Page 135
“You’re wrong, and yet, somehow, we’ll overcome this obstacle,” he teased. Her laugh followed him into the hallway. Mayhem stood several feet away, holding a tray containing coffee, toast, and scrambled eggs. He had heard everything.
Riot approached him carefully. “She asked,” he said.
Mayhem’s jaw tightened. “You enjoyed answering.”
“Maybe,” Riot said.
“This isn’t a joke,” Mayhem insisted.
“I know it’s not,” Riot said, his mood turning serious.
“She needs protection,” Mayhem said.
“She needs honesty too,” Riot challenged.
Mayhem looked toward the bedroom. “We can’t drag her into whatever is happening between us.”
“No.” Riot stepped closer. “But maybe we should stop pretending nothing is happening between us.”
Mayhem met his gaze, and for once, he didn’t look away. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. It was the most honest thing he had said in years.
Riot reached for the breakfast tray, letting his fingers brush Mayhem’s. “We figure it out.”
“And Delaney?” Mayhem asked. Riot glanced through the broken doorway. She sat on the bed wrapped in a blanket, watching them with cautious curiosity.
“We protect her,” he said. “We give her time to heal. And if she decides she wants nothing to do with either of us, we accept it.”
Mayhem’s gaze settled on her. “And if she wants both of us?”
Riot felt the first genuine smile of the morning spread across his face. “Then you’d better learn how to share.”
Monster Mayhem Universal Link-> Coming soon!
If you love K.L.’s Halloween stories, you won’t want to miss Grimm’s Grace (Mayhem Makers) (Rage Runners MC Book 1). Here’s a sneak peek!
GRIMM
Halloween belonged to the Rage Runners. For one night every year, the county forgot its laws, decent people locked their doors, and every reckless bastard with enough money and nerve came to Grimm’s town to prove he wasn’t afraid to die. Most of them were lying.
Grimm stood on the clubhouse balcony and watched motorcycles pour through the open gates. Headlights cut across the darkened lot while engines growled beneath the pounding bass coming from inside. Orange flames rolled from metal barrels positioned around the property, casting crooked shadows over painted faces and elaborate costumes.
Women wearing almost nothing danced near the outdoor bar. Men dressed as demons, executioners, and blood-thirsty vampires shouted over the music. One idiot showed up in a plastic president’s cut with a Rage Runners patch drawn across the back, and Grimm had already ordered his road captain to burn it because some things were just too sacred to be costumes. The three-piece patch covering Grimm’s back had been bought with blood. Every brother wearing it had paid his share—some more than others.
“Two hundred and seventeen riders registered,” Coal announced. Grimm glanced at Coal as his vice president joined him at the railing. Coal wore his usual black T-shirt beneath his cut that read “F-CAW-F” across the front and had a crow under it. It suited him.
“Thought we agreed to cap it at two hundred,” Grimm said.
“We did,” Coal said.
“Then why the fuck are there seventeen extra bikes in my lot?” Grimm asked.
Coal took a drink from the bottle in his hand. “Because Torque figured you wouldn’t turn away another seventeen entry fees.”
“Torque figures a lot of stupid shit,” Grimm said.
“He usually does,” Coal agreed. The entry fee for the Devil’s Run was five thousand dollars. That bought each rider one chance to survive the course and win the hundred-grand prize waiting in Grimm’s office safe, and the club kept the rest. It was one of the cleanest transactions the Rage Runners conducted all year. Mostly because nobody had made motorcycle racing illegal enough to interest Grimm.
The Devil’s Run began at the clubhouse, cut through fifty miles of back roads, crossed an abandoned junkyard, and ended in the center of town that had been empty for more than twenty years. The county claimed the roads leading into it were closed. The county also claimed it didn’t accept bribes, but Grimm had never put much faith in official statements.
