“Oh yeah? I have a boyfriend. What do you have?”
“A six-pack and big f**king c*ck.”
The crowd breaks into loud talk at that. Loren’s eyes flash murderously at his brother. And Ryke just shakes his head at himself.
Connor can’t stop laughing.
Daisy tries to wrestle with him again, and her shirt rises on her waist, revealing a purplish bruise on her hip. Ryke goes incredibly still, and Daisy stops moving as her face falls.
“It’s nothing,” she says quickly. “Come on, I need you out front.”
We all turn on Daisy who has taken a seat on the floor, texting in solitude. She’s ignoring us on purpose. And I wonder…
When I gave Daisy pepper spray, it seemed like she was keeping a secret with Ryke. I completely forgot about that, and so I never badgered them for the information. I think I’m finally going to get some answers, and they’re just going to be handed to me. No work involved. Look, the show has another perk. Who would have thought?
“Hey.” Lo nudges Daisy’s back with his foot. “What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s taken care of,” she says noncommittally, fixed to her phone.
Lo glances at Ryke. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Just fucking watch,” Ryke says. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re airing it.”
Connor sips his wine. “Clearly you hoped they wouldn’t.”
“A part of me did, actually. But I was protecting that one…” He leans behind his brother and points to Lily who has her head on Lo’s shoulder. “So give me a fucking break.”
“What? Me?” Lily points to her chest sheepishly. “I’m okay.” But her voice is small. She’s had to see herself make out with Lo, and all of us had a three-minute heated debate whether this was considered soft-core porn—which she’s not allowed to watch.
Then Daisy off-handedly admitted to being a porn-watcher—more to keep Lily from shrinking into herself inshame. And Lo made a face like someone stabbed ice picks in his ears.
I’m immediately brought back into the show after hearing one particular line from my sister:
“He threw something at me.”
Ryke breathes heavily. “It looks like he f**king grabbed you.”
She pauses. “Can you please come outside and I’ll explain.”
With locked shoulders, Ryke follows Daisy downstairs, into the living room, and out the front door. When they reach the street, she leads him to her parked Ducati on the curb. The taillights and headlights are busted. And the handlebars are bent out of shape.
“What the f**k? Mother ****ing, piece of sh*t **** **** ******* kidding me.” He glares. “Who f**king did this?”
“Some douchebag downtown. I came out of Lucky’s, and he was smashing my bike with his boot. He told me, and I quote, ‘Get out of here, you spoiled c*nt of Philly.’”
Ryke cringes at the one swear word I’ve never heard him use. “It wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“No,” she says. “He wouldn’t hurt me. I just…I was trying to get my bike back, and we had a bit of a confrontation, hence the bruise. It’s nothing really. I was just glad the paparazzi didn’t show up.”
Lily gapes. “They’re that angry at us for filming?” The fear blinks in her eyes. If Philly locals did this to Daisy—then what the hell are they going to do to my little sister whose sex addiction has been plastered on national news?
The heckling—it’s not something I really thought about before.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Daisy tells both of us.
But Ryke’s hardened jaw says differently. On screen and off.
Ryke inspects the damage on her bike, shaking his head more and more. “We need to press charges.”
