Ryker directs his attention to the closet. “Have you looked in there yet, or were you too busy sniffing the evil overlord’s panties?”
I visualize punching him.
Ryker, ignoring the glare beating into the side of his head, moves to the closet and pulls.
It doesn’t open.
“A locked door…” he muses, a wicked grin tugging up his face. “Interesting.”
I join him and peer at the knob. “There doesn’t appear to be a way for me to pick the lock. We’ll have to find a way to subtly?—”
Ryker disappears from the room without a word.
“Rude,” I mutter.
He doesn’t return for a few minutes, and I worry something may have happened. But then he appears in the doorframe, seemingly out of nowhere, and in his hands is a giant motherfucking ax.
I gape at him.
“Dude, what thefuck?”
Ryker shrugs a shoulder with feigned casualness. “Zane keeps a bunch of weapons in the trunk of the car. I think there might even be a grenade launcher there.”
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” I squint at him. He has to be. There’s no way in hell Zane got his hands on a grenade launcher. How would he even do that?Whywould he even do that?
Then again, Zane is fucking insane. Nothing he does surprises me anymore.
“Step back,” Ryker instructs, his gravelly voice scratching at my skin.
I frown. “You can’t use an ax on the closet. Aria will for sure know someone broke in.”
“But she won’t know it’s us,” Ryker points out. He shoos me away like I’m an irritating pest.
“Ryker,” I growl out.
Ryker’s lips firm, compressing into a line. “I’m done sitting on the goddamn sidelines. Ellie is…” He swallows around whatever emotion has risen inside of him. “She’s with that fucking monster. Dominic, Beckett, and Zane too. Every day we sit and twiddle our damn thumbs is another day somethinghorrible could happen to them. I’m done being fucking subtle.” A savage grin lights up his face and chases a chill down my spine. “Maybe Zane had the right idea when he said it’s time we fuck shit up.”
“I wouldn’t listen to Zane’s advice.” I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. “He’s the same fucker who told us to invest in a boat so we can hide bodies in the ocean.”
We don’t live anywhere near an ocean.
But…
Maybe Ryker—and Zane, I suppose—is right.
Maybe it is time we “fuck shit up.”
Maybe it’s time we put two more pawns back on the board.
Indecision wars within me, battling for dominance, but my need to protect Ellie wins out over practicality, as it always does.
I step back and growl out, “Do it.”
Ryker nods seriously, rolls his shoulders back, then slams the ax down on the closet door. The first swing lands with a thud that echoes through the apartment—more vibration than sound, the wood flexing but holding tight. Splinters jump from the surface, tiny pale flecks against the darker grain.
The second strike is harder. The ax head bites deeper this time, sending a sharp crack through the door. A thin fracture spreads out from the impact point, almost like a jagged lightning bolt.
On the third hit, the ax sinks in with a satisfying chunk, lodging for a heartbeat before being yanked free. The damaged section of the door wobbles, now weakened, and the panel starts to cave.
