Page 41 of Glutton for Punishment

Light footsteps echo before he can respond.

Arwen steps out from the bathroom alcove, still pale, still marked, but standing. The worst of the blood was cleaned away, though the damage remains—angry red lines across her skin, the fresh brand stark and unforgiving against her arm.

“I told you to stay the fuck away, Ryker,” she says. There’s no uncertainty in her voice. She’s just as pissed as I am.

“I’m not buying whatever game you’re playing,” She continues.

I can’t help it… I smile. It was torture watching them date. But now, we’re on the same page.

The smirk on Ryker’s face falters, then vanishes. His eyes lose their lazy amusement, sharpening as they fix on her. He takes a step forward, the polished toe of his boot scuffing against the stone floor as he closes the distance to her cell bars.

“Arwen,” he says, lower now, voice shaking. “I swear, I didn’t know—”

“Cut the bullshit.” I yell, sharp enough to slice clean through whatever lie he’s about to spin. “Don’t you dare try to play the victim, Ryker.”

Ryker’s head turns toward me, something dark and edged with warning flashing in his expression.

“If you’re here to chat,” Arwen cuts in before he can respond, “you’re wasting your time.”

She folds her arms, despite the way it pulls at healing skin; her chin lifts just slightly.

“I’d rather lick this floor clean than continue speaking with you. You can leave.”

“I didn’t come to talk,” he says. “I came to get you out,” he exhales, frustration slipping through.

Arwen frowns, not buying it. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and moves to her cell door. The metal teeth slide into the lock with a precise click that echoes in the small space. He pushes the door open just wide enough, then takes a deliberate step back, creating a careful distance between them.

“This isn’t a game,” he says, face serious. “I saw what they were doing to you in that lab. If you stay here, you’re going to die.”

A humorless laugh escapes me. “That’s a convenient shift in priorities. Planning to claim the moral high ground now?”

He ignores me, his focus locked on Arwen, who looks unsure.

“If you want her to trust you,” I continue, my tone colder, “you’ll explain what you’re getting out of this. You don’t do things out of the kindness of your heart, you sick bastard.”

That finally pulls his attention my way.

He glances toward the door nervously, then back at us with a frustrated sigh.

“There’s not much time. Listen, my father went directly against the rest of the Council’s vote for his own gain,” he says. “When this surfaces—and it will—it’s going to take him down.”

I say nothing, happy to let him continue to dig his own grave. Prick.

“If I get ahead of it,” he adds, “if I make it clear I had no part in this and fix the problem before it blows up, the Council has a reason to back me for the position instead of handing everything to my brothers.”

“So this is strategy,” I say. “Not remorse.”

His jaw tightens. “Call it whatever you want. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m your way out and we have to go now.”

Arwen’s eyes narrow. “You mean our way out.”

A second of hesitation passes before he sighs and says, “No, just yours.”

I swear her pale blue eyes turn red as rage seeps out of her.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving without him. I don’t trust you.”