5. Riley

five

Riley

During the burial, for a brief second, there'd been an innocence to Cam that left my heart aching. He'd lost someone he cared about; the pain was etched in every feature. His mouth formed a rigid, unwavering line, like if he said a single word he'd shatter.

I wanted to go to him, apologize for intruding on his grief, and would have, but he stormed off, long legs eating up the yellow grass until he made it back to my father's bike. There was a rumble, a pop, and then nothing but a roar as he tore off out of the cemetery.

I still wore his flannel and would have waved after him to give it back—but my father's vest was heavy in my arms.

"You good?" AP sidled next to me on legs that bowed slightly at the knees.

Compared to the controlling and almost combative way Preacher stood near me during the funeral, and the sheer intensity of Cam, AP was cool like a brief respite from the sun.

"Yeah. Will the limo take me back home?"

AP gave a solemn nod. "Or anywhere else you want to go."

When he started toward the car, I went with him. It seemed natural to hang out beside him. He wore a pale gray dress shirt beneath his vest, rolled up to the elbows.

There were flickers of tattoos on his arms, which only made his vibe cooler.

"You were close to him?" I'd seen some photos in the hallway, so I already knew the answer.

He stopped short with a sad smile. "He was my best friend."

We walked quietly all the way to the limo, where he opened the door and squeezed my shoulder with the other hand. "If you ever want to know about him, call me."

Emotion stung the back of my eyes and burned in my nose, so I ducked into the car. Before he could shut me in, a feminine form pushed past. Dylan, an apologetic smile on her face, crawled in with me. "I rode over in the limo, so I don't have a ride back."

I patted the seat beside me. "The company is appreciated." I liked her. Unlike most of the other women there, she wasn't sizing me up. There'd been so many of them, sliding in and out of leather clad bikers, climbing on the backs of bikes, each one more bitter and angry looking than the next.

Dylan waited until we pulled from the graveyard before talking. "Must feel like you're on an island all alone, with sharks circling."

"Sort of, yeah." My shoulders relaxed and sank more comfortably against the seat. I picked at some gold thread on one of the patches.

"They're curious." She gazed out the window. "I didn't even know Archer had a kid…most didn't."

"In a way, neither did I." That he was out there somewhere, yes. But anything about him, no. He was the man who ruined Mom's life, who kept her looking over her shoulder all the time. He was dangerous, all bikers were.

She chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "I'm glad you're here, at least. I... always felt sad he was alone, since..." She choked up a bit and swallowed.

Her emotion hit me in a way similar to Cam's. I leaned across and squeezed her hand. "I wish…" I'd what, come sooner? Known him? That he wouldn't have spent the rest of his life alone since my mom left. "From where I'm sitting, he was never alone. I'm sorry for your loss."

She caught my gaze and held it. Her eyes were so bright with tears they reminded me of the way the ocean reflected the sky, crystalline blue. The moisture making everything more vivid. There was something there that hadn't been before, as if for the first time we really saw each other. "Thank you."

"Want to come with me to the clubhouse? There's a celebration of life thing, lots of pictures and stuff, maybe even some stories about Archer." She was sharing something with me, a part of their world—to help me understand.

I wanted to hug her. Instead, I gripped the sides of the leather. "I'd like that."

She smiled and called to the driver that there was a change of plans.

***

Dylan said to wear whatever I felt the most comfortable in. I opted for skinny jeans, a pair of well-loved Vans, and a red shirt with short sleeves.

In my father's kitchen, I hesitated. Dylan waited in the limo. I could stop whatever charade this was, hide away in the spare bedroom, and wait for the next few weeks to pass quietly. Hide, like the frightened rabbit Mom had been, but I'd already done that. It hadn't saved her or me.

I could learn about the man whose death had brought me here. These people loved him. Would I have? Had she been wrong? I'd never know if I hid. It was time to do the one thing I hadn't: live .

On my way out the door, I collected Cam's flannel and ran my fingers over the worn leather I'd hung on the back of the chair. Cam had loved Archer, and from everything I'd seen Archer had loved him too.

I thought of the pain on Cam's face; of the quiet way he'd stood from the crowd. I was intruding on his grief by being here. If I could give him the peace of my leaving, I would. But if I did—

The room spun a little as I remembered the hole life had dug for me. That it was caving in, similar to the dirt they'd piled on top of Archer's casket. I couldn't leave, had to wait it out just like the letter said. This was my only shot. If I left there was no home to go to, no future, nothing.

***

The clubhouse was a metal and brick building stuck out in the middle of the desert, sheltered by reddish rock formations on one side and mountains in the back. One half of it was two stories, industrial with faded metal siding, and the other side was topped with a giant neon sign humming: Desert Kings Motorcycle Club.

Bikes, chrome shimmering in the fading sunlight, stretched as far as I could see and people spilled out into the barren desert lot beside the building. A stage had been erected there, and a band played. This was unlike any wake or memorial I'd ever attended.

When I opened the limo door, I was assaulted with the mixed rumbling sounds of motorcycles and bluesy rock. The scent of smoked meats made my stomach rumble.

I clutched my stomach with Cam's shirt and Dylan grinned. "Come on inside. I'll get you some food before I get changed."

The clubhouse was laid out how I'd imagined a biker bar would be. There was another stage here, where a young woman strummed a guitar and sang like her best friend had died. There was a gleaming copper topped bar, glass shelves covered in liquor bottles, and a mirrored bar back.

Tables had been pushed away from the center of the large space to make room for my dad's bike. The warm engine still made tinkling, popping sounds as it cooled. Behind the Harley was a table filled with pictures and mementos of Archer Bowman.

"Riley? This is Kenna." Dylan gestured to the petite young woman, no older than me, perched on a barstool. Her dark hair was threaded with neon pink and twisted on top of her head in a messy bun. She wore khaki shorts with black Doc Martins and an off the shoulder band shirt tied up in the back.

"Hi!" She hopped off the stool and stood barely as tall as my chest, with more energy than I could ever muster. "I'll grab you a plate. Whatcha drinking?"

"Whatever she wants… give her the damn bottle!" Preacher appeared behind me, eyes red from weed or liquor, I couldn't be sure. I'd hoped to see Cam before having to deal with the older man again. No such luck.

Something about him made me feel dirty. His lips were wet, greasy as he rubbed them together beneath the handlebar mustache, as if he were contemplating me in a way that instantly made me want distance between us.

I made some, climbing onto a stool several feet away as Dylan headed toward a set of stairs on the other side of the bar.

Though he made like he wanted to talk, he didn't get a chance to, as another big biker threw his arm around his neck and pulled him away. My body relaxed in relief, and I turned to Kenna, who waited patiently.

"What'll it be?" When she smiled, freckles danced across the bridge of her nose. The effect was cute and made me want to like her. Many of the women I'd seen so far were devoid of any such personality. The life hadn't been sucked out of her yet.

Once, when I was about fifteen, I'd sneaked a mango margarita one of Mom's friends had left on the table at a pool party. But this didn't seem like the place to ask for a blended drink. I'd never been a huge partier, but what the hell. "Tequila."

She turned, the dark mess of hair wiggling atop her head. "This one." The bottle looked expensive, adorned with a green ribbon and cork stopper. She slid it to me and disappeared into a kitchen and smacked a small shot glass onto the copper bar top.

My eyes were drawn to the mirror, allowing me to see behind me. A small crowd had formed around Archer's bike. A motley crew of bikers with bottles and glasses in their hands. Past them, a familiar form had stopped Dylan at the foot of the stairs.

Cam was leaned into her, his brow furrowed as he talked and the muscles on his tattooed arm tensed as he gripped the stair-rail with both hands. The two stood close enough to be intimate, and a small fire of jealousy flared to life in my gut.

Dylan frowned, and her lips tightened in apparent annoyance. She pulled away and mouthed something that made the lines on his forehead deepen, right before she held up a parting middle finger.

I looked away, half ashamed of my tingle of relief, as he made his way toward the bar.

"She keeps clothes upstairs. Several of us do." Kenna laid a plate filled to overflowing in front of me. "When we work the bar, makes it easier to get cleaned up. There are a few bedrooms up there and if I'm being honest…I'd only use those bathrooms. None of the guys ever do." She winked, like sharing some amusing secret.

Having never lived with any men, I took her word for it.

I ate with as much dignity as a starving woman could. I hadn't eaten real food in weeks. The brisket and ribs were the best thing I'd put in my mouth in years. After several bites, I popped the cork out of the tequila and took a swallow. It scalded all the way down, but I didn't sputter or flinch.

In truth, the burn felt good. Being here did.

"This your first time in Dry Valley?" she asked.

I nodded, swallowed another pork filled bite, and wiped my mouth. "My first time in Nevada."

"As you've noticed, not really a lot to see." She giggled and grinned, dimples accenting her cheeks. "Unless you've got a thing for hot bikers."

She pointed across the bar, to a guy with the sides of his head shaved, but a ponytail at the base of his neck. The bare sides of his head were tattooed with thick, dark ink.

"That one's mine." She turned her wrist where she wore a leather bracelet with the word Ghost stitched in. "I'm officially Ghost's old lady or I will be when he's patched in."

"You aren't a day over twenty-one or I'll eat my fist." I made a face and she giggled.

Her laugh grew to a full belly chuckle. "It doesn't have anything to do with age, just means I'm his girl. His woman, ya know?"

Sounded like a bunch of patriarchal bullshit. "Got it." I took another swig before digging back into my food.

"I don't think your daddy ever had an old lady, not that I saw. My momma dated a King for a while when I was young. When she left, I stayed with him. Was your mama a—"

"You talk too much, Kenna." Cam's voice slipped over my senses, much like the tequila. Two tatted, lean arms propped on the copper top beside me, before Cam reached over and took my bottle and a long swig of it.

Kenna blinked, sucked in a deep breath, and quickly found somewhere else to be. He lifted his brow, and my eyes followed the way his throat moved when he swallowed. Why was everything he did so sexy?

I snatched my bottle away.

"That was rude." I gestured toward an obviously offended Kenna, who had scampered off to her boyfriend.

"She'll get over it." He glowered at me. He opened his mouth, like he had something to say, but paused before saying it. Maybe softening his words before he spoke. "Why didn't you go back to the house?"

What he meant was: Why are you here? I didn't have an answer for that, not one that was easy to explain. Especially not with over six feet of sexy as hell biker bearing down on me.

That he was that hot just wasn't fair.

This isn't your world.

I took a swig of the tequila and nodded toward Archer's bike. It was easier to think of him like that. My father felt weird. Rick was too formal. "I don't know. Dylan offered and I thought maybe…" I let my voice trail off as I got caught up in his blue gaze. The pain I'd seen there, the vulnerability he'd had graveside, was gone. Instead, I found an arrogant, sexy edge that told me he'd leave me naked and begging for more.

"Like I told your ignorant ass, she deserves to know who he was." The ire dripped from every one of Dylan's words. She hopped onto the stool beside me, dressed in high rise jeans that flared around cowboy boots and a cropped, black corset top.

What I'd give to have curves like that.

Cam merely flicked her a glance and pushed a hand through his dirty blond hair, unaffected. "Let me know if you need anything." He pushed away from the bar and turned to leave.

"Cam, wait." I spun in my stool, hopping off so fast I fell against him as he stopped and turned.

The leather of the vest was cool, but the rest of his chest was warm. His fingers too, as they caught my elbow to keep me from tumbling forward.

"Here, I brought this back." I pushed the flannel between us, a cotton buffer between the weird tingling sensation running across my body and him.

"Thanks." His grin was slow, unexpected, and so hot it stole my breath.

He took the shirt and released me like I had the plague before walking off without a word.

"Is it all women he has an issue with, or just me?" I asked breathlessly to no one in particular.

Dylan barked a laugh and waved Kenna back over. "Honestly, he's a good guy. Archer's death…hit him hard. He was like—"

"A father to him?" I finished for her. I'd already seen as much, just being in Archer's house.

She closed her eyes tight for a moment, like she was blinking back tears that never came.

I could understand that. He didn't know me. I was here, imposing myself on his life during a dark time. I understood about those.

With a sigh, I glanced from the tequila to the plate of food and chose the tequila.