Page 6 of Ballad of Rioting Hearts

I sit bolt upright, gasping for air. My heart is hammering against my ribs. I scan the dark while I fumble to turn on the lamp. My whole body is shaking, dreading the moment Marco steps out of the darkness.

It doesn’t happen.

The light illuminates the room. The bed is soft underneath me, the covers cozy. My whole body hurts, which is probably the pain my mind turned into an exploding pillar. Because Marco was here. He did find me. He tried to take me, and he threatened the people I care about.

But he’s not here now. He can’t get to me surrounded by Rook’s security team and my guys and the rest of the crew. Right? As vigilant as they must be after the attempt, there is no chance of him sneaking past them. Rook reassured me of that.

And I am okay. Battered. Bruised. But physically okay.

Sam checked me over. He said I was lucky. Most of my injuries; the black eye, the lump on the back of my head, the red handprints—that are already edged with blackening bruises—around my throat, and the many other bruises coloring my flesh are superficial. It’s quite likely I have a concussion. The ache in my head almost guarantees it.

Forcing myself into trying to take several long, steadying but painful breaths, I turn to the chair beside my bed. The one Riot pulled up to the side of my hotel bed while I was unpacking my bags when we arrived.

Because he’s taken to keeping a vigil over me. Watching over me by the dim light of his phone screen until he falls asleep.

The chair is vacant. There’s no rectangle of light, and the weight of his feet resting on the mattress is missing.

He didn’t come back to the hotel. He’s with her tonight. His new fiancée. He chose her. Again. I don’t need to know the details. The why or how of it all. He wasn’t there when I needed him. Again.

That cuts so fucking deep. I’d told him... I’d told us both... he was unforgivable, so why does it hurt more than when I caught him cheating on me? Why am I such a sucker for him? I wipe at my lower lashes. This is the last time I’ll hope for more from him. The last time I’ll let him hurt me. I will never let my guard down around him again.

“Are you okay, Scary Girl?” Kodiak murmurs as he runs his fingers lazily up and down my lower spine. He hasn’t left me. His side of the bed has been sunken in and warm every night since we started this routine of sleeping together.

Riot is glaringly absent tonight. But Kodiak is steady and constant. He is my rock. I have offered him nothing and he sticks to my side. His presence immediately soothes my jangled nerves. My chest loosens and my breathing slows. What would I do without him? “I’m fine. I had a nightmare. You can go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” He turns on his side to watch me when I lie back down. His big hand covers my belly. “You need anything? Water? More pain meds? An ice pack? Or a heated wheat bag?”

No, I don’t need to know what the hell happened tonight that Riot and Sonatina are engaged. Anything between the two of us is done and dusted. “Stay with me?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” He has no idea how much I need to hear that. Kodiak makes it easy to feel safe. He’s sweet and gentle and caring in all the ways that I need right now.

His hand moves over my belly with small, comforting strokes. Slowly, sluggish butterflies unfurl in my core. They make my skin tingle in the wake of his fingers. It’s something to focus on that isn’t Riot. Or Marco. And I need that, desperately.

His fingers move from my belly up to my sternum before trailing down to the waist of my pajamas in lingering, absent-minded strokes. The rough, hard-earned calluses of a man who knows his way around a stringed instrument create sparks under my sensitive skin. Up and down his fingers and those sparks go. My breath goes along with them. I inhale with each upward caress. Exhale by the time he reaches my navel. My breath hitches the lower he goes.

The lower I want him to go. The more I want him to block out all the aches and pains. In my body. In my heart. “Orgasms are better than any pain meds.”

He stills. I feel his eyes roaming my face. “Is that what you want?”

I just want to feel... I don’t want to hurt this much. Not physically because of these bumps and bruises. And not because of Riot either.

“Tell me what you need, Scary Girl,” Kodiak says.

“Make me come,” I whisper.

“You have no idea how much I want to do that,” he says. “But are you sure it’s what you really need right now?”

“Yes.” I don’t want to think. Or worry. Or face reality. I just want to shut it all out.

“Then let’s get you off.” Sliding his fingertips under the waist of my pajamas, he slowly eases his whole hand inside the elastic of my panties and over my mound.

I melt for him when he skims my clit with a featherlight touch. Heat loosens my core and makes my flesh slippery under the finger he glides along my seam. I let the sensation carry me away.

The tip of his finger digs shallowly into my entrance with each swipe. His palm grinds down on my clit, and I give myself over to the feeling. He presses a kiss to my shoulder when he pushes up to the knuckle.

My hips shift, needing more. Wanting him to rock my world. Annihilate it. Change it. Sever the bond between me and Riot once and for all. Like I should have done in the two years we were apart.