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“Is that all you’ve got, Zane? Really? You hit like a little girl.”
Stop, I want to scream. Don’t antagonize him. Don’t be brave.
But dread overflows me when I think about speaking.
I don’t want to anger Zane even more. He might take this even further.
“A little girl, eh?” Zane snarls. “How’s this for a little—”
At first, I’m sure I’m seeing things.
Ryker is so huge, a giant carved of stone. It’s hard to believe he can move so fast.
He throws himself forward like a man possessed, ducking his head and charging forward. He moves like a bull, like the primal beast he is, reminding me of the way he unleashed himself on me in the bedroom. I’ll admit it’s a strange connection to draw, but there’s just something so downright feral and powerful about how he leaps at Zane.
Zane lets out a jagged cry when Ryker’s forehead connects with his nose.
Blood spurts and Ryker headbutts him again, as Zane throws out clumsy grasping hands and tries to get a hold of Ryker. But Ryker twists his body, crashing into Zane’s chest with his shoulder, pushing him right up against the wall.
“Motherfucker,” Zane wheezes, his voice distorted from his busted nose.
“Enough, Zane,” Ryker snarls, as he leans his weight against him, pinning him against the wall.
My heartbeat is ringing in my ears, screaming at me to do something even if there’s nothing I can do. I pull at the bindings on my wrists harder and try to shift my legs, but the restraints just bite into me, cutting into my skin.
“Fuck you,” Zane spits, his face turning red as he tries to push against Ryker.
Ryker sighs, a growling rumbling noise that comes from deep in his belly. With a whip-fast sweep of his leg, he trips Zane and sends him hurtling to the floor.
Zane lands with a heavy thump and then Ryker is on him, his knee pressing against Zane’s chest as he leans down.
“Fuck, fuck,” Zane grunts, his words coming out even more mangled.
“Don’t,” Ryker snaps when Zane makes to raise his hands. “Or I’ll crush your fucking ribcage. I’ll end you right here.”
“P-please…”
Zane’s hands drop limply.
Ryker’s arms twitch, as though he’s trying to break out of the handcuffs. But then he sighs and shakes his head.
“I should end you,” he goes on. “Not for what you did to me, not for how you tried to ruin my life. But for what you did to my woman, the words you used against her…”
“Please.” Zane’s voice stammers with a sob, as though he’s struggling to force the words past a haze of agony. “P-p-please.”
“Apologize,” Ryker growls. “Say sorry to my woman. And mean it. Or maybe I will lose my goddamn temper.”
Zane lets out a squeal as Ryker leans forward, even more, boring down with his knee like a drill about to cut right through his old business partner.
Zane twists his head, staring over at me with wide terrified eyes… probably the same way my eyes looked when he pushed the knife against my side in the elevator.
As I stare back at him, part of me wants to tell Ryker to keep going, to keep pressing down until the crack of breaking bones fills the musty basement.
But all I care about is Ryker, our future, our love, and we can’t have any of that if he’s in prison.
“I...I’m sorry,” Zane croaks. “Jesus, fuck, fuck. I’m sorry, Rosie. I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have done any of this.”
Tears brim in his eyes, sliding vertically down his cheeks.
Ryker looks at me, his face hard and spattered with blood. His eyes are clear, focused, and I can read the message in them easily. He’s asking me if I accept the apology, or if I want him to keep pushing down and break his old friend.
“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I don’t care about him. I only care about you.”
Ryker turns slowly back to Zane, lips twisted in disgust. “It’s your lucky day. Rosie, I think it might be time to scream for help.”
I nod, clearing my throat, feeling dry and raspy after everything that’s happened.
Turning to the small basement window, I yell as loud as I can.
“Help. Help. I’ve been kidnapped. Please somebody help me.”
Suddenly the footsteps which have been passing by stop. Somebody leans down, an older woman with a concerned face, the color draining from her when she sees me tied to the chair and the scene behind me.
“Oh my,” she says. “Oh, God. What happened to you, my dear?”
“Call the cops,” Ryker shouts across the room.
“Yes, yes, of course,” the woman says quickly, standing up.
I can hear a crowd gathering, voices raised, more people crouching down to peer through the window.
Twisting to face my man again, we share a look, a look full of love and connection and protection. A look that tells me I’m safe now, and Ryker will never let anything happen to me again.
