Page 2 of Riding Dirty

“You know that I do, which is why I’m not giving you anything to kill yourself with.”

“I’m going to get help,” she lies.

“Leave him alone, Kaitlin,” Dare grinds out.

Her attention shifts from me to him and then pauses there for a moment before it returns to meet mine. Her eyes are practically bouncing, they’re moving back and forth so quickly. She’s so goddamn amped up.

“I just need another hit. I’m so alone,” she says, her words coming out in a whisper. “Please. I’m sick, Coast. I took it all for you.”

And there it is. The guilt. She’s blamed me for her addiction since the moment she started to spiral. Our past is shitty, and my older sister took the brunt of a lot of it for me, especially when I was little. But I’m not going to help her kill herself.

“No, Kaitlin. Not anymore.”

She throws her hands in the air, rushing closer to me, but I don’t move. I stand my ground, my feet planted as I continue to watch her, waiting to hear what she’s going to say in a failed attempt to manipulate me to give her money. She would fucking hate me for saying it, but she’s turned into our mother.

“You owe me, Coast, and if you won’t help me, then you won’t see me again. Not ever.”

Dare steps in, his hand reaches out, and he wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her away. “You aren’t welcome here anymore, Kaitlin. You’ve stolen from your brother, from me, and from the club. No more.”

She opens her mouth, not looking at Dare, but instead focusing as much attention as she has the capability to do so on me. She opens her mouth to no doubt plead with me again, but she doesn’t get any words out. Dare tugs on her again. This time, he walks away, practically dragging her behind him.

I don’t watch where they go. I walk into the clubhouse and head straight for the bar. Dare is right. I need a fucking drink. I ask the prospect, a position I held not long ago, to keep the drinks coming.

Shot after shot.

I don’t know how long I sit there, at the bar, but when Dare walks up beside me, I swing my head around to look at him, and the room spins a bit. He frowns, lifting his hand. I feel his fingers curl around my shoulder again.

“It’s all good. I took care of it,” he states.

“Did you kill my sister?” I ask, though my words come out so slurred that I’m not sure he can even understand me.

He motions for the prospect to bring another shot glass and bottle of booze over, then takes a shot before he speaks. His words start to blend together, or maybe I’m starting to pass out, but before I do, I hear him say.

“I loved her once. Full-on loved Kaitlin Riley.”

CHAPTER

ONE

WRATH

The pungent scent of sulfur fills the air around me, swirling around my senses as it overwhelms my nose and lungs. Then a chemical burn smell replaces it. That’s the electrical, carpet-burning scent of the house that is burning down before my eyes.

My lips twitch as I watch the six-bedroom, seven-bathroom, ten-thousand-square-foot home go up into flames. The people who owned it paid three million for it. Stupid as fuck in my opinion, but who the fuck am I to ask questions?

The warm wind blows the black smoke through the air. I can’t take my eyes off it, not because it’s beautiful or anything, but it is mesmerizing. Watching something alight in flames and knowing it was me who did it, I don’t know, it just fascinates me.

“You ready?” Hippie asks me.

Turning my head, I look over to him. His long hair is pulled back into a man bun, something that makes me laugh every time he wears it this way. He looks like a fucking idiot, but I guess since he refuses to cut it, this is where we are.

“Yeah,” I grunt, clearing my throat before I take a step backward.

“The fire trucks are going to be here soon. These neighborhoods usually have a fast response time.”

He’s right.

They do.