4. Cam

four

Cam

Riley pressed against me wasn't the distraction I needed. My body demanded a reaction, to lay a hand on her bare knee, rub back against her thigh, push that skirt up higher.

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, using the pain to chase away the image of her creamy thighs, untouched by the sun, stretched across the back of the bike.

Jesus, you need some ass, Savage.

I could almost hear Archer's deep, scratchy voice, see him rolling his eyes and reminding me that chasing tail would get me in trouble. Would he care that it was his daughter I was fantasizing about? Probably not. He'd be pissed I was riding his bike.

Or maybe he would. I sure as hell wouldn't tell him. He had his reasons to keep her away. Guys like me were probably at the top of that list.

A different sort of pain clogged my throat. I didn't realize grief had stolen my breath until Riley squeezed tight around a turn and forced it out of my chest. This grief was heavier than when my mom died. Then I'd been angry at the world, too angry and scared to feel the pain.

This was the first time the loss ripped through me like a bullet, burning everything it touched until I couldn't breathe.

I hadn't cried, hadn't had a chance. Some of the other guys had at the funeral, even AP's hard as stone ass had spent days red eyed. Preacher hadn't cried. He'd barely reacted at all and he'd found the body.

Riley had held up pretty well. Considering Preacher had been all over her like grease on an axle.

The exhaust rumbled in protest when I flexed my fist around the throttle. The anger and suspicion chased away some of the pain. I clung to those feelings, clenching my jaw and getting on the engine a little more.

I made the turn off the highway and glanced in the mirror. Riley's eyes were closed, her angular, pretty face serene as she turned it toward the sun. The anger, the speculation, all faded away and a warmth spread across my chest and down to where it simmered beneath her touch.

She was fucking beautiful. Not in the trashy way of the patch bunnies who flocked to the Kings.

Swearing under my breath, I took the right toward the cemetery. I caught the flash of fabric in the rear-view and reached back, snatched her dress where it'd come loose, and tucked it back under her leg.

When I glanced in the mirror again, she was staring at me, her lips slightly parted and her eyes bright. If my fingers lingered too long, I'd blame it on that look.

The closer to the cemetery, the greener it got. As if the caretakers were fighting against the desert's invasion by planting shrubbery and grass that died in patches here and there. I felt like that grass, pieces of myself turning brown under the burn of expectations.

Everyone wanted something from me now. Even Riley, even if she didn't realize it yet. She was out of her element, someone had to look after her. I owed Archer that much.

But I had no idea what the fuck I was going to do without him. I hadn't planned for this, hadn't thought this far ahead. I didn't trust Preacher to keep the Desert Kings afloat the way Archer had. He was too fucking selfish.

As planned, I steered the bike right up to the grave itself, killing the engine and coasting between headstones careful not to tread where the dead lay.

I glanced back at Riley as I leaned the bike on its kickstand. She was unbuckling the helmet, trying to look anywhere but at me. I made her nervous. That it turned me on made me an asshole.

I didn't fucking care.

***

No matter how hard I tried to focus on the casket draped with Archer's leathers, my gaze drifted back where Riley chose to stand beside, not sit on, the satin-roped blue chairs at graveside.

The dress was too big; she was too skinny. Had she eaten today, hell, in the last week? Probably not. And it wasn't my business. I shouldn't care. Yet, already I did. This overwhelming desire to protect her came from somewhere I didn't understand.

She was Archer's daughter. I owed him at least that, because I'd known him enough to know he loved her. That's why he'd stayed away.

I positioned myself away from her, on the very corner, with a view of everyone. I wanted to stand right beside her, put myself between her and all of them. Not because she seemed weak, not because Archer would want me to. But there was an itch to be close.

Get through the service and get her the hell out of Hayes County.

After the funeral, I was going to get stoned and lose myself in pussy. Forget all of this, forget her. My gaze took in the crowd, faces I knew, some I didn't, but plenty of willing groupies up for a night of debauchery. Then it landed right back on Riley.

All the rest, each one, bled into the next and they all became the same.

Except her.

Riley wasn't like that.

Fuck.

I coughed to keep from spitting the word out loud and rubbed a hand across my mouth. The stiff collar kept up his sermon, drowning on about shit Archer had never cared about.

I slammed my fists in my pockets and forced my eyes on the casket and nothing else. In less than twenty-four hours I was turned inside out like a horny teenager.

There wasn't time for that shit. Archer hadn't shot himself. I had no proof except for the sick, sinking sensation in my gut.

As the casket was lowered into the ground, each Patch dumped a shovel of dirt into the ground on top of it. Mine was last. A lone, dark cloud slid in front of the sun.

The weather was unseasonably cool, but without the sun, gooseflesh rippled across my arms.

I turned the shovel, the dry dirt tumbling on top of the rest. And that was that. I waited for the closure, the comfort, but it never came. The man under those shovels of dirt had shaped me into the man I was.

He'd given me the life I had. How did I say goodbye?

Someone took the shovel and slapped a hand on my back in comfort. To keep from jerking away, I lit a cigarette and took a drag.

This time when I looked at Riley, she was watching me. Her auburn hair glistened gold and red. There was an easy acceptance on her face, like she realized this was my place to grieve more than hers. And for that, I could never hate her, no matter how much easier it would make things.

A loud, cracking bang echoed across the cemetery. Everyone ducked, some people half-dropping to the ground. Everyone except Riley, who stood holding Archer's folded cut and looking around, confused.

She didn't even have the good sense to shield herself from the sound of gunfire. I'd taken a full step before I stopped myself from going over and telling her off for not being smarter, more— Fuck.

Riley Bowman wasn't meant for my world. Archer had always known it.