Page 56 of Ridin’ Dirty

“I’m fine. Nothin’ a long shower and some pain killers won’t fix.”

“Don’t be bullheaded, Ri,” chimed in Nomad. “Elroy⁠—”

“I don’t know how y’all could possibly forget, but I just spent three years behind bars. If you don’t think I know how to take a beatin’ by now, I don’t know what to tell you. Not goin’ to Elroy’s. Need to find my hog and Reaper. Was staked out when I was ambushed. Barely had the chance to unfasten her before they were on me.”

“You don’t want to go to Elroy’s fine, but you are not fit to ride. Not tonight,” commanded Nighthawk with a stern shake of his head. “We’ll find your hog. You let your woman take you home, nurse those wounds.”

I barely contained the urge to flinch at his reference of me being Pistol’s woman.

I implied as much not five minutes ago—not to mention I had his ring on my finger—but hearing it like that made it all the more real.

Except, it wasn’t real.

Not entirely.

“Reaper’s with me,” I blurted, forcing my mind to focus on the matter at hand.

Pistol looked down at me, and that something in his expression came back. Only, this time, it lingered a little longer.

Was it appreciation?

Or maybe it was surprise.

I still couldn’t interpret what it meant, the dark of night making it harder for me to read, but it made me feel as light as I’d felt in days.

Remembering I was in the middle of speaking, I blinked and shook my head once before I continued, “She’s probably pissed as hell I made her stay in the car.”

Something between a knowing laugh and painful grunt sounded from the back of his throat. “Don’t doubt it,” he replied.

“It’s settled, then. One of us’ll shoot you a text when we find your ride, and we’ll regroup tomorrow.”

Content with the compromise, Pistol relayed the location where he last knew his Harley to be, and then we all went our separate ways. As we approached my Mustang, Reaper called to us in an incessant bark. She pawed at the window impatiently, and Pistol switched into dad mode in an instant.

“Pfui,” he commanded.

I had no idea what he said, but Reaper certainly did. She stopped and whined as she stared at us pathetically.

“She was worried, you know?” I murmured. “I don’t know how long it took her to find her way home; but I knew, as soon as I heard her at the back door, something was wrong. I know she doesn’t speak our language, but I understood her, and she was worried.”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I believe it. She’s my ride or die.”

Hoping to put her out of her misery, I reached for the door handle and unlatched it. It was barely open a sliver before she was forcing her way out of the front seat. She sniffed at Pistol urgently, her tail wagging hard and fast.

“Sitz,” commanded Pistol. She obeyed, and he offered her his hand, which she smelled and then licked affectionately. “Braves mädchen,” he cooed. He then gingerly lifted his arm from around my shoulders and muttered, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

After we all piled into the car, I didn’t waste any time getting off the Kings’ compound and out of their territory. Pistol and I didn’t say much to each other the whole way home. Every time I glanced toward the passenger side, I found him with his head leaned back against the seat and his eyes closed. I knew he wasn’t sleeping, and I could only guess what he was thinking, but I didn’t consider it my place to ask.

All the while, my thoughts were far from silent.

I wondered what happened next—between the Stallions and the Kings.

Sooner than later, they’d find out their missing guy, Fang, was six feet under.

Whether or not they’d be able to prove it was Pistol remained to be seen; but it seemed a pretty solid assumption the Kings wouldn’t need real evidence to have an excuse to exact revenge.

Then, of course, I had my brother to worry about.

I couldn’t get the look he gave me out of my head.