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“Slash’s woman, Nyx, worked as a bartender for the same Irish mafia family. Now, she owns a martial arts studio in town.
“Everleigh worked at the gym until recently. Really sweet girl. Definitely who you want to talk to if you like girly shit and pop music.
“And Murphy actually designs specialty guns. She’s a badass. Might be a little more standoffish at first than the others, but she’s nice. Just harder to get to know.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “I think it might be… easier being around people if I feel like I know them a little.”
“I get that. Just remember that you don’t have to socialize if you’re not up to it, even if they all are. It’s fine if you just want to hang in your room and read a lot of the time.”
I had a feeling that was what I was going to want to do, but also that it might not be the healthiest thing for me at the same time. So I was going to try to be around people. How else was I ever going to be able to get a job, an apartment, my own life again?
“How long until we get to the clubhouse?” I asked.
“We’re going to try to get on the road early tomorrow. And then we should be able to get there by dinner.”
Wow.
That was sooner than I was expecting.
I don’t know if I was more relieved or terrified. Both feelings seemed to be fighting for dominance in my heart.
“And you’ll be there, right?” I asked, hating how needy I sounded, but unable to keep the question to myself.
“Yeah, darlin’, I’ll be there all the time.”
“But you said you live on the road.”
“Not right now, I don’t. Raff and I were promised a long break after this run. So we’re grounded in Shady Valley for a while.”
I didn’t know how long ‘a while’ was, but I silently prayed it was long enough for me to be able to get a job again, get on my feet.
Because as much as Riff had offered to get me my own place, to pay for my bills, I couldn’t let him do that.
“Any other questions?” Riff asked as he cleaned up our mess. “About the club or the town or anything?”
“I have one more,” I admitted.
“Shoot.”
“What’s your real name?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Riff
As far back as I remembered, everyone called me Riff.
I guess it was a combination of reasons. One, it was a small town we were raised in, and a lot of people used nicknames in the area. Two, we were often getting into little bits of trouble, hence the riff/raff thing. But, more than anything, I guess the nicknames played back to the fact that both Raff and I had real names that started with Rs.
“Reid,” I told Vienna. “Not as interesting as Riff, but that’s the name on all my government papers.”
“No one calls you that? Not even your brother?” she asked, brows pinched.
“No. I think the last time I heard someone say it was when Raff and I were in a really dicey situation, and I hadn’t responded to Riff several times, so he called out my real name.” The memory of it still made my chest hurt, the raw panic in my brother’s voice as he said it.
“How long ago was that?” she asked.
“Couple years.”
