To be fair, I don't deserve her either. But it doesn't stop me from wanting and waiting like a fool.
I'm so absorbed in my brooding thoughts that at first, I don't notice the bike parked across the road, or the man standing very near it. But when it catches my notice, fear slips down my back like an icy bout of rain. I know that dusky red Harley Road King is as familiar to me as the back of my own hand. I've ridden beside or behind its owner many times.
Trent. What the fuck is Trent doing here?
I know the answer to that question just as soon as it's formed in the back of my head. Cleo. Trent is here to harass Cleo again. But how he knew she was at my place is anyone's guess. A hot flare of anger chases away the initial shock of fear. Cleo is losing enough sleep as it is. I am not going to let Trent steal any more away from her.
He's just standing there, getting soaked to the skin. Even the dark rain slicker and the leather jacket he's no doubt wearing beneath will keep the stuff off of him. I can feel his eyes boring a hole in me from across the street, but I don't walk to him. In all likelihood, he's got a few of Damian's favorite boys stashed away, just hoping for a chance to jump me. Normally something like that wouldn't have bothered me. But Cleo and Bryan are in the house, and like hell am I going to leave them unprotected.
The burning tip of my cigarette almost touches my fingers when Trent moves. I keep a close eye on his hands, just in case he's toting a gun or a knife. My own piece is still in the house, but I feel pretty confident in my ability to take him down without it. Trent is big and beefy, but he's older than I am, and has gained a bit of a paunch in recent years. I can beat him, if it comes down to that.
He stops just shy of my stairs, shoving the hood of his slicker back, revealing his face in all its grisled glory. His dark eyes regard me with dislike. I can't say I'm thrilled to see him either, but I wait. He'll get to the point or he'll leave.
"Ryker," he said.
"Trent," I say with forced cheer. "What brings you out on this balmy evening?"
If he catches the sardonic note in my voice, he doesn't show it. I nearly roll my eyes. Sourpuss.
"Sutton is in there." It isn't a question. I wonder where he's getting his information. Has he been sending people to spy on Cleo, or was he just making an educated guess, based on what he knew of me? It's been pretty damn obvious what I feel to everyonebutCleo.
Either way, I don't like it. Either I'm predictable or he's sneaky. Neither bodes well for the pair inside of my house. I flick the cigarette at Trent's feet, and he grinds it out on reflex, his scowl deepened.
"I'm here to see Sutton. Let me in, Ryker."
"Not a chance in hell," I snarl. "She's asleep, and I wouldn't let you see her even if she was awake. She's got enough on her plate without you terrorizing her."
"She deserves it," Trent hisses back with equal venom. "I know that little bitch was involved somehow."
I rise to my full height and step closer to Trent. I'm six feet and change, and taller than Trent by almost half a foot. He doesn't back down, just lifts his chin to fix his glare once more on my face.
"Piss off, Trent. Iwill not let you do this. Not now, not ever. What happened to Damian was tragic, and Cleo had nothing to do with it."
A lie, on at least one count. Damian had gotten what he'd deserved for killing Cruz's uncle and nearly ending his wife. But Cleo had been nowhere near the scene of the crime when things went down.
"She deserves whatever happens to her," Trent mutters. "It'll teach her to keep her cunt mouth shut."
I shove Trent hard enough to land him on his ass on the soaked pavement. I should beat his face in for what he's saying. But again, I'm not sure how many men might be in the dark, how many men might aim guns at my house.
"Fuck off," I say, hands clenching into fists at my sides. If he says so much as another word about Cleo, I won't be able to stop myself. "You know the rules, Trent. We don't hurt women. Rule number one."
"Maybe it's time for the rules to change," he says, eyes glittering with malice. "Maybe some women have what's coming to them."
I take another step closer and Trent dodges the punch I level at him, barely. He laughs.
"Easy. I'm not doing anything tonight but delivering a message."
"And what's that?"
"Tell Cleo I'll be seeing her around. I'm court-ordering a paternity Test. That kid is Damian's, which makes him my grandson. I have legal rights to visit him, if I so choose."
Fucking hell. The thought of Trent having anything to do with Cleo's kid knocks the wind out of me. Could Trent cut the kid up just for the crime of being Cleo's baby? I have a sinking feeling that the fact they're blood means anything to him. To Trent, Bryan is just a tool he can use to hurt Cleo. Worse? He'll probably get away with it.
"Fuck off," I growl. "I'm not kidding, Trent. I will knock your head in if you spend another second on my property."
Trent chuckles again and turns on his heel, checking the streets before crossing over to the Road King. He slings one leg over the side before pulling out of his space, gunning the throttle down the streets until he was just a blur of red headlights in my periphery. Another curse tumbles out of my lips and I reach for another cigarette.
I want to keep this from Cleo. If there was a way to hide it from her, I would. But it has to be better coming from me than from a legal aid serving her papers. We had to be ready to fight this fresh hell if we could thwart Trent. For one solitary moment I wish the kid is anyone else's. Hell, I'll even be all right if it turned out to belong to Cruz. He's a damn sight better than Damian, though I'll be jealous as hell.
