Chapter 24

Tara

I'll admit, I have a short temper. I let things pile up until something finally makes me snap and then I lose my shit about everything. So, when Ryker had the audacity to walk away after what he said, I did the first thing that came to mind.

I threw a dildo at his head.

Hey, it was the closest weapon within reach. And it's still in the box, so it's perfectly reusable.

Ryker pitches forward when the box makes contact with his skull, and the impact is loud. My heart hammers in my throat when he slowly turns around and glowers at me.

If looks could kill, someone would be reading my obit online right now.

Oh well. I don't care. He's making me crazy. Thrusting my chin out, I scowl back and put my hands on my hips.

"You're going to pay for that, Butterfly."

I hope so. I hope he spanks my ass until I can't sit. "Well, if you're going to act like an asshole, I'm going to treat you like one."

I enjoy about two seconds of pure satisfaction until I'm suddenly stumbling backwards because of how fast he comes storming over to me.

"So. Fucking. Naughty." His aggressiveness overshadows any dominance I've gained as he backs me against the bench. "Do you know what happens to bad girls in my club, Butterfly?"

His mouth is incredibly close to mine, and that burning intensity is back in his eyes. Will he rail me hard enough to make me boneless again? Will he teach me a lesson in manners with spankings and forced orgasms? I want that Ryker back. No, I need that Ryker back. The one who maneuvered me into our suite after he beat the shit out of Dmitri. The one who pinned me at my apartment and fucked me until I couldn't breathe. My body unfurls and mouth waters thinking about it.

Being used like a fucktoy is addictive. Getting fucked by a machine unlocked a new kink. Having Ryker as my partner is going to be my undoing. There's a reason he picked this room, and it has nothing to do with me and a lot more to do with him. I want to know more.

I'll get it out of him even if it breaks me to do so.

"What happens to bad girls, Sir?" Because I'm going to be the best bad girl in this motherfucking club.

His eyes roam over my face and finally lands on my mouth. I want him to kiss me. Why hasn't he done that yet? Tipping my head back, I sweep the tip of my tongue along my lips to dampen them. His hold on my waist tightens while he watches.

"You will not enjoy it, I assure you."

I arch my brow. "Try me."

Huffing a little laugh, Ryker pushes away from me, leaving me cold where I'd just been burning. "Get your ass up to our suite, Butterfly. This scene is over."

???

His punishment leaves me wanting.

Literally.

I expected him to fuck me hard and mercilessly up in our suite. Spank me. Shove his cock down my throat until I gag. Something.

Instead, I'm left with this ache between my thighs and a sinking sensation in my belly that resembles rejection. I'd completely forgotten we were meeting someone at nine tonight, but Ryker hasn't. We got to our suite, and he headed straight for the shower. I shamelessly pressed my ear to the door, hoping to catch him jerking off, but I couldn't hear anything other than his music playing. He got out and dressed in a suit that Dmitri hung outside our door for him.

The drive was dead silent, too. Hell, I'm shocked he even took my hand to help me out of the fucking car once we arrived at our destination, which is a dilapidated night club.

"You will not speak, Butterfly. And you will keep your eyes cast to the floor at all times unless I give permission otherwise. Understood?"

My mixed emotions swirl in my gut, making me queasy. "Yes, Sir."

I know what anger feels like—both from the receiving and giving end. Ryker's attitude makes me believe he actually loathes me and, somehow, that's a million times worse. Maybe this is my punishment for talking back, for challenging him, for pushing the idea that I might very well like whatever depraved shit he has in his mind.

Fine.

He wants to play. I'll play.

I'm no stranger to being seen, not heard. In my line of business, I'm usually the only female in the conference room, which means I go unacknowledged and underestimated often. I prefer it that way. It's better than being the center of some old man's attention and undervalued as the powerhouse I really am.

He places his hand on the small of my back, ushering me through the red double-doors, and we're met with the stench of stale cigarettes and cheap leather. As far as night clubs go, this one seriously sucks. I don't even think it's running anymore.

Without saying a word to each other, Ryker brings me into the back, through an impressive sized kitchen, down a flight of steps, and into a small room. My heart's pounding at this point. Where the hell are we going? What kind of meeting has to happen in a room this far removed from the land of the living?

I squeeze his hand nervously. Ryker looks over at me, his tone calm and low when he says, "I'd never bring you someplace that wasn't safe, understand?"

I hear what he's saying, but I don't trust him. I don't even know him. Everything he says and does is contradictory.

It makes me want to bolt.

Ryker knocks on another red door three times before opening it.

Holy. Shit. There's a whole different club in this basement. This one is leaps and bounds better than the version we just walked through. Music pumps through the overhead speakers, and the entire place is low lit with the warm scents of vanilla, cigars, and something sweet like cherries. Plush leather seating arrangements are everywhere, clustered in groups of four and six.

Ryker leads me to the back of the massive room where a man in a white t-shirt and jeans smokes the cigar I smell. He stands when we approach and Ryker growls, "Eyes to the floor, Butterfly."

Gritting my teeth, I do as he says.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit." The man laughs. "Mannn, I wish I'd known it was date night."

"Shut it, Knox." Ryker slides into the booth first and then pats the leather cushion, signaling for me to sit next to him.

It makes me feel like a dog.

I obey anyway.

Ryker's hand rests possessively on my thigh. "Dmitri couldn't join us."

"Guess that's why D ain't here, huh?"

"Something like that," Ryker says.

I stare at the mahogany table. It's nice quality. Everything in here looks brand new from what I've seen so far. What the hell?

"You gonna introduce us, Ry?"

Ryker grips my leg a little more. "Tara, this is Knox."

"Hey, sugar."

I don't respond. It makes me feel awkward and powerful, which is such a weird combo.

"Ah," Knox says, chuckling. "I get it. Well, then, let's get down to business so you two can do whatever the fuck you two are doing."

While they start talking about construction, permits, people and contracts, I study the tattoo on Ryker's hand. It's a monarch butterfly with wings spreading across the top of his hand, the antennae twirling while the lower part of the body morphs into a skull. The bottoms of its wings drip down towards his wrist like poison. His veins are pronounced and disappear under his dress shirt where I know there's more ink.

"—need at least another five hundred thousand."

"What?" Ryker lifts his hand off my leg and rests it on the table. "That's more than we projected."

"Inflation's a bitch, man."

"What about another loan?"

"I'm tapped out. It's why I asked you and D to both be here. If we split it, we can cover the rest easy."

"We've already given you more than enough to cover it, Knox."

"Yeah, but that was before I had to pay off the taxes my pops owed, plus two permit officers to grease the wheels so I could get the liquor license rushed. I've also had to deal with an outsider influencing my old man."

"Who?"

"Someone from Brisbane Realty."

Ryker stiffens, and his reaction makes me edgy. "The fuck do they want?"

Knox shrugs before leaning back in his seat. "They've offered Pops a lot of money to sell this place to them under the table."

"Shit." Ryker swipes his mouth. "Did he accept?"

"Not yet, but he's given me a deadline. If I can't make the necessary changes to the club and have it up and running in the next sixty days, he's selling it to them." Ryker curses and Knox puffs on his cigar. "What a kick in the fucking balls, right? He's not giving me a lot of time to work with here."

"He's given you an impossible deadline, just to make you fail so he can get rid of it." Ryker blows out an angry breath. Then I feel his eyes on me. "Butterfly. How about you go grab us a couple drinks from the bar?"

Being called Butterfly sounds less and less like an endearment each time he fucking says it, too. I want to slap him. I'm not a server, nor am I his lap dog. But I obey if only to give myself a minute to let what they've said sink in. "Yes, Sir."

Sliding out of the booth, I tense when Ryker adds, "On your hands and knees."

I'm going to kill him.

Biting back my fury, I sink to the floor and do as he commands. The worst part about it is, I know how good I look and I'm certain he's watching. He said I fascinated him before. Let's see if I can annihilate him now.

I crawl like a cougar towards the bar and hear Knox say, "Damn, she's got an ass for days. Bet it's nice and ti—"

"Finish that sentence, and I'll cut your tongue out of your big fucking mouth."

I had no idea threats could be such a turn on until this very moment. Once I reach the bar, I get up and wrap my hand around the closest bottle of booze.

Grey Goose Vodka.

Snagging two crystal glasses next, I dump some ice into each, pour three fingers worth of vodka, and finish them both with a lime. If they don't like it, tough shit. Keeping my gaze on the floor ahead of me, I return, on my feet, and slide their drinks across the table. Though my eyes are still cast down, my brow arches when I ask, "Anything else you need from me, Sir?"

My question's loaded and we both know it.

I bet Ryker needs a lot. I bet he needs me.

You fascinate me.

He snaps his fingers. "Sit."

I'm going to kill Ryker when we get out of here. Head down, I drag my tongue across my teeth and slide back into the booth. The dress I'm wearing is a black Armani from last season and it suddenly feels too tight and hot. My red sole ankle-straps are also hurting my feet but are worth wearing when I make sure to step on Ryker's foot as I adjust my dress in the booth.

He grunts, but makes no other move to escape my painful, silent "fuck you".

It's one thing to be someone's sub, but I'm not sure that's what I am here. And the fact that they're talking about my family's business makes me queasy. My stepfather isn't in the market for clubs. And if he's changed his mind without letting me know, that's bad news for me. I have a lot of questions that I won't ask Knox, like who came to him and what the offer was, because Ryker still has no clue that's my family's company, and I'm only here as eye-candy apparently, not a business advisor.

Knox takes a hefty chug of his drink and smacks his lips. "Fuck, that's good."

Ryker doesn't touch his at all.

"Not to bring up more old history, but uhhh," Knox puffs on his cigar again. "I heard Greene Street was up for auction."

"I know."

"'Bout time. I hope they level that p—"

Ryker's on him in an instant, grabbing him by the throat and slowly shakes his head.

Knox puts his hands up, and Ryker lets go, grumbling, "We have to leave."

"Wait." Knox's brow furrows. "We didn't even have dinner yet. I made your favorite."

"We're not hungry. Let's go, Butterfly."

Knox smacks the table. "Damnit, Ry. What the fuck's gotten into you."

"We're done." He shoves me gently, signaling me to get up and out of his way. I'm shocked when he takes my hand and laces our fingers together once we're both standing. "I'll tell Dmitri about all this, and we'll work something out." His tone softens again. "I won't let you lose this place, okay?"

I sneak another peek and catch Knox staring at the two of us like we just kicked his puppy. "You're really not going to stay and have a bite?"

"Can't." Ryker clears his throat. "The club's in full swing and I have to get back to it."

While I'm led out of the nightclub's little speakeasy in the basement, my mind reels with questions.

What does Brisbane Realty want this place? Why didn't my stepfather tell me the company was expanding its portfolio to include nightclubs? How will Knox be able to pay for the renovations if he's already tapped out and coming to Ryker and Dmitri for money? How long have they known each other? And why on earth did the mention of that property on Greene Street make Ryker so volatile?

That dilapidated apartment building means something to him. It's more than a shitty, cheap piece of property to invest in. It's personal.

Personal enough to make a deal with me.

Personal enough to make him attack his friend.

Personal enough to make him shut down.

I suddenly have a burning desire to crack this man open and see what spills out.