Page 62 of Riding Hard

Maybe he understands that I don’t want to say anything. Maybe he just doesn’t want to upset me. Either way, I let out a sigh of relief when he dips his chin in a single nod, his hand releasing my wrist before he takes a step backward.

“I got Cade, and I’ll have him at the clubhouse, fed and watered,” he states, but I can tell he’s still forcing himself not to ask me any further questions. I appreciate the restraint. He’s not finished yet, though. “You’ll tell me everything later?” I know it’s rhetorical because he’s worried.

“I will.” It’s not a lie.

I will tell him, and hopefully, it will be nothing—nothing but something we can laugh about. My absolute ridiculous paranoia. It’s all going to be nothing. It’s just my stupid anxiety and paranoia, and it’s not real.

Thanking him, I wave as I open the door to my car and sink down into the driver’s seat. I start the engine, backing up slightly before I shift the car into Drive, and then I head out of the parking lot.

What I don’t do is drive to Slade’s place. Instead, I head directly toward my new apartment. If Victor is out there, I want to keep him as far away from Cade and the clubhouse as possible.

It doesn’t take me long to reach the building. Finding my parking spot, I slip my car in, turn off the engine, and gather my new keys before heading toward the door. Standing there, I inhale deeply, holding it for a moment, then let the breath out slowly.

I don’t know what is going to happen, but the impending doom presses against my chest even harder. My breathing comes out in sharp, quick pants. I can’t take in a deep breath, and I know that something is going to happen.

Trembling, I am eventually able to unlock the door and push it open. I step into the empty condo and close the door behind me, but before I can even lock it, he steps out from the hallway leading to the only bedroom.

“Welcome home, baby,” he calls out in a singsong voice.

I reach behind me for the doorknob, opening my mouth to scream when something in his hand flashes in the sunlight and causes my entire body to stiffen and freeze.

A gun.

“Make a move, and bang-bang,” he says, “you’re dead.”

I freeze.

Oh god.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

LOOT

The room is full of a bunch of expensive fucking suits. I knew that’s how it would be, but seeing it in person is a bit unnerving—especially when it’s not just the three people they claimed would be here, but more like ten. Another detail I find unnerving.

We really are here, sitting at this massive, opulent, gaudy-as-fuck table and eating something I probably couldn’t even pronounce if I tried. We were checked for guns at the door, which shouldn’t shock me, but I didn’t like handing over my weapons and walking straight into the goddamn fire.

There are quite a few things about this situation that I find highly fucking disturbing. But I’m here, and I agreed to this, so I’m ready to get this shit done and over with so I can go home to my son and woman.

Rustik sits at the head of the table, the Pakhan of the Perov Bratva. He’s got a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. I watch as he cuts a piece of meat, sawing it with precision. I’m surprised at how young he is.

He doesn’t even have any gray hair yet. He’s got to be in his thirties. Good for him for having so much power at his young age. I just hope he’ll be willing to work with us. He begins to chew his meat, leaning back in his chair. He’s got two men standing at his back, both of them watching us like we’re the enemy.

Hell, maybe we are.

I press my lips together, then shift forward so my forearms rest against the edge of the table. Hound has spoken. Dare and Wrath stay quiet, likely so they don’t spill the beans about Chassis.

“Why do you want to run drugs for us when your other group in Prescott was so adamant about not doing it?” Rustik asks.

Why indeed? Though I know the answer to that, I’m not going to say it. It doesn’t matter. They’re going to get what they want, and so will we. Which means my woman, my son, they’ll always be taken care of financially.

I’m not getting any younger, and while I’ve invested well, not everyone has. I’d like to keep my investments rolling over into new properties without needing to touch the income they generate—they’re my retirement.

“We’ve got a proposition for you, and it wouldn’t make sense to ask something of you while offering you nothing,” Hound explains.

Rustik dips his chin, his gaze flicking from Hound to Dare. “And you’re the leader here?” he asks, his focus on Dare and only Dare. I hold my breath as Dare clears his throat. I watch as he tilts his head to the side. I’m not sure what I expect him to say, but when he speaks, I let out a heavy exhale.