Chapter 16

Tara

Ryker Hudson is unpredictable. I don't think I like it. As he runs back into his sex club, I take a deep breath and blow it out. Leaning back in the leather seat, I grip the steering wheel and stare down at my lap as I try to make a plan. The silk robe I'm in barely covers my goods. The pedal and brake both feel rough against my soft, pedicured bare feet.

This is ridiculous.

I'm leaving.

Starting the engine, I feel a slight pang of guilt. What if Ryker needs my help?

He has Dmitri and Vault, dumbass.He doesn't need a woman in a barely there silk robe and no shoes coming to anyone's rescue.

Realizing how very useless I've become, especially dressed this way, only flares my anger more. This is Ryker's fault. If he hadn't been such a controlling dicktwat and let me have my fucking clothes, I could be helping instead of running.

Now I'm really fucking pissed.

If there were flames shooting out of the windows, I wouldn't hesitate to run in there to help—silk robe be damned. But there's nothing. I didn't even smell smoke while he rushed us out of there. For some reason, it makes this situation feel even lamer. Not that I want his place of business to burn to the ground or anything, but being carried out, then instructed to sit tight while he leaves to make sure everyone's safe and handles this chaos himself, while I'm wrapped in a white silk robe in a dumb car, makes me rage.

I'm not a delicate butterfly, no matter what my temporary title is here.

Did someone pull that lever and fake a fire?

Wait a damn minute…

Did Ryker set this whole thing up to distract me and separate us again?

"Fuck this." I slam the car in drive and take off.

Twenty minutes later, I pull my, I mean Mr. Hudson's car, up to the front of my condo complex.

Garret glares at me from the front door of the building.

Great. Just fucking perfect.

Humiliation finds me wherever I go.

My stepbrother storms around the front of the car and the urge to run him over is strong enough that I have to put it in park, so I don't actually commit murder this early in the day.

"The fuck," he yells, standing at the driver's side door and attempts to yank it open. Too bad it's locked. I sit back and smile at him. He looks like a fucking idiot.

"Open the fucking door, Tara!" The heel of his palm slams against the window and my heart leaps into my throat.

Garret has a bad temper and considers himself better than everyone else. Especially me.

I suck in a deep breath and mask my expression. Confidence gets me out of jams often and I've perfected my bullshit game to where sometimes I even fool myself. Opening the car door, I hit him with it because he won't back up. "Do you mind?" One bare foot, then two, land on the cold asphalt as I climb out of the Audi.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Garret snarls, stepping back with a disgusted expression that makes him twice as ugly as usual. "You're an embarrassment, Tara."

Swallowing a million usual comebacks, I decide to flaunt past him and head inside.

"Don't walk away from me!" Garrett yells, storming after me.

Making sure my robe is tightly wrapped around me, I keep my gaze straight ahead and make it to the elevator before caving. "What are you even doing here, Garret?"

"You missed our meeting this morning. I called your cell, and you didn't answer."

"So?" My heart thuds in my chest. "That hardly warrants you coming here."

"Did you get the Greene Street property or not?"

"I decided against it."

Garret grabs my arm and jerks me. "What?" His voice is clipped. Low. Seething.

Ignoring the dizzying fear that's gripped me, I cock my eyebrow at him and calmly say, "Let. Go."

He doesn't.

"That was your last chance, Tara." His smile makes my throat tighten. "You just fucked yourself better than I ever could." His icy gaze drags down my body as he huffs a laugh. "Bet you didn't even bother to go to Greene Street, you lazy whore." His gaze rakes up and down my form. "I can only imagine how many dicks you sucked last night."

"Angry none of them were yours?" My palms are sweaty and chest aches.

His grip tightens on my arm, and he slams me against the wall. The back of my head cracks on the marble tile and his hand wraps tightly around my throat. "You stupid fucking cunt."

Two people step out of the elevator, take one look at us, and rush out the front door. No one ever helps me.

Garret chuckles because he's used to no one interfering with his temper tantrums. "You're pathetic." His mouth gets closer to mine. "I hope you get fired for sinking the deal. Hell, maybe you'll get cut off for good. Finally."

My eyes fill with tears because he's squeezing way too hard. He sees me struggling to breathe. That smug smile of his also tells me he likes it.

"If you want to keep your motherfucking hands, you better remove them from her throat."

I'm robbed of breath when Ryker casually walks towards us. He looks calm. Unfazed.

But his dark gaze is vicious.

Garret doesn't let go. "Mind your business, asshole."

Ryker doesn't hesitate. The instant he's within striking distance, he punches Garret in the back of the head. My stepbrother drops to the ground with a grunt. "She is my business," Ryker says, kicking Garret in the ribs next.

Two more hits and Garret's splayed out on the ground, face down. Ryker straddles him and uses Garret's own tie to strangle him with. My stepbrother's eyes bug out, his face turning a spectacular crimson, and he chokes with his tongue out like a fucking dog.

"When I let you go," Ryker growls, "you will apologize and never touch her again. Is that clear?"

Garret sputters and kicks his legs. "Yessss."

Covering my mouth with shaky hands, I'm terrified, angry, and relieved all at once. No one has attacked Garret like this before. It'll either put him in line or make him act out worse later.

"That's a good boy." Ryker lifts Garret off the floor with his suit jacket. My stepbrother has never looked so scared, disheveled, and pissed off before. It makes me want to take a step back, but I can't since I'm already against a damn wall. "Now what do we say?"

Garret glowers at me.

I roll my shoulders and take back a little of my power. "Yes. What do you have to say to me?"

Never mind how my knees wobble. I'm just glad my voice is still steady.

"Sorry," Garret spits out.

Ryker manhandles him out of the lobby like he's taking out the trash. Shoving him through the glass doors, he says something I can't make out, and then calmly turns around and stalks back to me again. "Are you okay?"

Yes. No.

"I'm fine."

His jaw clenches as he stares at my neck.

"I…" It's like the world stopped spinning. "Can I go up to my place for a minute?"

I don't know why I'm even asking permission. Ryker's not my master, not outside the club. But when he nods, I can't describe the relief it gives me. I click the button, calling the elevator and hate how my hands shake.

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. This is bad. All of this is so bad. Garret will retaliate, and I have no clue how I'm going to handle it.

And how did Ryker get here so fast?

The silence is deafening on the ride to the seventh floor. When the elevator doors open, we both step into my living room.

I gave Garret the code to my place a couple months ago because I needed him to swing by and pick up paperwork for our father while I was away on a business trip. I never bothered to change the code afterwards, but I do now. God, the thought of him coming here whenever he wants sends shivers down my spine.

There was absolutely no reason for that asshole to show up here today. He doesn't care about me, and he definitely wouldn't give a shit about that Greene Street property. Still trembling, I reset the passcode while Ryker watches from a short distance away. He's not speaking. Then again, neither am I. What's there to say?

Jesus, I can't believe just a few short hours ago I was having some of the best orgasms of my life and now here I am, my throat sore from being squeezed, my nerves shot, and my anger simmering in my belly.

"Who was that man, Tara?"

I don't owe him answers and I didn't ask him to step in and save me just now—even though I'll be forever grateful that he did. "I'm guessing your club isn't burning down."

"There was a small fire in one of the bedrooms from a fucking candle. It's being handled." With arms crossed over his chest, he glowers. "Who is he?"

"No one that concerns you."

"It very much concerns me." He blocks my way again. "You're mine for the next twenty-eight days."

He's counting? Anger simmers under my skin like hot coals. "I'm not something that can be owned."

"Yes, you are." Ryker steps in my way again, his hand outstretched like he wants to touch me, or grab me, or hold me down, or I don't even know what because I can't see past my tears. "You're mine to pleasure," he says in a softer tone. "And mine to take care of."

My chest cracks open, letting my heart plop out between our feet. Sure, I'm his for the next twenty-eight days, but not past that. Coming home for two seconds is a harsh reminder of what I have to look forward to when I'm no longer the Butterfly.

I'm just so grateful Ryker showed up when he did to stop Garret this time. I'm not even going to ask how he got here so fast, or how the hell he even knew where I lived. Knowing Ryker, he probably has a tracker in his car and my damn address memorized.

Ryker tips my chin, his brow furrowing as our gazes collide. "Who is he, Tara?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I want to know who I'm planning to murder." He looks serious. "But really his name doesn't matter. I just want to know who he is to you, so I know exactly how fucking brutal I should be when I get my hands on him again."

My chin trembles. I almost confess everything I've kept inside since I was twelve. Then survival mode kicks in and I toughen back up. "He's not worth the prison sentence." I brush past Ryker and go into my room, shutting myself inside until I calm the hell down.

I have twenty-eight days left with this man and I refuse to let my personal struggles influence what I want from Ryker.

God, that look in his eyes? The one Ryker wore when he came up behind Garret and punched him in the back of the head? It was the same vicious, possessive darkness he had when he thought Vault might have hurt me in the hallway.

That look.

That look!

I don't think I've ever seen someone possess such a brutal, feral, murderous gaze in all my life. I bet Ryker holds himself back from shredding the world to ribbons every day.

What has he gone through to make him this way?

The terrifyingly possessive and vicious gaze that made Ryker seem like he'd gladly bash the brains in of anyone who ever tries to hurt me, is absolutely terrifying.

Because the sickest part is…

I want Ryker to always stare at me like that.