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41
Ryder stood outside the back of the Spanish Villa, his motorcycle nearby with its saddlebags full.
As the weak November sun pushed through the dissipating fog, the mid-morning air carried a sense of bittersweetness that mirrored his own emotions.
It felt anti-climactic to be driving away from the tumultuous events that had unfolded last night. He looked up at the stuccoed building, remembering the glamorous interior. The servers from the night before were back, disassembling the orgy decorations and likely steam cleaning the cum out of the pillows.
He’d gotten back to the apartment after his chat with the detective, only to find Nita gone. He’d told himself it was for the best, but had texted just to make sure she was okay. It turned out she’d gone to Diesel’s place. Instead of feeling relieved, he felt empty, and despite being exhausted, it had taken more than an hour of tossing before he fell asleep.
Now, as he swung his leg over the massive frame of the Indian, his phone rang.
“Hey, Ryder,” Stone greeted in a voice that sounded as weary as Ryder’s body felt. “How are you doing? I heard you talked to the police already.”
“Yeah. Just getting ready to head out,” he answered.
“How did the cop seem?” Stone asked.
“Put out. Annoyed. I told the detective I’m leaving. He can call me if he needs to,” he replied, ready to argue if Stone wanted him to stay.
“I hear you, man,” Stone said. “Just when I think things won’t get crazier there, they do.”
Ryder gave a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, it was a wild night. But the engagement went well, despite the dead body showing up.”
“Like I said. Crazier. Thanks for talking to the cops. It’s a mess you shouldn’t have to deal with, but I’m glad you were there. Sounds like Montgomery didn’t get off as easy with the detective.”
“Yeah, that detective has got a chip on his shoulder when it comes to rich fucks like Montgomery,” Ryder said.
“And you didn’t tell him you’re a rich fuck?” Stone joked.
“I didn’t tell him any more than I had to.”
“Huh. Well, I’ll mention it to Georgia. The last thing we need is more complications, especially with Montgomery being as hot-headed as he can be. Anyway, at least your job is done. The money will be in your account by the end of the day,” Stone told him.
The mention of money should have sparked elation within Ryder, but a sense of desolation washed over him. Like it was the last confirmation that he was leaving everything from the past week behind him.
“So which route will you take to Chicago?” Stone asked, and they chatted mindlessly about the best way to get through the mountains in late November.
After Ryder ended the call, he revved his motorcycle and headed away from the luxurious villa.
He took the longer way back, pausing when a beat-up Toyota nudged out at the end of the manor’s driveway.
Hunched behind the wheel sat Detective Spencer Frank, his face sour. Ryder slowed, struck again at how much the man reminded him of Luke.
“It’s the hair,” he murmured to himself, thinking the two men must have Swedish ancestry.
Frank rolled down his window and leaned on the door.
“Please, after you,” he invited with a smirk, waving his hand with false courtesy.
Ryder revved his engine, wondering when the last the time man had taken a punch. Probably never.
“Oh no, after you,” he called above his idling engine, letting go of one handgrip to mimic the man’s gesture.
Spencer smirked and waved, then pulled onto the road.
Ryder watched his shitty car disappear around the bend, then looked around at the manor’s driveway. He thought of the various properties, wondering what might become of them if Detective Stick Up His Ass can’t bury the body, figuratively or literally.
He chuckled at that, picturing the blonde man explaining to the coroner why he’d have to doctor his report.
