Chapter 7
brIAR
A familiar voice stirs my mind back into the present. God, my head is killing me.
I groan and try to move to sit up, only to realize someone’s holding me. We aren’t moving. I’m in someone’s lap. I try to think coherently, but the throbbing headache is making me disoriented.
“Briar, are you okay?” A fuzzy voice echoes through my head.
“Fuck, you’re such an asshole.”
“Why didn’t you give her the helmet?” Another voice, clearer this time.
Three separate males are bickering at the person holding me. They are recognizable, but I can’t focus on anything right now. All I know is that my head hurts really bad and I’m extraordinarily tired.
I groan again and bury my face in the crook of the person’s arm. Some part of me guesses that it’s Roman holding me, but his bitchy exhale as a reply to the others confirms it.
Where are we? How did the race end?
Roman sets his other hand gently on my shoulder.
I flinch and draw myself closer to his chest. He pauses before setting his hand down on my head instead, brushing hair away from the side of my head that hurts.
His fingertips skate over the tender skin, their coldness sending a shudder through my bones.
“I told her to hang on,” Roman mutters with zero empathy.
“What do we do, Syxx? There’s no way Grahm fucking Sutherland isn’t a gatekeeper. We confirmed it. What the hell is he doing with her?” John’s voice is threaded with concern, although it doesn’t sound like it’s for me.
Roman’s last name is Syxx? My mind snags on that information for some reason more than the other concerning things they’re saying. I blame my pounding headache.
“Hmm. Yeah, I agree. Which means she’s undoubtedly involved in some part of their plans. She might even be one of them for all we know.” Roman’s grip on me tightens.
One of who? What are they talking about? I try to sit up again. This time, I’m able to prop myself up with my arm. I’m met with Roman’s intense stare, unreadable as always—and stupidly handsome beyond all reason.
“Ow.” I wince as pressure shoots through my brain, and I press my palm to the side of my head.
John is at my side in a second. “Briar, are you okay? Let me drive you to the next town over. There’s a hospital—”
Bensen cuts him off firmly. “No, I can patch her up at her farm. She’s likely concussed.
Let’s head over there, and I’ll get her taken care of.
” They all share an uncomfortable look. Well, all of them except Roman.
His eyes are still firmly planted on my face, observing me like he’s waiting for me to bite him or spread wings—or shit gold.
There’s no way in hell that I’m letting them go to my farm. I shake my head and try to stand, stumbling and about to hit my knees before Roman snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me back into his lap. God damn it.
“Everyone, head back to bas”—he clears his throat—“the shop. I need to take care of our little problem here.” The group gives him disapproving glares.
“She’s hurt. At least give her the night before you—” Taylor cuts himself off and grits his teeth. “Fuck. Just take her home tonight. We’ll figure this out tomorrow, okay?”
Bensen and Gale nod. John folds his arms. “I still think you should take her to the hospital in Bascliff. Her head is still bleeding a bit.” John’s voice is pained.
Bleeding? I lift my hand and dab my temple with my sleeve. A red smudge is left behind on the gray fabric. Not that it matters with the stains already there. A worried itch pulls in the back of my head. Where is Hailey? What the hell, how much can go wrong in one freaking night?
Roman sighs. “Fine, I’ll take her to the fucking farm on one of your motorcycles. But stay up until I get back. We need to discuss what happened tonight. Keep an eye on Sutherland until he leaves.”
John grabs my hand and squeezes it before saying, “I’ll drive her, and you can follow behind. Look what happens when she’s left with you.”
Roman gives John a death glare. “I won’t tell you again, Bishop.”
John’s mouth firms, and he swallows whatever it is he wanted to say before giving me one last troubled look before moving aside.
Roman stands with me in his arms and doesn’t wait for John or the others to acknowledge us leaving as he carries me away.
There’s some grumbling behind us before the others head back to the party to do… I don’t know what.
What the fuck are they doing? Are they undercover cops or something? They’re acting so strange. Is this what small-town cults do?
It’s much darker than it was earlier, and I can’t see the light from the bonfire anymore. “What time is it? Where did everyone go?” My voice is hoarse, and I’m just realizing how dry my mouth is.
“You were out for over an hour. The party is on the other hillside. We couldn’t exactly let everyone see my injured passenger after the race, now could we?” Roman says with an unapologetic tilt to his heavyset frown.
I grunt at him and shut my eyes. “I’m going to the police in the morning, asshole. You guys are going to be in deep shit.”
Roman cackles, the vibrations from his laughter roll through me. I glare up at him. It’s hard to distinguish his features clearly in the dark, but I catch the locks of hair that fall over his brow and the slight amusement that flickers across his gaze.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that. Because if I did hear you say it, I’d have to cut your pretty little tongue out.” Roman’s voice is flat and humorless.
“What are you guys mixed up in? Whatever it is, I swear I’m not a part of it. I’m literally just trying to get my uncle’s estate ready to sell, that’s it.” I’m not sure how much me rambling will help my case, but I have to try, don’t I?
He glances over his shoulder to gauge how far back the other guys are before he sets his attention on my pissed-off expression. “I know you are a part of it. You were practically delivered to me tied in pretty bows, Squirt. You really fucked up with Grahm, by the way.”
“Delivered to you?” I deadpan. “Don’t fucking call me Squirt.” I push against his chest, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. I can’t handle his fucking arrogance.
He studies every reaction I give. “Hmm. You really had no idea.” His statement is more of a mumbling to himself than it is for me. He blatantly ignores my comment too.
“No idea of what?” I wriggle in his arms, and he’s forced to stop and let me down.
I stumble a little but am able to remain standing this time.
“Grahm is the ranch hand that helped my uncle. I kind of need him for his work around the farm. I can’t get all the repairs done myself, and I don’t have the money to hire anyone. It’s not like I know Grahm personally.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not. We walk slowly, and I can hear someone catching up to us from behind.
Our bickering falls silent until the person passes and heads toward their vehicle in the parking lot up ahead.
The quiet tension between me and Roman is worse than the bickering, so I stir the pot. “Your last name is Syxx?”
He side-eyes me. “Something like that.”
My sarcastic side wins over my sensible one. Probably because I’m concussed. “Roman Syxx sounds like a super made-up name. I mean you literally have a Roman numeral six on your face.”
We step into the parking area, where it’s much brighter with the bonfire in view now and the solar tea lights throughout the tree boughs.
Roman ignores me, but I don’t miss the way that his hands curl tightly at his sides like he’s about to burst. It’s good to know that I at least get on his nerves without him losing control.
Maybe he’s more level-headed than I pinned him for.
It’s his eyes that give away his calm yet pissed-off mood.
Callum’s eyes were void of anything human the night he buried me.
You can tell a lot through someone’s eyes.
We stop in front of a motorcycle, a crotch rocket, to be specific. I give Roman a contorted expression. Half What the fuck? and I’m not getting on that.
“You’ll be fine. Just hold on to me.”
“Can’t you just drive us back in the Mercedes?” I’d hate to get back into that car, but it beats this death trap a million to one.
He shakes his head. “No can do. I lost it in the race thanks to you.”
I glower. “What?”
His expression doesn’t lift in the slightest. “Those are the rules. Don’t worry though, I’ll steal it back. Here, put this on,” he says so nonchalantly as he hands me a helmet.
“Oh, so there was a second helmet,” I say scathingly. “How often do you lose? And for the record, I’m really not surprised you’re into grand theft auto.”
“I can toss the helmet in the woods if you want to keep complaining about it.” He mounts the bike and starts the engine. “This would be a first, again, thanks to you.”
I hesitate to put the helmet on, worried that it will put pressure on my throbbing temple. I gently brush my fingertips over the side of my head to test how tender it is and wince at the pain. Roman glances over and notices my pause.
He lets out a big sigh and throws his head back, turning off the bike. “If we get caught and I have to beat some dude up, it’s your fault.” He takes the helmet from my hands and sets it back on his bike along with his.
This night has been such crap that I don’t even care what he’s doing, I just want to be back at the farm and in bed.
Roman selects an SUV and tries the door. Of course, small-town folk always leave their doors unlocked, so it opens. Now he’s making me participate in auto theft too? I cross my arms and shiver as a cold breeze moves through me. He finds keys under the visor and starts up the car.
He motions for me to get in.
“You’re so corrupt,” I mumble as I climb in, wincing at the pain that jolts across my head.
“And don’t forget it.”
He drives in silence, and after the first few minutes I quickly start dozing off only to have someone shake me awake roughly by my shoulder.