Page 5 of Triplets for the Rival MC

Cyrus casually taps Flint using the back of his hand as a reprimand. “She just turned twenty-one today, remember?”

Flint frowns, as if just now remembering. “Right, I forgot how young you are.”

I bristle at the comment. I’m not some young, foolish girl. I don’t want them to see me as a kid.

Hunter turns to me with that mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, if you’re twenty-one and legally allowed to drink today, I think you should definitely have one.”

I’m about to decline, but then Flint comes to my defense. “We’re not getting the kid drunk.”

Flint calling me a kid pisses me off further, and I scowl at him before turning to the waitress. “You know what? Make mine a vodka cranberry. A double,” I add, when I see the annoyed concern on Flint’s face. The woman nods, scurrying away before it can become a fight. “I’m not a child,” I snarl at Flint. “Don’t treat me like one.”

Hunter laughs delightedly, reveling in the chaos. Flint nods. “Understood.”

Our drinks arrive, and I sip on mine slowly, trying not to wince at how strong it is. I regret ordering a double, but I’m not about to back down now. The guys start to discuss plans, asking me questions here and there about my father’s business and the Raging Bulls. I listen as they begin to formulate a plan of attack.

“Alright, so we’ll hit the warehouse first,” Flint says confidently.

I’ve finished my first drink and am into my second, already feeling the effects. Emboldened by alcohol, I speak up. “That’s stupid,” I say with a snort.

Flint looks up at me in surprise. A flicker of disbelief, followed by annoyance, flashes across his face. “Excuse me?” He’s clearly not used to being contradicted much on decision-making.

“Hitting my father’s warehouses won’t hurt him. You’ve tried it before, and yes, it’s annoying for him, but then he hits you back, and the cycle continues. If you really want to hurt my father, you need to wound his pride.” I sip on my straw, looking up at the stunned, yet curious expressions on the guys’ faces.

“How would we do that?” Cyrus asks, thoughtfully stroking his beard.

I shrug, as if it’s so simple I can’t believe they have to ask. “Embarrass him in front of his MC, make him look weak. If there’s one thing my father can’t stand, it’s weakness. If people see him being weak and vulnerable, that will break him.”

The guys look at me with surprise and, dare I say it, respect. Hunter claps his hands together. “Yes!”

Flint smiles proudly, making me feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Alright then, Tori, we’ll do it your way.”

We spend the next hour or so coming up with a plan. This time, the guys don’t talk as if I’m not there, instead, they involve me in the discussion. It feels good to be included, to have my opinions listened to and respected. Eventually, the conversation moves on to other things, and we simply start to chat about life as if we’re old friends. We have several more drinks, and the conversation flows surprisingly easily, and we’re all laughing and drinking as if they didn’t kidnap me earlier tonight.

At one point, a song comes on, and Hunter loudly exclaims how much he loves it before whisking me up to the dancefloor. He ignores my protests that I can’t dance, and I don’t try too hard to say no. I find myself wanting to dance with him. I laugh as he spins me around, but then when he pulls me close against the hardness of his chest, my laughter dies, and I find myself feeling like I can’t breathe. I’m acutely aware of how good he smells, how strong he feels, and how small he makes me feel in comparison. I push down the overwhelming urge to kiss him as we dance closer and slower.

The song ends, breaking whatever tension had built up between us, and I quickly make an excuse to sit back down with the others. The guys seem unimpressed by Hunter’s stunt, and conversation is stilted until he convinces us all to do a round of shots as a birthday celebration for me.

It’s only when I try to get up to go to the bathroom that I realize how drunk I am. I stumble as I try to get up, and Hunter is there to catch me. “Whoops, I think I’ve had a little too much to drink,” I slur, giggling.

“I told you this would happen,” Flint grumbles.

Hunter scoops me up into his arms effortlessly. “Come on, princess, bedtime.”

I should protest, but I find I quite like it. I wrap my arms around Hunter’s neck and nuzzle into it. “You smell nice.”

Laughter rumbles in his chest as he strides through the room. “Thank you.”

As we leave the bar and head upstairs to the living quarters, I drunkenly protest. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

Hunter ignores me. I close my eyes and enjoy him carrying me in his arms like a real princess. I open them as he places me down on a soft bed, but then close them again as the ceiling above me spins. In a surprising show of tenderness, he kisses me on the forehead.

“Goodnight, princess.”

I reach out for him. “Stay with me, kiss me,” I say pleadingly. Something that I will come to regret in the morning when I’ve sobered up.

He chuckles. “Not tonight. Not when you’re so drunk you can’t properly decide for yourself. Sleep now, you’re safe.”

The blissful oblivion of sleep comes quickly.