Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Violet -- In my world, girls aren’t deemed useful for much other than to be married off, creating a tie to a rival family. I did my job. I married the man my family chose, and I got pregnant right away. Now my life is a nightmare, wondering if this is the day someone will kill me, or worse, take my son. When Caleb witnesses the abuse I live with, he gives me an ultimatum. Leave his father, or Caleb will kill the man himself. That’s when my lawyer introduces me to Quinn Devereaux, the man known as Riot. He asks me a question I’ve never heard before. What do you need, Violet?
Riot -- I was gone the first moment I laid eyes on the tiny woman with the suspicious twelve-year-old guarding her like a pit bull. She’s my service requirement assignment -- to protect her and her kid from her husband and father. Domestic abuse is never pretty, but her story hits way too close to home. I’ll watch over them, and in the end, I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent history from repeating itself. Even if it means I risk going back to prison.
Riot (Kiss of Death MC 4) deals with issues of domestic abuse that may be triggers for some readers.
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Chapter One
Riot
Community service. What a fucking joke. I appreciated the fact I needed to pay my debt to society. I did bad shit and deserved everything the judge gave me and then some. Knuckles pulled some strings and got me out on parole three years earlier than expected, and it had come with mandatory community service. My lawyer told me Knuckles had friends in high places and not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I understood. I also knew how to keep my mouth shut so I had no intention of finding out anything more.
I’d only been out of prison three days. Now they expected me to go back to the courthouse. Voluntarily. I didn’t know why, only that it had to do with the aforementioned community service.
It was three o’clock on Friday afternoon. My instructions were to wait outside in a specific area. Which wasn’t suspicious at all. I parked my bike under a tree at the back of the building and waited. As a condition of my parole, I had to carry a cell phone on me at all times. I had no trouble keeping a phone on me. The last thing I wanted was to go back to jail, so if being tied to the fucking phone meant the powers that be could track my every move, so fucking be it.
I had to chuckle. I wanted to stay out of prison, yet I was all in with Knuckles and Kiss of Death MC. An outlaw club by their own admission. Yeah, I was new and didn’t know all the guys yet, but there were two things we all had in common. First, we’d all spent time in Terre Haute. Some more than others. And second, we all knew and trusted Knuckles with our lives. Knuckles had the keys to the yard in Terre Haute. He’d been the shot caller on the inside. I thought he probably had more power in prison than most people did on the outside. If he said he could keep me safe from the probation officers with an axe to grind, I’d do what he said, when he said do it, and count my blessings.
The point being, Knuckles was the one who set me up with this particular lawyer. She’d represented me at my parole hearing, and she was the one who demanded my presence at the courthouse today. Knuckles said do what she told me to the best of my ability and without objection. The details were supposed to be given to me when we met up. Apparently, this was a rush job or something. Knuckles said she’d made a point for me to wear my colors and ride my bike. Jeans, black T-shirt, motorcycle boots, and my cut proudly proclaiming I was a member of Kiss of Death MC and that we were a one percent club. I personally didn’t like this idea, but Knuckles told me not to worry. He’d kept my ass alive in prison. Just like he had most of the other guys. No way would he toss me to the wolves now.
I glanced at my watch. Five after three. She’d told me three o’clock sharp, but I’m just the ex-con biker. What did I know about being on time?
At ten after, a little white Ford Fiesta pulled up next to me. I was leaning against the seat of my parked bike, my legs crossed at the ankles and my arms crossed over my chest. Classic badass biker intimidation pose. The windows were tinted on all sides except the front. I couldn’t see the passengers, but I recognized the woman who got out of the driver’s side.
“Ms. Thompson. Wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” I wasn’t lying. Knuckles had explained everything to me on the way to Nashville from Terre Haute, but I thought I’d have a little time to process life on the outside before I got shoved back into the legal system.
“Nothing’s free in this world, Riot. You know that.” Lana Thompson was an in-your-face powerhouse. She wasn’t the sneak attack you didn’t see coming. She was the mortar fire you heard half a mile away warning you to get the fuck out of the blast zone.
“And it shouldn’t be. I ain’t complainin’. I just wasn’t expecting my point of contact to be you.”
She gave me a superior smirk. “Oh, you and I will see a lot more of each other, I assure you. I’m the reason you’re out, you know. Well…” She shrugged. “Me and my other employer. He pays me. Knuckles gets his people.”
“Impressive. Do I want to know who your other employer is?”
“Probably not. In any case, I wouldn’t tell you. You want to know shit like that, talk to Knuckles.”
“Yeah. I’m good.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “When I asked my parole officer about my community service, he said someone would contact me. No one has. You sure this is countin’ toward my community service?”