Page 21 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

Which reminds me. “I’m going to need a phone.”

“Easy.” Bronx puts his away.

Something flutters in my belly. The In-N-Out threatens to come back up. I press my hand to my abdomen. Riot hates me. Really hates me. Nowhere near as much as I hate him, but still…

I can’t trust that he won’t act like a complete prick. I want to be ready for what I’m walking into. “Did you tell him about our agreement?”

The elevator opens into a stunning personal lobby with a huge chandelier overhead, casting its glow on rich mahogany floors and framed out gray walls. There are floor to ceiling double doors at the other end.

I’d been tired and scared last night, my ankle had been hurting bad, I hadn’t taken it all in. Hotel suites had been the norm, but this is next level with private elevator access.

“We were on our way up two years ago.” He fairly glows with pride. “And we have arrived.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” I balk as we get closer to those big double doors. Loud music comes from behind them. Wall shaking bass and Bronx’s signature beats. “Did you tell him?”

“Not about our agreement,” he says.

“I’m going to need more than that.” What exactly am I walking into? “What did you tell him?”

“That you were here.” He wraps a hand around my upper arm, using his body to block me from being able to turn around and run. Lending me some backbone.

Both doors are flung open on the party crammed inside. The music rolls over me like thunder. Almost as loud as any concert. The sea of people drinking and dancing parts and Riot Maddox appears in the space they leave.

He has a woman under each arm. They run their hands over his bare torso as he stalks toward me. Others reach out for the chance of touching a rock god.

He ignores them all. His focus solely directed at me.

He’s commanding and impossible to look away from. Black pants are slung low on his narrow hips. His chest heaves inside a leather jacket that my fingers remember the softness of. Messy, dark hair that makes women—not me, not anymore—want to dig their hands into it.

He discards the women, leaving them without a single word or look.

Those imposing gray eyes that would make any girl imagine this demon was sincere are cold and bitter and cruel. “Couldn’t find any other poor schmuck to latch onto? You had to make it one of my friends.”

“Watch yourself, man.” Bronx makes himself my shield, getting between us. “She’s here because I want her to be.”

Oh God. Did he give Riot the impression that he and I are together?

“Don’t worry, Bronx. I can see this bitch clearly, even if you can’t... yet.” Riot stalks around him to get in my face while a dozen people inside turn to watch our showdown. Converse to peep toe, he leans down until his hot breath washes over my face.

Beer, weed, and mint. What a hell of a combination. I draw back and punch him in his smug fucking mouth.

His head snaps up at the impact, the whites around his eyes visible. He touches his lip. “You psycho bitch.”

I don’t shake out my knuckles even though the impact hurt. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Bronx lets out a snort followed by a chuckle.

The volume of noise from the people inside the suite lowers. Damn, I forgot how there’s always an audience everywhere these guys go.

Riot straightens. “You might have gotten your claws into Bronx. He’s always been a big softie. But I’m not as forgiving. And I’m not going to let you fuck up L.A. Riot. Stick around, and you’ll wish you never laid eyes on any of us.”

“I already wish I never laid eyes on you.” Head held high, I walk into the suite like I own the whole damn world while my insides are tumbling like butterflies.

Welcome to hell, kid.

8

Riot