Page 54 of Ridin’ Dirty

When Carmy wound himself up for another blow, this time with a closed fist, I lost my mind for long enough to come unglued from where I stood.

Without second guessing myself, I bolted across the room, pushing my way past anyone who stood in my way. It didn’t matter how little we knew each other. I didn’t care that he wasn’t mine and I wasn’t his in all the ways that mattered. All I could think about was Pistol’s handsome face, now so bloodied and bruised I could hardly recognize him—and nobody was doing anything to stop it.

Not Nighthawk. Not Cobra. Not even Pistol.

Whatever tactical strategy these men were playing, I couldn’t take it anymore.

But I could put an end to Pistol’s torture, and so I would.

“Lyla!”

As I hurried across the room, I didn’t bother registering which Stallion was calling my name in warning. Neither did I cower in fear of my brother.

I knew he wouldn’t hit me.

I knew it.

“Stop!” I cried, catching his elbow with both hands and yanking with all my might.

I wasn’t at all surprised when he shrugged me off with ease. Anticipating I would be no match against him, I took advantage of his pause and threw myself into Pistol’s lap, wrapping my arms around him as I shielded his head with my own and yelled, “Stop! He’s my husband, Carmy! Stop—can’t you see you’ve made your point?”

I braced for the worst, sealing my eyes closed tight as I curled around Pistol, uncertain what to expect at my admission.

A moment of silence passed, and then another. I then heard it as Carmine took a shuffling step back. I knew Pistol heard it, too. I was sure of this as I felt him go slack in my arms, leaning into me, like the well of his bravado had run dry.

My heart was pounding fast in my chest, and I realized I was practically panting. Without letting go of Pistol, I peered over my shoulder and found my brother staring at me, a blank expression on his face.

“Untie him,” Nighthawk said. I didn’t break my stare with Carmine as the Stallion continued, “We didn’t come here to start a war, but you’ll have yourself a fight if you don’t let him go. Now.”

“You’re here,” replied the King who spoke earlier. “Means you got our message. You can have your man back when you give us ours.”

It was hard to say what could possibly come of this exchange. What the Kings wanted was impossible; and while I knew they’d never admit it, the Stallions didn’t have much more than their poker faces to stand on.

But while I found myself quite literally in the middle of their club drama, their conflict wasn’t what was making me anxious. I was still short of breath, and my heart rate had yet to come down, the unspoken conversation between Carmy and me as gut wrenching as if we were yelling at one another.

“We don’t have your man, and it’s not our job to keep tabs on your people. You lost him, you find him. Keep us out of it.”

“You expect us to believe that horseshit?” called a new voice. “This fucker’s not back two days and Fang goes missin’. No way that’s a coincidence.”

Even though I was barely following the back and forth, I knew this fucker meant Pistol—the man whose breath was tickling the back of my neck. Suddenly, it was beginning to sink in what I had done and who I did it for.

My blue eyes fixed on Carmy’s with my arms wrapped around Pistol, I knew I hadn’t merely told my brother I tied myself to one of his rivals. I’d unequivocally and irrevocably picked a side.

More than that, I didn’t regret it.

It was stupid. Oh, it was stupid—but for the first time since I moved back home, I was finally standing up to my brother, sending a message of strength rather than surrender.

I had a purpose. Whatever my marriage lacked in love and commitment, it made up for in protection.

I was Riley Well’s shield, and there was something incredibly badass about that.

“You got proof?” Nighthawk argued. “Cause I’m standin’ right here, lookin’ at one of mine, beat to shit by one of yours—that’s fuckin’ proof.”

Finally, Carmine broke our stare and aimed his glare at the Stallion.

“That’s grounds for retaliation,” grumbled Nomad.

“Got that right,” seconded Cobra.