Page 5 of Ridin’ Dirty

I hesitated, but I already knew the answer. I only had one real option. I was twenty-six with still hardly more than a few dollars to my name.

I never went to college. The only work experience I had was waiting tables or sucking dick, and neither had gotten me very far. Living at the clubhouse, the girls and I were responsible for its upkeep; in exchange for our service, the Stallions made sure we were taken care of—but that didn’t mean my bank account wasn’t nearly empty.

Starting over wasn’t free.

I needed help, and there was only one place I was going to get it.

Things with Carmy were pretty bleak. I couldn’t remember the last time we talked, but he was still my big brother. Much as I didn’t want to go crawling back, agonizing as I knew it would be to admit he was even a little bit right, I didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m going home,” I admitted, wiping at my cheeks once more.

“Missoula? I thought you said your brother⁠—”

“Was an over-protective asshole?” I interrupted, shoving the last of my clothes into my bag. I nodded then began searching for my purse. “Yeah. He is.”

“So…no more Stallions?”

I tried to ignore the way my heart ached upon hearing that word. Much as I enjoyed the life and the unadulterated carefree nature of it, there was only ever one Stallion I truly wanted.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s time I get a real job. Make something of myself. I’ll be twenty-seven in a few weeks.”

“Yeah. Right,” she muttered lamely.

I winced looking over at her. Charity was pushing thirty and still chasing ol’ lady status.

“Oh, babe, I didn’t mean⁠—”

“I know.” She forced a smile.

Purse in hand, I hooked a thumb over my shoulder and said, “I’m going to do a quick sweep of the bathroom.”

I wasn’t gone long. It took less than thirty seconds to dump my makeup and hairbrush into my bag. We all shared a curling iron and blow drier. I tried not to think about the extent of what I didn’t own.

“Are you really goin’ to leave tonight?” Charity asked, still perched on the side of the bed. “It doesn’t seem right. We should get the girls together and⁠—”

“No,” I declared with a shake of my head. “Everyone will know why I’m leaving. The last thing I want is a pity party.”

“Okay.”

She stood as I strapped my duffle over my shoulder.

“Promise you’ll call?”

I made my way around the bed and pulled her into me for a hug.

“Promise.”

She squeezed me with her thin arms and whispered, “I hope you find happiness.”

Happiness.

I wasn’t quite sure I even knew what that looked like anymore. As I pulled away from my friend and waved goodbye, I knew only one thing for certain. Watching Twister love someone else was torture, and I couldn’t do it anymore—even if escaping it meant going home with my tail between my legs.

Missoula, MT - Three Years Later

The lunch rush had just passed through Route 66, the diner on the corner of Garfield and Third. Returning to one of my recently vacated tables, I picked up the check and saw I received a fifty-dollar tip. Capturing my bottom lip between my teeth, I fought a smile and shook my head.

Viv.