Page 39 of Sweet Revenge for the Bikers

“Nothing, actually. But thrift shops have curtains and decorations, too, you know.”

“Don’t need ‘em.” Riptide pulls his hair loose, running his fingers through the long strands. “I guess it never really occurred to me.”

Men.

“Hah!” Rebel shouts as the screen flashes to life. “Got it.”

I plop onto the couch next to Mad Dog, leaning my head on his shoulder. “What’re we playing?”

“Dirt Derby 2030, what else?” Riptide asks with a grin. “Only the best motorcycle racing game on the market.”

“I’ll try a round, but I’m probably not going to be any good at it,” I admit.

Famous last words.

An hour later I’m screaming at the top of my lungs as Rebel blasts me with oil, sending me off into the trees. “What was that!? Come oooon!”

“Wah wah. Get good, loser,” he teases, looking back over his shoulder for a second to send me a wink. “Oh! What the hell!” A well-timed rocket knocks him completely off the track.

Mad Dog’s grin is so wide I bet his face hurts. “Get good.”

Riptide, meanwhile, has lapped us twice.

Winning is no longer an option, so I switch tactics to just being as absolutely annoying as possible. It takes them a few laps to notice, but eventually the three of them put down their controllers and look at me.

“What?”

Riptide stands up first. Something about the look in his eye triggers an instinctual response. I leap to my feet and back away from the couch.

Mad Dog and Rebel take notice. They turn, watching.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Riptide pounces. He swings me off my feet and dumps me right onto the bed, pinning me to the mattress. Blue, blue eyes look down into mine. “You’re a little troublemaker, you know that?”

“Me? Never.”

“Fuck, you have a pretty smile,” he says, reaching out and stroking the back of his fingers over my cheek and down to my neck. “The bruising is getting better.”

I put my hand over where I know there’s a yellowing mark. “More colorful at least.”

Rebel sits down on the bed next to us. “By the time you can leave, you won’t even notice it anymore.”

By the time I leave.

I want to leave. I do, right? I’m not sure anymore. I don’t want to be trapped in here forever, but the idea of leaving and never coming back feels like ripping my arm off.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Rebel asks. He puts his hand on my hip.

“Can we help?” Mad Dog asks. “Point us at whoever the problem is and we’ll fucking break him.”

I shake my head. “N-no. It’s not that. I’m fine. I just—” I can’t even find the words.

“Mel, you’re safe. You’ve got us with you, and we’re gonna make sure nothing happens to you, okay? We’re on your side.” Rebel’s hand gives me a squeeze, and it fills me with comfort.

Gripping Riptide’s T-shirt, I cling to him like he might just float away if I don’t. But I nod. “I know.”

“But do you believe it?” Mad Dog sits on the opposite side from Rebel.