21. Riley

twenty-one

Riley

This go round, I was dressed the part. No more quiet, unassuming Riley. I wore a pair of high-waisted cutoffs, a red fitted tank, and shoved my feet into a pair of well-worn cowboy boots I'd had since high school. Hair braided in the back, I put on a pair of dark shades and shoved my phone into my pocket.

I drew a long, appreciative assessment from Cam when I stepped out the back door.

"You look good." That appreciation was thick on his tongue.

I fought not to respond. I wanted to lick my lips and crawl up his leg. I wanted him to make me feel the things only he could. It was like we didn't just have sex on the kitchen counter.

Damn.

He pushed the helmet on my head and gave it a gentle smack to make it fit snug. Then he tipped my chin as he tightened the strap. "If you'd rather not go, darlin, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Oh, I wanted to ride with him. There was nothing else in the world like it. The idea left my stomach tingling with excitement. But I was apprehensive. He didn't seem to want me to go, but why? Still too many secrets. When I didn't say anything, he leaned close enough the scruff around his lips tickled my cheek. "Have it your way," he whispered in my ear.

I clung to his sides as he throttled down the driveway and out of the neighborhood. He didn't drive like he was pissed, but there was force in each shift of the gears, and by the time we pulled into a rundown tire place, I could feel the tension radiating off of him.

There was an old gray van, with ladders and piping strapped to a rack on the roof. Rocky's HVAC emblazoned all over it. And Merc, dressed like he worked there on the regular, leaned against the side, dark hair pulled from his face in a half ponytail.

Cam lit a cigarette once he pulled in and killed the motor.

"Looking like you belong there." Merc grinned and jutted his chin toward me on the back of the bike.

I fought back the little thrill I got when he said it. like This feeling was new, and I battled that excitement each time someone looked at us as we rode through town. I drew attention. Not because I was pretty, or special, or worthy—but because I was on the back of Cam's bike.

"She does," he stated with a matter-of-fact lift of his left shoulder.

I shouldn't like that. I hated myself for it. Especially when I hadn't been given much of a choice.

Would it have mattered? Probably not.

"You go back to The Cat last night?" Cam asked, taking a drag of the cigarette he'd just lit.

I didn't know Merc well, but their relationship was definitely the tightest of them all. A lot was said in the silence before Merc spoke.

"Nah, I'll run out there in a few days, get all this shit out of the way, let the other blow over first." That hung heavier than Cam's question.

I was paying attention now. Whatever we were about to do held repercussions for both of them that had nothing to do with the act itself. Me riding with Cam was some sort of dog and pony show.

But for who?

I studied Merc. His dark wavy hair was too short for a full ponytail and would have hung shaggy around his bearded face. That same beard wasn't long, but full and dark, hiding a boyish grin. I'd seen pictures of him without it, almost too pretty, complete with dimple pale blue eyes.

Yeah, he knew he was good looking. But unlike Cam, he didn't like it—so he hid it. Or at least, that's what I told myself. There were tattoos on his arm, in Latin, with military insignia. This wasn't his first brotherhood, or maybe it was, and the other skirted the edges. Either way, I was pretty sure he earned his nickname.

There was a divide in the Desert Kings, the broken line of it hovered on the edges of my periphery. And whatever it was, had to do with my father.

Another bike roared in and slowed on the blistered and cracked parking lot pavement. Jester's hair pulled all the way back, leaving the tattoos up his neck and throat fully visible. "Party's here, let's roll boys. Deputy Dog Hayden gave the all clear."

I'd met a Hayden. I let the name roll across my tongue until I latched onto the memory. The local deputy who introduced himself at the funeral. Another cog in the Desert Kings machine

"Keep me out of handcuffs, brother." Merc rapped his knuckles against Jester's and crawled into the van. He stopped and peered at Cam, mirrored shades paused halfway to his face. "You stay out of them too."

Cam grinned, a beaming sarcastic show on his face. "She might like it."

I ducked my head and blushed when the other two guys laughed. I didn't look up until Jester fired up his bike and rolled out of the parking lot ahead of Merc in the van.

"He's not an air-conditioning guy, is he?"

Cam crushed out his cigarette and laughed. "As far as you know? He sure the fuck is."

When we didn't immediately follow, I caught Cam's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Are we going?"

"Nope." Cam checked his phone, before shoving it into his pocket. "I got something else to do."

I clung to his waist, more curious than I had been before, but no less excited about the ride.

***

Everything in my life needed a reason, a box to check, a slot to slide into. Everything except this. I leaned against the bar at the small of my back and turned by face to the sun, thankful for the dark shades that kept the wind from my eyes.

The sky was gorgeous, the mountains and rock formations were inviting, their reds and oranges splashed vivid color against the edges of the golden desert. Greenery periodically dotted the horizon, but we'd pass it so quickly I couldn't tell what dared grow here.

The roar of the Harley Davidson paired with the howl of the wind as we blew down the two-lane highway was freeing. Each time I rode like this with Cam, I lost something I didn't need and found another piece of myself I hadn't realized was missing.

Here, everything was thrust at me in full contrast. No questions. Right and wrong didn't matter. Life just was .

Cam squeezed my knee, running his palm up my outer thigh. His touch, a thread that seemed to wind through everything. A physical connection to the exhilaration that raced over me. When I left here, this is what I would miss the most.

Through the mirror, I glanced at Cam, the proud set of his jaw, the shape of his lips that made me want to lean around and kiss him. I'd never had those little urges, and I couldn't silence them, so I dropped my hands to my knees.

He stopped stroking me, reached behind him, took my right arm, and wrapped it around his middle. I couldn't see his eyes through the aviator shades, but I didn't need to. He wanted me to hold on. We were cruising now. I didn't need to—he wanted it.

I wrapped both arms around his waist, sliding my hands beneath the cut to brush against the cotton covering his stomach.

The half grin he shot me through the mirror excited me, aroused me even. I was wilder here, so was he.

I don't know how long we rode through the desert, but we were so far out that only the occasional gas station or dilapidated truck stop dotted the landscape. And then, after ten or so miles, those buildings came more frequently, followed by little neighborhoods with two of three streets of copy paste houses.

Cam decelerated as a shining silver bullet style diner appeared, swung into the parking lot, and pulled right up front.

"What are we doing?"

He grinned. "The pie here is amazing."

"That's a long way for pie." Dubious, I climbed from the bike, took off the helmet, and laid it on the seat. Thankful for the braid, it kept most of the tangles at bay.

"Best strawberry pie in Nevada."

Much like earlier, there was a big something I didn't know. Dylan's voice was in my head, reminding me that they didn't tell us anything, ever.

He held the door for me and a tired waitress waved for us to seat ourselves. Cam led me to a tight booth by the wall of windows. The seats were cracked and the tables were scratched and scuffed glass covering old Hayes County advertisements. The place was so packed, I didn't expect the server to make it to us anytime soon. But she surprised me, stopping by to take our order before I'd so much as settled onto the seat.

"Two coffees, two pieces of strawberry pie." Cam didn't even give her a chance to get menus.

When I gave him a look, he smiled in that cat like way he did to distract women. It still made me tingle, but I'd caught on to what he was doing. "We won't be here long, darlin, just a pit stop."

The coffee and pie came just as quickly. After my first bite, I realized Cam wasn't wrong. The crust was perfection, the chunks of strawberry fresh, and sweet filling not too sticky. I had to remind myself not to eat it all in two bites.

Cam, however, ate his slowly, more interested in the parking lot than the flaky crust. I watched too, as a steady stream of people filtered in and out.

"I'd hate to see this place during the dinner rush." I mused.

Distracted, Cam didn't hear me. Instead, he looked past me, toward the door, and gave a stiff smile before standing.

Two Hispanic men approached, both in khaki shorts and a light colored polo shirts like they'd just stepped off the golf course. The taller of the two's back was straight, his dark eyes flickered from one end of the diner to the other.

The other man moved like a cat, with the ease of concealed violence. His dark hair was cut short and glistened in the fluorescent light. He hung sunglasses through the buttonhole on his collar, and I was privy to sleepy eyes hooded with a thick curtain of dark lashes.

His toothy smile was almost predatory and he pulled Cam into a hug as I watched.

It was there, so smooth I'd have missed it had I not been watching so closely. There was no way anyone else would have seen it. But a thick envelope passed between them and disappeared inside Cam's cut. It made the hair prickle on the back of my neck.

"Savage, good to see you." He released him and turned to me.

All good humor vanished from Cam's face and stayed standing, proof there were at least two apex predators at the table.

"You must be Riley, Archer's daughter. I'm Santos Garza." He extended a hand, his expression warm despite Cam's warning glare. "My condolences on your loss. I was saddened to hear about Archer, I considered him a friend—and I don't have many of those."

I felt like I was tossed into The Godfather—Desert Redux and shivered despite the warmth of the crowded diner.

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"And if you ever need anything , don't hesitate to give me a call. I owe Archer a few favors." When he released my hand he took a card from the other man and handed it to me. There was something in the way he emphasized the word anything that made me dizzy and panicked.

As if he sensed that, Cam tore some bills from the roll in his pocket and tossed them onto the table. "Good to see you, Garza, but we were heading out."

I hadn't even touched my coffee, but I didn't dare say that. Not when the tension around us was so thick.

Garza just smiled big like the Cheshire Cat as he backed from the table. "Tell your new president I need to speak with him on a personal matter."

"Will do." Cam pulled me from the booth and held my hand all the way to the bike. He handed me the helmet and leaned close, brushing his lips across mine before whispering in my ear. "When we get home, burn that fucking card."

Frazzled, annoyed, and more than a bit freaked out I climbed on the bike behind Cam. From inside, Garza looked out and saluted us with his coffee.

Cam turned to me a little bit. "He shouldn't have known who you were." Then he fired up the bike.

Judging from the tension in his body as I wrapped my arms around him, it was a miracle he didn't sling gravel all the way out of the parking lot.