Chapter Twenty-Two

R yker found his mother huddling in the corner of the hidden walkway and she gave a sob and launched up. He tucked his weapon away in the back of his pants just before he caught her.

Relief choked him up and he pressed her face into his chest to muffle her sobs.

"Where's dad?" he whispered and she shook her head, clutching her fists into the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Stay as quiet as you can and head toward the garage. Marshal is waiting," he told her and eased her away, slightly urging her down the passageway.

She clutched at him, tears filling her eyes when she realized he wasn't going to go with her.

"Mom," he hissed, taking both of her wrists and shoving her slightly in the direction of safety. "Go."

She shook her head, covering her mouth with her hands. He knew leaving him would be one of the hardest things she'd ever done. They shared a bond that was born from not only being her son, but an understanding. She'd taught him the values that served him well today.

"Tell Marshal I'm taking the back passage to Dad's office. You tell him that and send him after me," he said, careful to keep his voice almost below a whisper.

Her watery blue eyes, so much like his own, searched his and she finally agreed with a shaky nod of her head.

She walked, but kept glancing back every so often until she was swallowed up by a turn at the end of the passageway.

Ryker pulled his weapon and gripped it in his hand.

Drawing a deep breath, he headed in the direction of his father's office.

"We didn't find him," a voice said.

From where Ryker stood inside the secret walls, he could only see a fraction of the room through a slit in the hidden panel.

"Did you search every level?" A smooth-sounding man with a biting tone responded. The man was standing just outside of Ryker's view.

"There's no sign of the kid."

"You're all completely useless," the same smooth-sounding voice snarled low and lethal.

"We're out of time," someone near the door urged.

"All right, let's work our way out of here," the man just outside of his vision said. The guy was definitely the one in charge.

A muffled grunt and gasp of pain sounded and Ryker squeezed his hand around the gun in his hand when his father was shoved into sight and down to his knees on the floor.

His dad's face was bloody and dark red stained the front of his pristine white dress shirt. The man just out of sight stepped closer and came into Ryker's view, but with his back to him.

He only caught sight of the back of the man's curly blond head and lean build in his black business suit. Something about the guy niggled at the back of his brain.

How many men were in the room?

Was he going to watch his father die?

The blond man crouched in front of Langston and lifted his gun to press beneath his father's chin, lifting his face upward.

Ryker's hand pressed to the panel ready to explode out and shoot them all, but when the criminal spoke, he hesitated.

"I know what you're doing," the man hissed. "And you know what I want, don't you?"

"Yes." His father's voice came muffled through bruised lips, sounding shaky.

Ryker lowered his hand when the man stood and walked out. Ryker never got a look at the guy's face, but he would have bet money he'd met the guy before. Maybe it was a disgruntled employee who worked for his father?

The more he thought, the more questions he came up with.

What the hell was going on?

Instead of launching out of the panel, he watched through the slit as his father used the edge of his desk to pull himself to his feet.

Rather than run to the phone and call the cops, Langston returned to his chair and pulled out several tissues from the box on his desk. Calmly, the man began wiping the blood from his face.

What kind of shady shit was his dad mixed up in now? Who was the guy making the threats?

And what the hell had he meant when he'd said… I know what you're doing?

All Ryker had was more questions.

Loud noises and popping sounds could be heard filtering through the estate hallways, but Ryker stayed put, watching as his dad did literally nothing but wipe at the blood on his face.

Maybe the man was in shock?

He doubted it.

His father was unflappable, unshakeable, and unfeeling under pressure. It reminded him of the time when he was about ten years old. Their family yacht had been boarded by sea pirates. Not really, but that was the story his mother had told him to keep the nightmares away.

What he remembered of that day was the cold iron control of his father in the face of possible death. He clearly remembered seeing the gun in his dad's hand, the loud gunfire sounds, and then bodies being tossed into the sea.

It might have been a few years after that incident that he realized his father was not the man he'd thought.

Robert Langston was a cold-blooded killer, an unpunished criminal with a past. A past that Ryker was sure he didn't want to know about because he'd seen enough.

But now? Maybe he should be clued in on what the fuck was going on. Would his father even tell him? He doubted it.

"Let's find out," he whispered to himself and pressed open the panel to step out of the passageway.

Robert Langston's sharp, piercing gaze caught his entry and Ryker held the man's eyes across the distance. Nothing but cold-blooded calculation and rage filled his father's eyes.

"What's going on?"

"None of your business," his dad said coldly and continued wiping at the blood on his face and then hands.

"They were looking for me and you have the fucking nerve to say it's not my business?"

The man was up and around the desk before Ryker could take a step back. Not that he would have. He braced himself and, sure enough, his father's hand connected with his face.

It fucking hurt so bad that the room whitened out. Instead of striking the uninjured side of his head, the man had backhanded him on the scars.

Pain sliced through his jaw, chin, and temple, sending him to his knees. He fell sideways from there, catching himself with his hands before dropping to the floor. The cold wood felt good beneath his throbbing cheek.

A metallic taste filled his mouth, dripping from the corner to pool beneath his cheek.

His gun had toppled to the floor with a thunk and his father reached down to pick it up just as the door to the man's office crashed open.

The access panel popped open and Marshal stepped through the opening.

The bodyguard shoved Robert Langston away from him so hard that his father slammed his ass on the floor. Marshal's strong arms were lifting him up and carrying him out of the room.

The hallway swirled and Ryker fought down throwing up.

Orders were shouted and he heard gunfire going off in another part of the house.

"Hang tight."

Were those tears filling Marshal's voice?

He must be hallucinating. He'd never heard the man have such a ragged-sounding tone before.

He wanted to comfort Marshal, but he was too worried about the bodyguard's actions.

Marshal had shoved his father and Ryker knew Robert Langston would never let that slide. Just as he'd gotten Marshal back into the house, now there was a risk of him being kicked out…or worse.

Ryker curled against Marshal, wrapping his arms tightly around the man's thick neck, clinging. If he held on tight enough, perhaps that would help. Stupid thinking, but the blow to his face had knocked his brain sideways…at least it felt that way to him.

The arm beneath his legs and the one cradling against his back tightened like branding irons of power.

The funny thing about power was that it could kill or protect.

Marshal had the kind of power that came instinctual—a power that blanketed those in need. On the other hand, his father was filled with a sinister power born out of greed.

That left Ryker with one question in particular. When his father came after Marshal, he knew he had a choice to make…

Who would he stand with?

The man he loved or the man who'd raised him?