Chapter Eleven #2
The difference in strength was staggering.
Miguel wasn’t built like Riot, all obvious muscle and threatening bulk.
He was leaner, more compact, but his grip was steel, and his expression never changed.
“Stop fighting it.” He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for just a beat. “This is right where you belong.”
The room warped around me as if I was peering through a fisheye lens.
My mouth was dry from breathing too fast, and I thought of the cold cans of soda in the fridge.
I counted the cupboard doors, the appliances on the counter, telling myself I needed to store the ones we barely used to create more space.
Inside one of the drawers were swatches of paint colors I’d grabbed on a whim a few months ago. The walls were basic white, and I wanted to brighten up the kitchen.
Miguel applied pressure to my trapped arms. “Look at me.”
His voice had a slight growl to it, but I couldn’t. My mind was stuck on what color trim would soften the sunny yellow paint I wanted to use for the walls.
“He’s going to kill you,” I heard myself whisper.
“But he’s not here, is he?” Miguel matched my tone.
I glanced up at him. “He will be.”
The sound reached us both at the same time.
Motorcycles. Faint at first, barely a rumble on the edge of hearing. Then louder. Closer. Growing from distant thunder into a roar.
Miguel’s grip loosened a fraction. His head turned toward the front of the house, and something flickered in those dead eyes. Not fear. Calculation. The expression of a predator reassessing the odds.
“Your boyfriend has good timing.” The words came out flat. Displeased. He released my wrists with a suddenness that made me stumble. Pain shot through my shoulders, radiating down my arm where his fingers had dug in. “We’ll continue this conversation another time.”
Miguel swung the kitchen door open, slipping through it without a backward glance.
My legs refused to hold me. Sliding down against the cabinets, I hit the floor hard. My whole body shook. Tremors racked my shoulders, my hands, and my thighs. I couldn’t catch my breath. Couldn’t think past the roar of blood in my ears.
The front door slammed open. Boots pounded against the floor.
“Calvin!”
Riot appeared in the kitchen doorway with Reaper and Mayhem right behind him. His eyes swept the room, noting everything in a single glance. The dropped turkey. My position on the floor. The open back door swaying slightly on its hinges.
“Miguel.” His name came out as barely a whisper. “It was Miguel.”
Reaper and Mayhem scented the air then were through the back door in seconds, moving fast and silent, reminding me exactly what they were.
Riot crossed the kitchen in three strides and lowered to one knee in front of me. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. The touch was gentle. Grounding. The complete opposite of the grip that had been on my wrists seconds ago.
“Look at me, sweetheart.” His voice was just as gentle as his hands. “Focus on me. Give me those beautiful hazel eyes.”
I forced my gaze to meet his. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me as I steadily grounded myself in his presence.
“Slow your breathing.” His thumbs traced slow circles on my skin. “Match mine.”
Following his instruction, I dragged air into my lungs. Once. Twice. The trembling didn’t stop, but the edges of my vision started to clear. Riot’s face came fully into focus—the set of his jaw, the controlled fury burning behind his eyes. He was angry. Furious. But every touch remained tender.
“He grabbed me.” I searched his eyes, unsure what I was looking for. “My wrists. He twisted my arms behind my back and said—and said—he said we’d continue this conversation another time. He was going to—”
“He’s gone now.” Riot’s voice dropped to something low and fierce. “He’s not getting near you again. I promise you that.”
My hands found his cut, fingers gripping the leather like it was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly turned sideways. Pressing my forehead against his shoulder, I let myself shake. Let him hold me while the terror slowly drained from my body, replaced by exhaustion and relief.
“You’re here.” The words were muffled against his shirt. “You came for me.”
He rocked me in his arms, one hand cradling my head, the other pressed into my back. “Always.” He said it like it was obvious. Like there was no other possible answer. “When you’re in trouble, I’m there. That’s how this works.”
Footsteps approached from the back door. I froze, and Riot’s arms tightened around me.
Reaper and Mayhem entered…with Ramos. Mayhem had my brother’s shirt twisted in his fist, shoving him toward the living room.
The hell? I shoved away from Riot and staggered to my feet, quickly following.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Ramos shoved Mayhem away, but I knew it was because Mayhem let him.
“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing between them.
Mayhem shrugged. “He’s who we found outside. Figured he could answer a few questions about your attack.”
Ramos seemed genuinely confused, and then his features darkened. “You think I’d attacked my little brother?”
“You tell me,” Mayhem said calmly. “Coincidence you saw me and turned to leave? The fuck was that about?”
Ramos glanced at me, betrayal and hurt in his eyes. “You think I’d hurt you, Cal?” A short, hollow laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” He shook his head slowly as the front door opened and our mom stepped in, still in her work clothes, the shadows under her eyes deep enough to bruise.
“You wrote me off,” Ramos said. “Both of you. Years ago.”
“That’s not—“ I started. “You’re the one who gave up after Dad died! You’re the one who caused so much trouble then got locked up!”
“Why, Calvin?” Ramos shouted. “Did you ever once ask yourself why? No, you were too busy acting like everything was fine! It was far from fucking fine!”
“Boys.” Mom’s voice was barely there. “Please.”
“You don’t get it.” He slammed his hand against his chest, once, twice, three times.
“You lost your husband.” He looked at me.
“And you lost a father. Me?” His voice broke fully then, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“I lost my fucking best friend! I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning and didn’t know how to stop it.”
His eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled in a breath that didn’t seem to reach him. “I had nothing. Mom behind a closed door, you never home. I felt like I was the only one left. Do you know what it took to show up here? Thinking you’d turn me away at the door?”
Exactly what I’d said to my mom. I hadn’t wanted to go through the bullshit again. The cops. The fights. The friends who looked like they’d rob us blind.
The sound that came out of him then wasn’t a word. It was something rawer than that. A scream, his whole body behind it, fists at his sides, neck straining. Like something that had been sealed in him for years finally tore loose.
It moved through me like a frequency. Everything I’d been keeping buried for a long time finally crumbling.
“You’re the one who shoved me away!” I moved toward him, feeling like my feet were dragging through quicksand. “I needed you, Ramos. You turned your back on me!”
“When?” The word came out hard. “When did I ever shove you away?”
“The funeral,” I snapped. “I tried to hug you, and you pushed me off. Said you weren’t my therapist.”
My breath hitched. “He was your best friend, but he was my daddy.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, the pain carving its way out.
“I had no one, had to grieve by myself, a kid who didn’t know where to put that pain. I hate him! Hate him for ripping us apart! Hate him for leaving us! Hate him for being everything then tearing that away from me!”