Riley Grazer Novels & Stories

Riley reminds me and informs the others in the room who don't know. Humming in response, Riley continues; "All of us in this room are members, Patch holders and hold positions in a motorcycle club called 'The Gray Rebel's."\ Jerking in surprise as I turn my head to look at him; "Y-you g-guys are in a-a g-g-gang?"

And right now looking through the yards and seeing guards training,she couldn't wait to get refreshed. Riley pierce the specialist and as the boss like to call him ”VORTEX”. He was the clan's most talented hacker. One time he had hack the Rome's biggest bank just to get back at the president for his hate speech about blacks. Yeah,he was a dark guy. So what??... He's just a Canadian.

Berry felt ice slide down her spine. "How do you know about Riley's connection to Jezza?" Berry asked carefully. "I do my research on everyone, especially people who live in my space." Cossy stood up and walked slowly toward the kitchen. "Riley Chen, twenty-six years old, runs an art gallery in SoHo. She spent the last three years in Europe, and before she left, she was completely inseparable from Jezza Clarksville, daughter of Harold Clarksville who runs Phantom Tech where you work."

To my left was the High Editor of TTQ, and to my right was one of the Grand Judges of the Council: Mark Whittaker. Riley’s heart nearly stopped. Whittaker was the very male she had scented and bedded to secure her award. Seeing me seated next to him filled her with a toxic cocktail of guilt and territorial rage. How does she always end up on the high ground? she wondered, her palms slick with cold sweat. "Riley, you’re shaking," Blake noted, reaching for her hand. "It's nothing," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just the excitement of the hunt."

I asked quietly. And he let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck again (habit, I guess) like he was debating how much to say. “There’s this girl named Riley I know. She’s… kind of a big deal around here. She’s in a band and plays the guitar. They perform at a couple of spots in the city sometimes.” I raised an eyebrow. “Her music must be good, then.”

Dangerous. “Locker room’s one thing. This?” He gestured vaguely at the three of them. “This is different. You both know that.” Before anyone could answer, the tunnel door banged open. In walked Riley — the 20-year-old rookie winger they’d called up two weeks ago. Lanky, baby-faced, wide blue eyes, still carrying that new-dog energy. He froze when he saw them. “Uh… morning, boys. Coach said optional but I figured—”

She shook this awful feeling off, like something just happened between them that could not be repaired and went inside to start getting ready. Riley decided to wear a jean pencil skirt with a slit in the front and a black tank top tucked in with a black cardigan. She left her hair down in waves and didn't apply much makeup as she wanted a more natural look. She grabbed her phone and keys and left the house, heading out to the pack house.