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I shifted on my feet, unsure of what to do as River started across the room, his enormous body a silhouette in the lapping shadows. He barely brushed his fingers over my hip as he passed by, eliciting a shock of electricity.
When he got to the couch, he scooped Nolan up and plantedhim on his lap, the man a giant sitting there with the tiny child tucked against him.
“You comin’ or what?” he issued in that deep, low voice, eyes on me.
I gulped and crossed the space, then I handed the bowl of popcorn to Nolan before I decided to play it safe and went to sit on one of the beanbags.
“No, Miss Charleigh, you gotta sit by us!” Nolan cried.
I should have resisted.
Refrained.
Claimed one of the beanbags.
Retreated upstairs.
Or maybe—maybe I should have run in the first place.
Maybe I should have never run to River.
Because I was certain there was no chance to stop the fall when I sat down on the other side of River and Nolan.
I tried to press myself as close to the armrest as I could, desperate to put some distance between me and the man who was emitting a thousand degrees of heat. To put some distance between the memory of our kiss from earlier.
To just make sense of what it was that I thought I was doing.
Did I really think I could withstand another breaking?
Apprehension billowed through me as the consequences of the choices I’d made since I’d come here caught up to me. The hardest part was figuring out what to do with the hope that had bloomed within it.
A chill rolled through me, and River reached back and grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch and handed it to me, and he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Get cozy, Little Runner. You aren’t going anywhere.”
THIRTY-TWO
RIVER
TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD
Heavy metal reverberatedthrough the walls of their MC’s club where River was slung against the wall in the side alley. He inhaled a deep drag of his smoke before he rocked his head back and exhaled toward the blackened sky. He watched the vapor twist and curl before it disappeared into the nothingness above.
The sound of the city night shouted all around. The howl of the sirens and the blare of horns and the random gunshot that ricocheted through the air.
When he felt the movement, he shifted to cast a glance at the door to find Trent stepping out. Trent was their VP, though River respected him a thousand times over their actual Pres, Cutter, who was a fuckin’ psychopath. River had come to the quick realization that he couldn’t be trusted.
But Cutter was Trent’s father, and since River’s loyalty was to Trent, he didn’t say much. He kept his fuckin’ mouth shut and did his duty. Trent was the one who’d given him and his sister and the rest of his crew shelter when they’d been little more than kids running the streets.
Now theyranthe streets.
Taking another drag of his cigarette, he lifted his chin toward Trent. “How’s that tat, brother?”
River had been dabbling in the art, taking the sketches he’d drawn for as long as he could remember and bringing them to life with ink.
He had to admit, he found some kind of satisfaction in the work.
Trent dug into his pocket to pull out a smoke, and he leaned against the wall next to River. “It’s good fuckin’ work, man.”
He wiggled his right hand where he’d gotten a skull and rose. “Seems you’ve got some prospects outside of this life.”
