harder now. Jesus, this girl.

The waitress brings her onion rings over and I slide them over towards her, careful to keep my hand away from her for fear she might stab me with her fork. “Now eat your damn onions so we can go, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Once she empty’s the basket, she looks at me funny.

“What’s up?”

She takes a deep breath and dives in. “Who do you think broke into my apartment?” I wasn’t expecting that, but I should’ve been. I knew she’d be asking, ‘cause she never lets shit go.

I could lie to her, tell her something to make her happy and ease her mind. But that shit wouldn’t do her a damn bit of good. She deserves to know what the hell is going on around her.

“Your brother and his club.” I don’t have evidence, but I’ve got a gut feeling.

Her eyebrows damn near shoot off her forehead. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Why?” That’s a damn good question. Possibly looking for information about me? Money? I doubt we’ll ever know, and it really doesn’t matter. They’ve fucked with the wrong girl.

“Because he’s got a fuckin’ death wish.”

“Jesus, that’s crazy. So, can I ever go back home?”

“You can do whatever you want, but just know I’ll be with you when you do it.”

“Oh.” She shakes her head and opens her mouth, ready to make her case, a case I’m not interested in hearing. Ellison can do whatever she wants to, but I’ll be right there with her when she does it. End of story.

“Enough of the heavy shit, baby doll. Let’s roll. I wanna ride.”

We can deal with the bullshit later, but right now, I wanna spend time with El, for as long as she’ll let me have her.

***

I pay the bill and head outside to find El standing at the edge of the little gravel exit, looking down at the water below. Her arms are braced on the old rickety fence, bent over to stare at the waves with a look of awe on her beautiful face. Watching her stand there, her wild hair blowing in the wind, I remember being here with her years ago.

Fuck, it feels like a lifetime.

I remember thinking bad fucking thoughts about her then. Not that I hadn’t before, but it was getting worse. She would finally be turning eighteen in six motherfucking months. It made me feel a little less wrong for thinking about her bent over my bike with her jeans around her ankles, than I did thinking about it a year before. The older she got, the more beautiful she grew, and the more my resolve went up in smoke.

I wanted to fuck her so bad it hurt. It was physically painful to be around her. I held out, but not for very long.

She looked like hell that morning, but when doesn’t she? She’s a beautiful mess of dysfunction and crazy. I’m sure I’m the only one that sees the mess inside that girl. To everyone else, she’s a blonde-haired, beautiful gray-eyed girl, who’s full of sass. She’s so much more than that to me.

I remember that morning so fucking vividly. Ready to head back into to town, El crawled on behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. She told me she was ready. Drunk and loose-lipped, she told me exactly what I’d already knew, that she wanted something more from me than friendship. Ellison was ready to throw her life away at seventeen to a piece of shit. At the time, I wasn’t interested in anything more than a quick fuck and my cut. An old lady was the last thing I’d wanted. I wanted her, just not how she was offering it.

I got my quick fuck from her a few weeks later, but she didn’t get a goddamn thing from me. I still regret that shit.

Years later, I realized I made a mistake in turning her down. I knew it when I watched her grow into her own, living her life and doing her thing, and I wasn’t the axis in which she fucking revolved around anymore. I blew it. The more time that passed, the more scared she got. Her mom’s dysfunctional relationships, along with me taking from her and not giving back when she was ready for one created a weary girl, which created a woman who became terrified of anything resembling a commitment, and I’m so much to blame for that. She had wanted to be with me, and I fucked it all up.

Yeah, I blew it big time all those years ago.

Now regret has turned into routine. I’m scared shitless to push the issue, because I know it’ll send her running, so I have no other choice than to be content to leave shit the way it is, even if I hate living like this with her. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?

I’ll learn to live with her the way I’ve got her.

Now I’m nothing more to her than the backbone she’s yet to grow herself. Sometimes, like today, that knight in shining armor role she forces on me makes me mad as fuck. I’m not what she wants me to be, yet I’m always saving her ass, always there whenever she comes calling, and what do I get? A quick fuck? A few minutes of her time? But then I remember it’s exactly what I wanted from her, and she gave me that. She wanted all of me, but she took what I gave her and never complained.

If I’m being honest, El has saved my ass as many times as I’ve saved hers. There’s no debt owed there. She comes running every fucking time
I call her without fail. She was there when things fell to shit with my dad, comforting and ready to listen. She moved back home, left college behind, when my mom died and I needed her. I leaned on her that year I was a prospect. She fed me, forced me to sleep, listened to my complaints when it felt like I’d never be handed my cut. She’s been there through more shit than most women would bother putting up with. I should be fucking thankful.

We grew together from unfair and sad circumstances, built on years of friendship and love. El means more to me than I even know. What I get from her is something I can’t get from my brothers, and I sure the fuck can’t get it out there in the real world. El’s the only one I can get it from, so whatever shit I have to go through to get it
with her
,
I will.

Ellison

“Fuuuuuck!” I practically gag on the stream of annoyed noises leaking from my lips the moment I step inside the dim and dusty bar. It’s so busy tonight. Angela is swearing up a storm at the bar, and Kim is almost in tears, a tray teetering in her hands.

Rock took me for a ride on the back of his bike, and we just rode. There is nowhere I would have rather been than on the back of that bike with him.

My perfect day didn’t last long.

One of the girls called in sick, and I was called in to cover. I don’t cover. I’m the last resort. But, here I am, and I’m un-fucking-happy about it.

I just got here and I already want to leave.

“You gonna be okay over there? Chokin’ on somethin’?” Rock chuckles to himself. Glad he finds pleasure in my misery.

“Shut up.” I don’t want to hear shit from the man who doesn’t hold a normal nine-to-five, or a midnight to whenever the hell I actually get out of here, sort of job. Rock works whenever the mood strikes, while the rest of us work our asses off for nothing in particular. Must be nice for him.

Trudging my grumpy ass across the room, I duck around the bar and disappear into the stockroom. Chucking my purse in the little cabinet in the corner, I spin around, ready to get this shit over with, and run right into Rock.

“Hello,” I grumble sarcastically as he grabs my shoulders.

“Listen,” he starts in. He’s staring down at me with those intense eyes, his gaze steady.

“Holy shit, Rock. Really? Already?” I sag, letting my arms fall to my sides. He was being so great today, and now we’re back to domineering.

“You about to cop an attitude, babe? Save that shit for your customers, ‘cause I don’t have time.”              

“Shut up.”

“I’ve got shit to do, so I’ll be gone for an hour. Think you can keep your attitude in check and your ass outta trouble?”

Why is he so fucking handsome and so damn irritating?

“It’s gonna be hard, but I’ll try. No promises though,” I say as I pull my hair up into a sloppy knot on the top of my head. I don’t want to be here, and I want my appearance to reflect that. If I could, I would put on grungy sweats and a stained T-shirt.

Passing a small dingy mirror, I groan. I still look like I kinda want to be here. My make-up is nice and natural, yet sexy enough to get the point across. Goddamn it. “I hate this place.”

“Quit.”

If only.

Walking up to Rock, I grab his cut and tug all six-foot-two of him down to my level, eye to eye. God, so handsome. Kissing him roughly, I pull away and work to get every last bit of lipstick off as I can. Make-up removal and bitch repellent. “Don’t do that shit,” he groans.

“What?” I feign ignorance, rubbing at my eyes next. I woke up with hopes of a good day, but being here blew that to shit.

“Get all pissy ‘n start takin’ it out on your pretty face.” Knocking my hands away from my face, he frowns.

“Meh.” Make-up implies I care about how I look, and I do not care tonight.

“Too much fuckin’ attitude for your own damn good,” Rock mutters, walking out the door and into the hall. “Keep your eyes open, babe, and keep that damn mouth of yours closed. Got enough shit goin’ on, don’t need you startin’ more. T will be here in a minute, so you’re good.” Looking me up and down, he waits. “You good?”

“As good as I’m gonna get.”

“Be a good girl,” he laughs, and closes the door behind him.

Be good? Yeah, right.

***

Arms loaded with boxes, I push my way through the stockroom door with my back. It swings closed behind me with a thud.

I’ve been here a total of sixty-eight minutes, and I’m already wiped. I’ve served, I’ve filled orders, and I’ve stocked shelves.

T had to split before Rock could make it back. Emergency, he said. I’m fine with it. I don’t love the constant watchful eye of either of them.

Walking around a row of metal shelves, I set the boxes down. Squatting, I flip open a lid and pull out a bottle. Ninety-nine Bananas. Gross.

The stockroom door opens and closes a minute later. “Yeah?” I holler, setting the bottle with the rest on the shelf. No one answers. “Hello?” What the hell?

Sticking my head around the shelf, I jump in surprise the moment my eyes land on the person loitering by the door. Michael is standing there, one hand shoved deep in his jean pocket, the other clutching a handgun. His thin lanky body’s covered in all black, with a Raiders cut covering his shoulders.

Fuck.

Standing up, my stomach drops. Not in fear, but in sickness. My brother looks horrible; hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, pale skin. He’s on death’s door. In the few weeks since I’d last seen him, he’s aged by years.

“Michael, what are you doing here?” Bikers travel in pairs and packs.

His glassy red eyes jerk from side to side quickly. “Y-you alone?” he asks, and his voice cracks.

“Yeah, but why are you here?” I walk closer to him, but he only takes a step away from me. He’s jumpy and twitchy, and he doesn’t trust me.

“You gotta get out.” He looks behind him at the closed door.

“Mike?”

“Came to warn you to get the fuck outta town while you still can.” He’s high. I can tell by the way he’s using the barrel of his gun to scratch at his scabbed and scarred arms, digging at his open wounds.