“We could kill him politely.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
Instead of running—like I would if threatened by a furious Dom and a smiling Zane—the stranger tosses something into the room. At first, I think it’s a bomb, and panic and fear war for dominance.
When Beckett steps forward, his brows furrowed, I want to slap him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I reach for his arm and desperately try to pull him away. Because if it is a bomb, he’s a damn idiot for getting close to it.
Then again, I’m not leaving the room either. I don’t care if that means I’ll go up in a fiery explosion. I won’t leave my guys behind.
Beckett’s eyes light up, and a grin unfurls on his lips. Without a word, he grabs the mysterious object, tinkers with it, then waves it around the room.
Umm…?
Has he lost his mind?
I joked about it before, but now I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some truth to it.
Beckett moves the indecipherable object over every surface and then declares cheerfully, “We’re clear. No bugs.”
“I thought we already checked for bugs.” I furrow my brow.
“We physically checked,” Dom tells me. “But this device allows us to scan for them.”
The stranger gracefully leaps into the room, landing in a crouch. At first, I’m confused, especially when my guys don’t start freaking out and, you know,murdering him, but then a shock of electricity races through me. It feels like I’ve been struck with a lightning bolt.
I know that crouch.
I know that body.
I know that man.
We’re soulmates, after all. I would recognize him anywhere. My soul calls to his across the entire godforsaken world. His…and four others’.
Ryker removes his mask with an irritated flick of the wrist, like he hated every second of having the cold plastic on his face.
“Didn’t want to show myself until we knew for sure the room was clear,” he explains. Despite his words being addressed to the others, his ice-blue eyes don’t waver from my face. I always thought Ryker had the most beautiful and unnerving eyes of any of the guys—even more than Landon’s and Beckett’s eyes, which are the most unique. But Ryker’s? They’re a color I would best associate with glacial landscapes and snowy mountains. Yet they always seem to burn when they stare at me, smoldering with an unencumbered intensity. Maybe “icy” is the wrong word. Maybe they better resemble the core of a gas flame when it reaches unimaginable levels, when the orange transitions into a cobalt blue that flickers and dances.
“That’s smart,” Dom says, either oblivious or choosing to ignore the staring contest Ryker and I are participating in.
“Here.” Ryker still doesn’t pull his gaze away from me as he reaches into his back pocket and grabs…a handful of chocolates?I must make a face because his lips twitch momentarily before he says, “Trackers.”
“Come to daddy,” Beckett coos, practically lunging for them. I wouldn't be surprised if he started to stroke them the way you would a beloved pet. A part of me wants to be jealous, but it’s so fucking cute to watch him get a boner over technology.
But then I push all thoughts of Beckett to the wayside as Ryker stalks toward me, each step slow and purposeful.
“Um…” Zane enthusiastically waves a hand in the air. “Are you two going to perform the horizontal tango? The Fiddler and the Ho? The Jack and the Cockstalk? The Titandick? The Shawskank Redemption? The?—”
Ryker ignores Zane completely and pushes me into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He keeps his back pressed to the wood even as he reaches up and locks it.
“Ryker,” I breathe, feeling weak at the knees and dizzy. He’s staring at me so intently that my nerves get the best of me. I find myself babbling with no way to stop. “Is everyone okay? How’s Landon? Frodo? My uncle? How mad are they? And by they, I mean Landon? How did you know we were here? How?—?”
He continues walking, walking, walking until I’m forced to counter each one of his steps forward with a tiny one backward. I find my back flush against the bathroom wall, my chest heaving with an alarming combination of arousal and fear. Not fear of him, per se, but fear of his intensity. Of the darkness swirling in his blue eyes.
“Landon’s okay,” he rasps out. “Pissed, but he’s beginning to understand that you didn’t have a choice. Frodo is with him now, curled up on his lap. I don’t give a fuck about your uncle, but he’s alive. And I knew you were here because I’ll always know where you are. Always.” He slams his hands down on either side of my head, bracketing me in. His chest brushes against mine as he leans in close. “I’ve made a decision, baby.”
“A decision?” I practically whimper, my gaze locking on his expressive mouth. This close, I can see a tiny white scar bisecting his bottom lip. I’ve never noticed it before, but now, I want nothing more than to kiss it. Nibble on it. Soothe the ache away with my tongue.
