11. 11 Ryder

Chapter eleven

11: Ryder

B etween the three of us, I thought it was going to be me who fucked this whole thing up. To my surprise—it’s Thorne. Or maybe not to my surprise? He couldn’t resist her before, and frankly, I don’t blame him. I have a hard enough time keeping my own hands to myself—something painfully clear right now as my fist slams into his face for the second time.

“He’s not fighting back. You should stop,” or so my conscience keeps yelling, but my heart is screaming, “Kill him.”

She was hurting tonight—breaking apart in front of me. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she clung to me when I held her to sleep. I might have hurt her once, physically, but Thorne? He shattered her emotionally. And now, he’s got the audacity to touch her like this?

She’s sitting up, no longer pinned beneath him, her quiet gaze fixed on me. God, she looks so fucking hot like that!

Another time, another place. Right now, we're beating up our best friend.

Blaze, always so fucking level-headed, hooks his arms under mine, locking me in place with humiliating efficiency. His hands interlock behind my neck, forcing my chin to my chest and rendering me useless. I hate it—how stupid I must look, arms suspended, anger rolling off me like a storm no one cares to weather.

“Let me go, Blaze! He deserves it.”

I love Thorne, I do. But tonight… he didn’t see what I saw. He took advantage when he shouldn’t have. Hell, if even I knew better than to touch her tonight, he damn well should have.

I thrash against Blaze’s hold, the fury burning me from the inside out. My breath comes hard, fast, stoked by exertion and rage, and yet, no amount of struggling satisfies the gnawing need to see Thorne bleed.

“I'm taking you out,” Blaze announces, no room for argument as he drags me toward the splintered door.

I’d seen him tackle it down not long ago, his rage barely contained. He’s furious, just like me, but somehow, he’s still holding his composure. That’s the thing about Blaze—he’s a volcano, pressure building beneath the surface, and when he finally explodes, it’s devastating.

I wonder what will finally make him explode?

The last time he popped his lid, the fallout was massive. I like him unhinged. But tonight, he’s denying me that satisfaction, his focus clearly elsewhere.

“This isn’t over, Thorne,” Blaze growls, his gaze sharp as a blade. “We’ll talk when everyone’s thinking straight.”

Thorne doesn’t even flinch. He just lies there—bloodied, sprawled on the floor, naked, with his limp ass dick.

She wants to fuck around? I'll show her real pleasure.

Blaze finally releases me, throwing me into my room and slamming the door shut behind him. Here we go.

“I'll kill him,” he mutters, pacing the floor, his hand rubbing his jaw as though piecing together a strategy. Blaze doesn’t go off half-cocked. His revenge is precise, deliberate—a methodical unraveling that leaves you wishing for a quicker end.

“Listen here, Popstar.” I step into his path, hands gripping his shoulders to still him before his pacing makes me dizzy. “If you wanted him dead, you should have just let me finish.”

“Not in front of her,” his head shakes, his voice edged with restraint. And he’s right—she doesn’t need to see that. “Also, stop calling me that. You know I hate that.”

“But you’re so damn pretty, just like those K-pop idols,” I grin, finding pieces of myself again now that the anger’s simmered.

Breathe, Ryder. Breathe.

“Stay here,” Blaze orders, his hand on the doorknob. “I need to make sure she leaves his room and isn’t tending to his wounds.” He rolls his eyes, though we both know she probably is.

She's too kind-hearted, even to us.

“KitKat’s definitely kneeling beside him, wiping away his blood like the angel she is.” I shake my head at the thought, my temper threatening to flare all over again. Blaze catches it, always able to read me better than I’d like.

“Why do you keep calling her that?” he asks, glancing back at me, his grip on the door firm, ready to stop me if I so much as twitch.

“Because I want to break a piece of her off and savor every bite.” My smirk widens, knowing he’ll hate my reasoning as much as the nickname.

“You're an idiot,” he shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth twitches. It’s faint, but I see it. And that small crack in his control? It eases the tension in my chest, if only a little.

I lie in bed, letting Paranormal by Nathan James & Arankai fill the silence. Their raw screams grind against my nerves in the best way, soothing the chaos in my head. Tomorrow, Victoria is mine, and I plan to be on my worst behavior. By the time the day is over, she'll know exactly what it means to come undone.

This whole arrangement has spiraled into something messy and uncontainable. Thorne’s little stunt tonight? He may as well have handed us all the green light to make our moves, to stake our claim.

I plan to leave mine inside her.

My eyes shut, but sleep comes in jagged pieces. An hour here, another there, before the first brush of sunlight pulls me from restless dreams. This time, though, I don’t drag myself from bed—bleary and reluctant. Today is different—today is mine .

With a wicked grin, I throw the covers off and stride into the shower, rinsing off the remnants of last night’s disaster. My knuckles still sting, the faint traces of dried blood swirling down the drain like a memory best left forgotten.

“He deserved it ,” I tell myself for the hundredth time. But that persistent voice, the one I try to drown out, reminds me, “ He’s still your friend.”

Thorne might’ve joined the group later, but the bond we share isn’t something you shake off. Brothers, whether we like it or not. Trauma bonds run deep—shitty parents, stolen sleepovers, late-night promises whispered between wounds. I’d fight for him, die for him. Hell, I’d probably kill for him, too.

But not today.

Today, all my focus is on her. On Victoria. On my turn.

She dug herself into me so deep, nothing, or no one, could ever replace her. Junior year I was going to make her mine, finally stop acting like a dick and make things right. As usual, I fucked it up. Trying to save her from humiliation, I gave her my jacket when she had nothing else to wear, but I'd forgotten about the drugs.

I'm the reason she didn't fly as high as she could have .

I towel off, head to the closet, and pull on a white tee, leather jacket, dark jeans, and my favorite chucks. A little pomade tames my hair into its usual effortless perfection. A glance in the mirror earns me a wink.

“Looking sharp, Ryder.” Because really, who better to hype me up than myself?

The swagger fades when I spot Thorne’s door—or what’s left of it. The mangled thing is propped against the wall, a reminder of last night’s disaster. Thorne is inside, buttoning the cuffs of a black shirt like he’s trying to piece himself back together.

“Hope you know what you started,” I toss over my shoulder as I pass. My foot hits the first stair before I hear his response.

“Good luck, Ryder. She better ask for it.” There’s an edge in his voice, a warning.

As if I’d ever force our girl.

Our girl?

Imagine that.

I don’t answer, letting the moment hang as I head to the kitchen. To my surprise, Victoria isn’t there waiting with my coffee. Instead, Blaze stands at the counter, his cream-colored sweater vest making him look like he just stepped off a K-pop stage.

“Am I getting a Blaze-made coffee today?” I ask, arching a brow as I approach.

He doesn’t even look up. “You’re a grown man. Make your own.”

Ouch . Someone’s still cranky from last night. His hair’s messier than usual, his fingers drumming a restless beat on the countertop.

“I thought you loved me,” I tease, pretending to pout. I grab a mug from the rack, only to put it back.

“You know what? I’m not making coffee. I’m taking KitKat and buying some. I feel like something cold. ”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a sharpness that demands caution.

“She’s not leaving the house,” he says, his voice low and final.

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a raised finger. “No rule-breaking, Ryder. You don’t want to lose your day, do you?”

I roll my eyes but don’t press it. “Why isn’t she down here making coffee, anyway?”

“She was still asleep when I checked.”

“And your bleeding heart couldn’t wake her?” I prod, smirking.

“Shut up, be good, make your own damn coffee, and let her wake up when she’s ready. I’m leaving.” He sets his cup down and heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

The door shuts behind him, and minutes later, Thorne joins him outside, his Corvette growling to life, leaving the house uncharacteristically empty.

Finally. Alone.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I take the stairs two at a time. My heart pounds with anticipation, the thrill building as I reach her door. Blaze can take his ‘let her sleep’ advice and shove it. I’m not wasting a second of my time.

I twist the knob and push the door open without hesitation.

What the fuck?

She’s not in bed where I expect to find her, and the grin on my face falters instantly. My eyes scan the room quickly, landing on the bathroom door. I open it, only to find it empty. My frustration tightens with each passing moment as I slam open the closet doors—nothing.

Anger simmers in my veins, an unsettling need to know where she is driving me forward. Did she slip away with Thorne? Is he hiding her from me? The thought is maddening, and before I can control myself, my fist crashes into the drywall. The soft gasp that follows sends a wave of satisfaction through me.

She’s hiding.

This is going to be fun.

“Are you hiding from me, KitKat?” I murmur, voice low, eyes scanning the room with precision as I slip my shoes off quietly, moving like a predator in search of its prey.

Then my gaze sharpens. It’s subtle, but the bed skirt is raised just a fraction, enough to catch my attention.

I grin.

“Oh, KitKat! Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I call, letting my voice hum with playful menace. I feign heading for the door, opening and closing it with exaggerated care. She can’t see me from where she’s hidden, so I press myself against the wall, silently waiting.

It doesn’t take long. She crawls out from beneath the bed, brushing off the dust with a nonchalance that only makes the thrill inside me grow. I don’t give her a moment to breathe before I move—darting across the bed, rolling, and landing behind her like the stalker I am.

One arm wraps around her waist, the other locks under her jaw, holding her head just enough to keep her from looking back at me.

“Gotcha,” I murmur, the words a low growl against her ear. I feel her shiver, the tension in her body igniting something primal in me. “That was a fun game, but I thought you knew better than to try hiding from me. I always find you, don’t I?”

There’s something intoxicating about chasing her, watching her scramble, eyes wide with panic as she tries—and fails—to outrun me. And the way she moves when she runs… it gets to me every time, making my blood rush, my body react before I even realize it.

“Who said I was hiding from you?” her voice trembles, but she tries to mask it, a faint thread of defiance still clinging to her words .

“If not from me, then who?” I question in a voice laced with dark amusement. I brush my lips along the shell of her ear, inhaling the soft scent of her cucumber-melon shampoo. “Who are you more afraid of here?”

“Thorne.”

The name rips through me like a jagged shard of glass. The mere mention of him, the thought of her fear directed toward him, has my blood turning to fire. My grip on her tightens just enough to feel her pulse racing under my fingers, her body reacting in ways she doesn’t want to admit.

They share a history, a shared trauma bond that's kept her closer to him than the rest of us. I hate to admit that he knows her best, but how could he not after having the chance to live with her for a year in a group home.

“Thorne, huh?” I force her head to tilt, my lips grazing the curve of her neck, tracing a path with my tongue. “I think you’re scared of the wrong person.”

“Why’s that?” her voice shakes, just a fraction weaker, but the bravado still lingers in her tone.

“You should be scared of me,” I growl, nipping at her earlobe before running my tongue along her jaw, each movement calculated, precise.

“You don’t frighten me, Ryder.” Her words are brave, but I can hear the deceit in them. The tremble in her body betrays her, and I know she’s lying.

Wrong answer.

I shove her back against the floor-to-ceiling windows, her body pressed to the cool glass as I hold her firmly, my palm on the back of her neck, pushing her forward just enough to keep her at my mercy. My free hand slides down her spine, over the curve of her ass—slowly, deliberately.

“You didn’t bother changing this morning, KitKat.” My voice is soft, teasing, as my fingers trace the edge of her leggings, where they should be. “Still missing your underwear.”

She falls silent, her breath coming faster now, fogging up the glass in front of her. I know that reaction. I feel the heat radiating from her, the way her body responds to my proximity.

But I’m not giving her what she wants. Not yet. Not here.

I step back, finally releasing my hold on her neck. My hands lift in mock surrender, a dark promise lingering in the air between us. “Get changed and bandage your burn. You’ve got five minutes to meet me downstairs. And Tori?” I lean in close, my breath warm against her ear, my voice a low growl. “If you make me come back up here, you won’t like what happens next.”

When I reach the door, I feel the shift in the air. She moves, realizing I'm not kidding. The disappointment is clear in her face—like I’ve left her hanging, and it’s the last thing she ever wanted.

Just wait, KitKat. Just wait.

I head downstairs, grabbing my shoes on the way out, my muscles tight with restrained energy. Leaning against the couch, I settle in, timing her. She cuts it close, emerging at the top of the stairs with ten seconds left.

I lick my lips, needing something to do with my mouth to distract myself from how fucking hard she's making me. Goddamn . She’s the one toying with me now—or at least trying to—as she slowly descends the stairs in those tight, leather leggings and that leather jacket.

No shirt beneath it. Zipped just halfway up, enough to show off the soft curve of her breasts, perky and teasing. I’m almost certain there's no bra under that jacket, either. Or underwear under those leggings, for that matter. I have to grip the back of the couch to keep from losing it, my pulse pounding as her body moves with that damn rhythm .

Chill the fuck out, Ryder. You’re the one in control.

“Any slower, and you won’t get down the stairs in time,” I taunt, raising a brow and doing my best to appear uninterested in her deliberate outfit choice.

I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to buy her those knee-high leather boots. They’re too fucking sexy on her. The click of her heels on the hardwood floor drives me insane with every step.

“Now what?” she asks, standing right in front of me.

She’s playing chicken with me—but what she doesn’t know is she’s about to lose this game, and soon.

“Now, we go for a ride.” I stand, heading for the garage, grabbing a set of keys. “Put this on.”

I toss her a helmet from the wall, grabbing mine, sliding it over my face. I flip the visor down, knowing she can’t see where I’m looking. I take a moment to savor the view of her exposed skin as she straps her helmet on.

“Good girl. Now, climb on.” I throw a leg over my silver Suzuki, patting the seat behind me. She hesitates for a second—maybe trying to find the courage to keep playing this game—but she finds it, and a second later, she’s sitting behind me, her hands leaning back against the seat instead of around me.

Ouch, KitKat. I promise I don’t smell.

“You better hold on,” I warn, my voice low and rough. “I don’t do slow, Love.”

The engine roars to life beneath us, and I push back, waiting for the garage door to open. Once it does, I shoot us out past the open gate, sending us flying down the road.

She changes her mind almost immediately, leaning forward, wrapping her arms around me instead of holding onto the seat. Her yelp tells me she's both scared and exhilarated—then it turns into a slight giggle. Fear can turn to excitement quickly, and if anyone knows that, it’s me.

I drive us down the winding path, leaning into each curve, feeling her cling to me tighter with each twist and turn. I swear she’s almost stealing the air from my lungs, but I’m not complaining. I’m in control, and that thought keeps my focus steady.

Three minutes later, I kick the stand down, turning off the engine. Before she even has a chance to move, I grab her hands, careful of her burn, keeping her exactly where I want her.

“Who scares you most, KitKat?” I ask again, the words slipping from my mouth with a deadly calm.

“I already told you—Thorne does.”

I don’t get it. I don’t understand why the most docile of us three, the one who won’t make a move unless he has to, frightens her. Maybe she’s messing with me again, just like she’s messing with me with that damn outfit.

KitKat is playing games.

“I see.”

I let her go, climbing off the bike before she can, stepping into the woods. I light the joint I’ve been holding onto, knowing it’s not good for me, but craving it too much to care. The haze it provides dulls the edges of my mind just enough to let me breathe.

“I’m giving you a head start,” I call to her, my voice gravelly with amusement. “Run as fast as you can. If you can get away from me, I’ll let you go. I’ll even keep Thorne and Blaze from finding you. But if I catch you…” I let the words hang in the air like a promise. “You’re mine.”

I watch as her brow furrows, a little line creasing her perfect nose as she tries to process.

“You don’t want to waste your head start, do you? ”

She blinks as I take another drag from my joint, holding it in my lungs until I can’t anymore, releasing the smoke into the breeze. I watch her climb off the bike, her movements measured, before she turns and starts running in the direction we came from.

Smart girl.

I watch her race into the woods, trying to stay off the main path, though I know she’s probably sticking close to it. She won’t be hard to find. I press the end of the jay to my hand, singeing it before pinching it closed, slipping it back into my pocket as I start walking toward her—slow, deliberate, enjoying the moment.

“Ready or not, here I come!” I call, with a gleam of excitement in my voice, eager for the chase. It’s been far too long since I’ve run after Victoria Reyes. And this time, when I catch her, I get to fuck her.

Run, run, my little bunny. The big, bad wolf is coming to get you.