16. Dante
Riley narrowsher eyes at me, wariness written across every line of her face. “Sorry, I’m gonna need more information than that.”
I chuckle, amused by her refusal to be led around like a little lamb. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing you won’t like.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure I trust you to guess what I will and won’t like,” she mutters.
Good point.
I doubt Riley trusts anyone, least of all me and my brothers, and I can respect that. It’s those kinds of street smarts that keep people alive, in my experience. And even more than her smoking-hot body, her single-minded focus on survival is what really draws me to her. She always seems to be looking for a way to navigate every situation so that she comes out on top.
Even last night, with Logan’s hand wrapped around her throat, she didn’t give up. She didn’t stop fighting. She didn’t wilt in the face of his anger, and not a lot of people can make that claim.
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re taken care of, princess,” I tell her. “Gotta be a good host and all, right? I see you found your clothes,” I add, letting my gaze drift down to the shirt she’s wearing. Her own, unfortunately. “They look good on you. Although, to be honest, I liked you better in mine.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she insists, a flush creeping up her cheeks even as she glares at me. “Yours didn’t fit.”
Shit, that candy pink color infusing her soft skin reminds me just how responsive she is. I like it more than I should. It makes me want to do dirty, dirty things to her. Maddoc’s laid down the law there, though, so I satisfy myself by making a mental note of the exact shade her cheeks are right now so I can capture it later on canvas.
Fucking beautiful.
Shaking off that thought, I wrap my fingers around her upper arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
As I guide her toward the garage, we pass through the living room. Maddoc is going over some evidence that Payton and Isaac brought by that points to more West Point fuckery, and I’m not surprised at all when the three of them clam up as we walk by. Reaper business is never something we’re gonna share with outsiders, but the slightly jealous look on Payton’s face doesn’t seem like it’s got fuck-all to do with business.
Nope, that’s something else entirely.
Payton has had a crush on Maddoc ever since she joined the Reapers. It’s never going to happen, and one of these days she’s going to figure that shit out—although the way her hand is resting on his arm tells me that today is not that day.
Maddoc’s expression has a hard edge to it that looks a bit like jealousy too, but it’s not directed toward Riley. It’s directed at me.
“Going somewhere?” he asks, giving away his interest since he normally wouldn’t bother interrupting a meeting with two of our crew just to poke at me about my plans.
“Yup,” I tell him, draping an arm around Riley’s shoulders as we continue on our way through the living room. “Catch you guys later.”
I can feel Payton’s and Maddoc’s gazes burning holes into our backs, and I bite back a smirk as they finally resume speaking again in low voices.
I’m pretty well convinced that Riley isn’t a West Point spy or a honey pot sent to infiltrate us, but Maddoc isn’t quite there yet. And given Payton’s clear dislike of our new houseguest, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to convince Madd to kick Riley out.
I trust my brother not to be swayed by whatever shit Payton might say, though. He’s perfectly aware of how much Payton would like to take the place vacated by his ex, Sienna. We all are. Just like we all—at least, everyone but Payton—also know that Maddoc will never make that kind of mistake again.
Payton, though? She’s her own special issue. Valuable because she’s skilled at what she does and a hundred percent dedicated to the gang, but her obsession with Maddoc is gonna be a problem one of these days.
But not my problem.
Not today.
Riley doesn’t say a word as I usher her into one of the vehicles in the garage—the Lincoln, since that’s the first set of keys I grabbed—and head toward downtown. She watches the route closely as I drive, probably trying to figure out where we’re going and how to brace herself for whatever she’ll find there.
Watching her brain work overtime on the issue is entertaining as fuck, but her stress is rising under her poised exterior and that’s not really my style, so I finally decide enough already with the whole silent-and-watchful routine.
“Relax,” I tell her, reaching over to squeeze her thigh and letting my hand stay there after she glances over at me. “This isn’t a test. I’m just taking you to breakfast.”
She looks surprised, then narrows her eyes like she doesn’t believe me. “Breakfast?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s almost noon.”
I grin and pull into the parking lot of my favorite diner, a little hole in the wall that has food to fucking die for. “Yeah, well, first meal of the day is always breakfast. Doesn’t matter what time it hits.”
“You haven’t eaten yet?” she asks, her skeptical expression making me laugh. Always wary. Always looking for the catch.
Sometimes—not often, but sometimes—there just isn’t one.
“Yeah, I have. But you haven’t,” I remind her, hopping out of the car and resting a hand at the small of her back as we head inside.
She looks around at the cracked red leather seats in the booths and the linoleum floors so scuffed you can barely tell what color the checkered squares started out as, a skeptical expression crossing her face.
“Trust me,” I say, leading her back to my favorite booth. The one with a view of all the exits. “I’ll order you something good.”
“You don’t know what I like,” she points out, arching an eyebrow as a bit of a spark comes back to her eyes.
It’s a good look on her.
“Don’t I?” I ask with a wink, then rattle off half a dozen items when the waitress comes up before she can hand us our menus. No way is Riley the type of girl who’s going to settle for half a grapefruit or some bullshit like that.
“Coffee with all of that, doll?” the waitress asks in a bored pack-a-day voice as she scribbles the order down on her pad.
“Yeah. Two, please. And some cream for one of them.”
“You got it.” The waitress nods, tucks her pen behind her ear, and heads back behind the counter.
Riley watches her go, then huffs out a breath. “That’s a fuck-ton of food.”
I grin. “You’re welcome.”
“Okay, but what are we really doing here, Dante?”
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
She eyes me warily. Good girl. She’d be a fucking fool to put too much trust in me, but it’s still nice to see the way she can’t quite keep herself from smiling a little as we banter back and forth about how I just ordered half the menu without bothering to consult her.
It doesn’t take long before the waitress is back, covering the table between us with all my favorites. I thank her and reach for the plate of French toast, and Riley’s stomach growls.
“Go on now, go to town,” I tell her, moving one of the pieces onto a separate plate for her and pushing it her way.
She holds back for a second longer than I could have, not with how fucking good it all smells, then gives in and takes it from me, adding some eggs and a few pieces of bacon, along with some fruit. Still watching me cautiously, she finally starts eating.
I chuckle. “Relax already,” I tell her again. “Enjoy it. You need to fuel up.”
“Why do you care?” she asks as she adds a little cream to her coffee.
I snort. I don’t care. That’s overstating the case. But I also feel a stupid amount of satisfaction when she moans around a bite of eggs.
“Well?” she pushes me.
“You need to eat. It’s not rocket science,” I tell her, tucking into my food because I’m hungry too. And because I need to stop staring at her. “You belong to us now, and Reapers take care of what’s ours.”
“Really?” she scoffs, touching her neck.I’m sure she’s thinking of what went down last night.
“Yeah, really.” Although I don’t say it out loud, the fact that Logan didn’t hurt her, that he barely even left a mark on her, means he was taking care of her. I’ve seen him choke a man to death with his bare hands, so I know he wasn’t trying to kill Riley. “Anyway, we haven’t had a houseguest in a long time. We’re all still getting to know each other.”
“Is that what we’re doing here?” she asks, her lips twitching a little. “Getting to know each other?”
“Sure.” I grin again.
“Okay,” she says, lifting her chin and shooting me a challenging look. “So tell me about you. Why are you a Reaper?”
I laugh. She’s fucking ballsy, I’ll give her that. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna tell her the story she just asked for, though, so I flip the tables.
“Tell me why you’re with us Reapers,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “You know why.”
“Yeah, but how’d it get to this point, princess? McKenna didn’t snatch your sister for no reason.”
She stiffens, and I almost regret asking. We need some context, though, and… fuck. Sue me, but I’m curious. I guess I do want to get to know her.
“It was our father,” she finally says reluctantly, rage flashing across her face before she ducks her head and takes another bite. “He sold her out to them to cover some debts.”
“Fucking prick,” I mutter. He’s not the first shithead to do something like that and not the last either, but it still sucks for her. And for the sister, no doubt.
The tension in Riley’s shoulders relaxes a little at my words.
“Yeah,” she agrees, going back to her breakfast. After a minute, she goes on. “Frank has always been a sorry excuse for a parent. Shitty, neglectful, sees us as a meal ticket and not much else. I’ve spent my whole life protecting her from his bullshit, and—”
Her voice chokes off, and she snaps her mouth closed, fury clear on her face. Her father sounds like a real piece of shit, so I’m not surprised at all that she hates him.
“And your mom?” I prompt her after another long beat of silence.
Riley glances at me, then looks away. “Mom’s been gone for a while now. Died when I was young. I think it’s part of the reason Chloe and I are so close.”
“You raised her,” I guess, adding up the pieces.
She puts down her fork. “Yeah. I did. She needed me, so I grew up fast so I could take care of her. She needed someone to be at least somewhat of a parent to her, even if I could never really fill that role completely.”
It’s not anger in her voice now, but sadness. She sounds almost guilty, like even after all the shit she’s done for her little sister, she still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
“How about you?” she asks suddenly, blinking a few times and getting back to her eggs as she tries to deflect shit back to me. “You have parents?”
I shrug. “Nope.”
She laughs, and some of the pain in her eyes bleeds away a little. “Oh, so you were immaculately conceived? Come on, Dante. Fair’s fair. Give me more than that.”
I grin. “Mom was never in the picture, but guess I turned out okay anyway, just like you. Except in my case, my dad gets the credit. He’s the one who raised me.”
Raised me and trained me up well before he died, but she doesn’t need to know about that. My father’s death wasn’t pretty, and when I avenged it, I made sure the man who took him out paid for that—but guess going out the way Dad did wasn’t exactly surprising for a trained assassin who had as many enemies as he did kills by the end.
Riley cocks her head to the side, studying me. “You love him.”
Loved. Past tense. Kind of rattles me that she sees through me so clearly, though.
“Blue and purple, huh?” I say, changing the subject as I gesture to her hair with my fork. “I like it.”
She touches the messy locks, tangling the strands around her fingers in a way that’s sexy as fuck without meaning to. “Thanks. I dyed it for better tips.”
I smirk. “Bet it worked.”
“Fuck yeah, it did. It makes me look more mysterious and glamorous or something.” She chuckles, then glances away, still playing with a lock of her hair. “It makes it easier,” she adds quietly.
My brows furrow. “Makes what easier? Stripping?”
She nods, then shrugs. “It gives me sort of a ‘character’ to slip into when I’m on stage, so I can keep a little distance between the real me and all those shitbags who come to watch.”
I think of how she looked on stage that night, and how she looks to me now. There’s no denying she was sexy as fuck, drawing the attention of every red-blooded man in the shitty strip joint… but it’s nothing compared to how gorgeous she is in her jeans and loose-fitting, casual top, sitting across from me in this diner.
I’m glad I get to see this side of her, instead of just the character she puts on when she’s stripping, and I get a sudden urge to tell her something real about myself. Something beyond just the charmingly dangerous persona I show to the world.
“You know, I was actually with another gang before I joined the Reapers,” I say, and Riley’s brows shoot up in surprise.
“And?” she prompts after a minute.
Even if I don’t think West Point planted her, there’s no way in hell it would be smart to give her too much detail about my history. I grin, leaning back and casually draping my arm over the back of the booth as I shrug and deflect her question.
“And the Reapers won me over,” I tell her. “Loyalty is…”
I trail off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence. There’s no description that quite does justice to that word.
Loyalty, or the lack of it, is what got my dad killed. It’s a concept I thought I understood when I was younger, but didn’t. Not until Maddoc showed me what true loyalty was meant to look like.
“It’s everything,” Riley says, finishing the sentence I left hanging and jolting me out of the unwelcome trip down memory lane.
My eyes snap up to meet hers. They’re fucking gorgeous. A deep brown that’s warm and mesmerizing, like melted chocolate.
“Yeah, it is,” I agree, because even though that still doesn’t quite sum up the word, it’s as close as either of us will get.
There’s a long moment where she holds my gaze, then she shakes her head and stabs at a piece of sausage with her fork. “So you’ve been involved in… this life for a long time, then?”
“Yeah.” I click my tongue against my teeth. “For most of my life, really, in one way or another. Even before I was officially a member of any gang, I crossed paths with them a lot. I’ve never had a nine to five, let’s just put it that way.”
“Right.” She snorts, digging into the food again with gusto.
She really was hungry, and I like the way it feels to fix that. I also like how hard she tries to keep her walls up as we talk, as if our conversation is a game of chess, although I like the moments when those walls come down even better.
We keep chatting as we eat, talking about mostly random bullshit, and then Riley pauses and bites her lip, putting her fork down. “I, um...”
“What?”
Her cheeks go pink, a lighter shade than back at the house, and I commit that color to memory too. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, looking simultaneously annoyed and flustered that she needs to spell it out. “I’m not asking for permission or anything,” she clarifies quickly, defiance flashing across her face. “I just want you to know I’m not going to try to run.”
“Good.” I hold back my smile as I jerk my chin toward the hall to our left. “It’s down there.”
I’m impressed with how quickly she’s adapting to her circumstances. Learning the ropes of this situation she’s put herself in and accepting the parts she’s got no hope of changing. She’s scrappy as hell, I can tell that much, and now that I know a little more about her backstory, I’m starting to get an idea of just how resilient she really is.
She gives me a questioning look before she gets out of the booth, as if she’s waiting to see if I really trust her out of my sight.
I do. I also enjoy watching her ass as she walks away.
This bullshit with West Point becoming more aggressive lately is starting to get to all of us, but even if Maddoc and Logan can’t see it yet, one way or another I’m convinced that having Riley in the mix is gonna be a win for us.
Hell, it already is, since I’m enjoying the fuck out of having her around.
Not just breakfast or even the sex the other night. Just her.
She really is the perfect distraction.