The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5) (3 page)

“Yeah yeah,” she scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll be off at one, so come over whenever.”

“See you later, babe.”

“Bye, Rocky.”

“Pathetic,” Buck spits out as he follows me out into the parking lot.

Getting on my bike, I look over at his stupid fucking face, smiling that stupid fucking smile of his. “Man, shut the fuck up. Don’t make me get up off this bike and knock you on your ass.

“You can try, motherfucker. Let’s roll, you pansy ass bitch.” Why the hell am I friends with this asshole?

“I
will
shoot you,” I shout out as I fire up my bike.

Buck just laughs and pulls out onto the highway, leaving me sitting here like a fucking idiot.

Ellison

Giving my hands one final brisk rub against the blast of hot air from the heater vents, I tighten the hood of my jacket around my face and throw open the door to the only nice thing I own, my 4Runner.

I worked two shifts today. I did the morning out front at the grill and the night shift in the back at the bar. In between, I was able to catch a few hours of sleep at home.

I jump from my car and run through the lot full of melting snow, heading for my front door. I dodge puddles and jump snow banks before I finally make it to my front door.

It’s fucking cold as hell out here.

Making my way inside to the entry way of my apartment, I kick off my boots and strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile. Flipping on the heater, I run towards my room for some warmer clothes.

Standing in front of my closet, I debate on whether to slip on something nice, something Rocky might like, but I give up and decide to throw on some sweats. It’s not like he cares what I wear anyways. Besides, it’s fucking freezing.

Walking into my bathroom, I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth. Leaning my hip against the vanity, I think of Rocky coming over, and that familiar beat hits my heart.

From some of my first memories, Rock’s been there. Through the loss of a parent, broken hearts, drunken mistakes, graduations, failures and successes, he’s been there through it all. He’s invaluable to me. I’m not sure what I would do without him, and I’m not even sure he knows how important he is to me. I try to tell him, but I choke every time I try to make the words come out. Something about telling the most important person in your life how much you really need them is really fucking scary. It cements their importance in your life, and gives them that power over you emotionally. To me, that is beyond terrifying.

In the living room, I find my favorite spot on the couch. I cross my legs, grab the remote, and stare blankly at the TV. After twenty minutes of this, I finally hear his heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. The distinct thud of steel toe Georgia boots on the old cement outside, echoes along the stairwell and under my door. Each and every time I see Rock, my heartbeat kicks up a beat or two. That’s what he does to me.

Knowing he’s here makes me stupid with excitement. I love his dark, serious eyes, and his short dark hair. His nose is perfectly imperfect, and his lush lips are scarred. He has a strong jaw, and a sexy as hell dark beard. He’s definitely something worth looking at.

Young infatuation turned into a crush, and that crush grew into unrequited love. Now, that teenage love has turned in to a familiar comfort, but I still get
that
feeling whenever I see him.

The knob on the door rattles as he tries to open it. He’s so impatient. “Ellison?”

I locked it just for him.

“Yeah?” I yell back through the closed door, remaining on the couch.

“Open it.” he demands. Always so fucking bossy.

Getting off the couch, I walk slowly to the door, taking my sweet ass time. “Can’t,” I tease, leaning my shoulder against the wall while listening to him grumble at the closed door.

“What? Why the fuck not?” he shouts. He’s starting to sound upset. I can hear him shuffling before he jerks hard on the door handle. Twisting and pulling, he fights with it, the hinges almost ready to give. Lord, he’s gonna break my damn door off the frame.

“Rock?”

“What?” he snaps, still jerking on the doorknob.

“I’m just fucking with you,” I laugh. I unlock the moving knob and crack the door open, smiling at his crazy pissed off expression. I figure I might want to cut him some slack since it’s cold and late. I mean, he did come all the way over here to help me.

“Fuck. You scared the shit outta me,” he breathes out as he walks in and around me. “Thought you fell and broke your damn neck.” Jesus, I’m not ninety.

Looking me up and down, he nods when he seems satisfied that my neck’s not broken. “Sorry it’s so fuckin’ late. You about to go to bed?” He looks down at my ratty sweats.

“Nope. Just got home a little while ago and wanted to get comfortable.”

“You look it.” He swats at the old sweatshirt I’m wearing, the one I stole from him. It’s six sizes too big, it’s a classic, and it’s my favorite.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Yep.” He’s a man of a few words tonight I see.

I turn and wave for him to follow me down the hall to the bathroom, but halfway there, he stops abruptly in the middle of the hall.

“What’s this shit?” he asks, kicking at a pile of boxes lining the hallway, and I cringe. A pain in the ass is what they are.

“My brother’s shit,” I say carefully. I know he hates to talk about him about as much as I do.

“That fuck face still hasn’t gotten his shit outta your place?” His voice gets louder with each syllable. Michael comes around, saying he’s here to get his stuff, but he never actually takes it. He only comes by for money, and that’s about it.

“Nope.”

“Want me to make him take it?” he offers, smiling that devious dimpled smile of his. Rock is violent. I swear you’d think the man was born swinging.

Chewing on the inside on my cheek, I mull it over for just a second. His offer is very appealing. I do want Mike’s shit out of my house for good, but Rock will only create a disaster out of an already messy situation.

“That’s okay, I can do it. Thanks though.”

“Don’t like you dealin’ with him ‘n his people
.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But he’s my brother.”

“He’s not good people, El. He’s gonna drag you into his shit, and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it.” Rock glares at the boxes. “He’s not the same guy, babe,” he adds a little softer, his eyes losing their edge.

Michael is a sore subject for the both of us. My brother and Rock were best friends growing up. They both turned eighteen and sought similar paths, but with completely different outcomes.

Rock looks back down at the boxes with a mix of hurt and hate on his face.

“Rock—” I start, but he cuts me off when he kicks one of the boxes.

“No. You need to take that shit to the trash ‘n be done with it, or let me deal
with it.”

“I’ll get rid of it,” I lie.

I should let Rock dispose of Mike’s junk, but I’m trying not to cause more drama. My brother may be out of his damn mind, but he’s still my brother. Rock is my friend. He’s my best friend, and I don’t want to upset him either. Me tossing that shit out will only piss Michael off, which will piss his club off, and in turn, send Rock into a fucking rage. I’ll keep it and return it at a later date.

Grabbing onto his arm, I tug him away from the boxes towards the bathroom. No more of this depressing shit. “Help me get that rod up, will ya.”

***

“Fuck,” Rock grumbles, plopping down on my little couch. Catching my hand on the way down, he tugs me with him, right onto his side. Leaning in, I inhale. He smells woodsy and clean, with a slight hint of motor oil.
My Rocky
.

Scrubbing at his face, he sighs and looks at me. “So how the fuck you been, babe? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“It’s been eight days, and you saw me this morning, but I’m good. You doin’ all right?” He looks tired.

“Eight days too long. Here, get up.” He pats his thigh and motions at my feet with a tattooed hand. Slinging my legs over his, he sets about removing my socks, letting them drop to the floor, then picks one foot up in his big hands. “Could be better,” he says, rubbing at my arch. “Could be worse.”

Oh Jesus, that feels good.

“Mmm,” I hum. “That feels amazing.” Rock has no problem rubbing my feet, he just doesn’t do it often.

“Sounds like it.” My eyes meet the back of my head. Digging a knuckle into my heel, he drags another moan out of me. “Is it as good as when I—”

“Don’t finish that,” I mutter.

“I was gonna say when I make you a grilled cheese, ya fuckin’ pervert,” Rock chuckles as his fingers work on my feet.

“Yeah, grilled cheese.” Now I’m horny
and
hungry. Rock’s hands and cooking are enough to turn me into a mess. A stupid,
stupid
mess. “But really, how are you?” I ask as I look at him.

A tiny smile graces his scarred lips. Nodding thoughtfully, he tugs me closer. “Good, baby. I’m good.”

A mess. A big stupid mess when it comes to him.

He goes on to tell me what he’s been up to. He gives me enough to keep me interested, but not enough to include me with ague references and half-truths, but I listen while he unloads, happy to shoulder some of the stress. God only knows, he carries a lot of mine.

We spend the rest of the night talking, until there’s nothing else left for us to say.

***

“Fuck, they always scream like that?” Rock questions, hesitating at my door. We put the rod up, he rubbed me down, and we caught up on our eight-day hiatus. It’s now close to three in the morning, but try telling that to the people on the other side of my wall. My neighbors are having one of their usual knock-down, drag-out fights. She’s screaming at him for being a lying, cheating bastard, and he’s hollering back about her being a worthless lazy bitch.              

It’s just another day in paradise.

“Yeah. Sometimes, they have real loud makeup sex too,” I laugh. That’s always the cherry to my sundae.

“When you gonna move?” Rock hates me living here. Can’t see why, though. It’s only a partially dilapidated apartment complex in the ghetto. We have your customary bars on the windows…well, the ones with glass in them do anyways. Tweekers are on every curb, along with broken down vehicles in the parking lot. It’s heaven here on earth.

“When I win the lotto,” I say seriously. Between my brother always borrowing from me, my mother always needing something from me, student loans, bills, and life in general, I’m pretty broke. It doesn’t help that we live in a small economically challenged town. No jobs equal little money. It’s a whole fucking thing, and it only depresses me to think about it.

I could become a hooker, but I’m sure that would give Rock a stroke, and I really don’t want to kill him. At least not yet.

“Come stay with me until you can save up to get you outta this shithole.”

“I’m good, Rock. Really.”

Here we go.

“I hate leavin’ you here. You got crackheads out front, and crazy neighbors next door. Fuck, I worry about ya.” And as sweet as that is, I can’t do it.

“Well, I worry about you and that outrageous temper of yours,” I sass back. That temper is going to get him in some trouble if he doesn’t wrangle it in.

Laughing, he shakes his head at me like I’m the crazy one. Taking two steps down the stairs, he hesitates, and just like it always does, a bit of longing clings to my heart. I hate when he leaves.

“Thanks for coming by to help me hang that up. Next time, I’ll make you dinner or something.”

“Babe, you don’t have feed me. I’ll always come when you need me”

“Thank you, Rock.” He turns and walks down the stairs. Stopping at the bottom, he looks back over his shoulder at me, and that
thing
that always happens when we look at each other passes between us before he smiles and takes another step away.

“Lock that shit up tight, babe. Do it for me. Now.” He stops at the curb and gives me a stern look. “Lock it, Ellison. I mean that shit.”

Nodding, I start to close the door, but before I do, I laugh softly at his foreboding frown. He means business.

“Night, Rocky.”

“El?”

“Yeah.”

“Sleep good, babe.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Locking the door, I go to bed,
alone.

***

Privileged wouldn’t be a word I’d use to describe my childhood or my life. It wasn’t horrible, but it could’ve been better. With a basket case for a mother, a drug addicted brother, and a non-existent father, things were rough. I had Rocky, and most of the time he was enough, but sometimes life weighs heavily on you. So sometimes, when I’m slammed during my eight hour shift at the bar, I stop and wonder how the fuck I got here. I went from a straight A student, destined for a full scholarship, to waiting tables by day, slinging booze by night, and shaking my shit on the weekends. I ask myself how the hell I let myself get here, but I know. Shit circumstances.