Chapter 13 #2
But not easy.
Ghost doesn’t speak, just shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie and keeps his eyes on the cracked pavement. Like he doesn’t want to be part of what’s coming but already knows how it’s gonna end.
Me?
I’m not scared. Not really.
But my pulse is steady and loud, and my feet start dragging a little the closer we get.
And then I see him.
Leaning in the doorway like he was carved there—arms folded, face shadowed, one boot planted against the frame like the concrete was holding him back.
Riot.
That swing-light overhead paints him in flashes—rage, restraint, and something else. Something worse.
Ghost slows, mutters, “Sin—”
“I got it,” I say, jaw tight.
“You sure?”
I shoot him a look. “What’s he gonna do, ground me?”
Ghost raises both palms in surrender and backs off, muttering under his breath like he’s already praying for me.
We step inside. The second Riot lifts his head and sees me, the air changes.
His jaw’s locked. That tick in his temple is back. His nostrils flare once, slow and sharp.
Ghost lifts his hands. “She found me. I just thought I'd walk her back.”
Riot doesn’t even blink. Just gives a nod—get out.
The second Ghost dips out and the door slams shut behind me, I know I’m in deep shit.
Riot’s standing there, arms crossed, jaw clenched, heat rolling off him in waves like he’s been standing in the center of a fuse waiting to blow.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t need to.
That look—the one that could stop a freight train dead in its tracks—is aimed square at me, and it says one thing: You’re mine, and you fucked up.
I lean my shoulder against the wall, all casual defiance. “What? No welcome-back kiss?”
His head tilts slightly. Dangerous. Deliberate.
“You left.”
I shrug. “I got bored.”
“You disobeyed me.”
“Again,” I say, flicking an imaginary speck from my sleeve, “bored.”
He steps forward and the air shifts.
I don’t move, but my body goes tight. Alert.
Because Riot Carter doesn’t just walk toward you. He descends.
Towering, broad, carved from violence and bad intentions. Dark hair wild from the wind, a slash of stubble across his jaw, that scar running down his collarbone barely hidden beneath the stretched black shirt clinging to every muscle in his chest.
He’s heat. Fury. Chaos in a cage.
And when he gets close—close enough that I can feel the raw power of him radiating off his skin, I feel my pulse spike like I’ve been marked for death.
Or worse—for him.
“You really think this is a joke?” he growls, voice rough as gravel. “You think walking out was some cute power move?”
I smirk, even as the heat coils low in my stomach. “I think you like the chase.”
His hand slams the wall beside my head, cage tight around me.
“You fight everything,” he spits. “Every order. Every command. Every fucking look I give you. You can’t take a step without testing how far I’ll let you go.”
I smile sweetly. “Isn’t that half the fun?”
His other hand grabs my jaw, forcing my head back until I’m staring straight into those storm-filled eyes. They burn. Alive, and untamed.
“Wrong,” he growls. “You’re not here to play with me, Stray. You’re here because I allow it.”
My thighs clench around nothing. Fuck.
There’s a buzz under my skin that lights up every time he says that name. Stray. Like I’m something wild he caught but hasn’t decided whether to keep or break.
“I don’t take orders,” I whisper, lips barely brushing his.
He squeezes just a little harder, jaw tight, chest rising and falling with restraint he’s two seconds from losing.
“You will.”
He crashes into me then, lips hard and fast, hands gripping my hips like he’s staking his claim. My back slams into the wall, and I gasp into his mouth, nails digging into his shirt just to hang on.
His thigh forces between mine, and I grind down on instinct.
“You walk out again,” he snarls against my throat, dragging his mouth along the skin just beneath my ear, “and I’ll chain you to this fucking wall. Let the crew hear you scream while I fuck every ounce of defiance out of you.”
I moan, sharp and involuntary, and he grins against my skin.
“There it is,” he breathes. “You mouth off all day, but one touch and you melt.”
“You’re not that good,” I pant.
He yanks my hair back and forces me to look at him. “Liar.”
And fuck me, maybe I am.
Because the truth is—when Riot touches me, I burn.
His hands are rough, calloused from rides and fights and a lifetime of damage. His body? All heat and sharp edges. Built to crush. Built to destroy. And right now, every inch of him is focused on me.
My heart’s hammering.
My body’s betraying me.
And I still can’t stop.
“Go ahead then,” I hiss. “Show me.”
His smirk is pure sin.
“Oh, I will,” he says darkly, his hand tightening around my throat as he starts backing me toward the bed. “You want to fight me like you’re not already mine?” he growls. “Fine. I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”
And then I’m off the ground.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing—one arm under my thighs, the other still around my throat—and slams me harder against the wall so hard the drywall cracks.
My head falls back with a gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. He’s everywhere—heat, muscle, and anger caged in skin. His biceps flex as he holds me up, his body wedged between my thighs, cock already grinding hard against my core through denim and cotton.
“You think I won’t fuck you right here?” he snarls, dragging his mouth along my jaw. “Up against this wall while every piece of shit in the building listens?”
“Do it,” I pant, breathless and burning. “Or are you all talk?”
He bares his teeth.
Then he rips my underwear clean off.
I yelp at the sound—at the feeling—legs instinctively locking tighter around him.
“Keep mouthing off, Stray,” he breathes, voice rough against my throat. “All you’re doing is begging me to break you in.”
I don’t get a chance to answer.
Because his hand slides between us and unfastens his belt with a brutal kind of precision. There’s nothing slow about it. Nothing gentle. He gets his cock out, thick and hot and already leaking at the tip, and without warning—
He slams into me.
Hard.
I cry out—raw, loud, unfiltered—and he swallows the sound with his mouth, tongue forcing mine into submission as he thrusts deep and fast, every motion like he’s trying to bury himself so far inside I’ll never be able to think straight again.
And maybe I won’t.
Because fuck, he feels good.
Thick. Veiny. Stretching me to the point of pain—and god, I want that pain.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so he can watch my face as he fucks into me, rough and punishing.
“That’s it,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to memorize every twitch, every gasp. “Look at you. Look what I do to you, Little Stray.”
My nails rake down his back, dragging red lines across his skin, desperate to hold onto something, anything, as the wall behind me trembles with each brutal thrust.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
He grins, wicked and breathless. “No, you don’t.”
His other hand slaps up under my thigh, holding me tighter, deeper and forcing my legs to spread wider, to take more of him.
“I think you like being owned,” he growls. “You like when I make you scream.”
“I’m not—”
He fucks into me harder, cutting off the words with a sharp snap of his hips.
“What was that?” he growls, breath searing hot against my lips. “Still not mine?”
I gasp, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed. The pressure building inside me is unbearable—a slow, molten climb with no air, no mercy.
“No,” I lie. “I’m not.”
His pace turns savage.
Relentless.
Every thrust bruises. Every thrust claims.
“Say it,” he snarls, his voice breaking apart, deeper now, almost desperate in its fury. “Say you’re mine or I’ll fuck you until you’re shaking and still won’t let you come.”
I choke on a whimper, my fingers digging into the back of his neck like a lifeline. My thighs quiver around his hips. I’m close, so close I feel like I’ll shatter.
“Say it,” he commands again, voice ragged, biting at my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. “Say it, Little Stray. Say you’re mine.”
That pushes me over the edge.
Breaks me open.
I scream it, raw and loud, chest heaving, heart pounding out of control.
“I’m yours.”
He snarls like an animal and sinks his teeth into my neck, not gentle. Claiming. Sharp. The kind of bite meant to scar.
His hands grip my ass and slam me down onto him one last time, cock buried deep as he comes hard, pulse after pulse spilling inside me as I clench around him, body jerking in a helpless, ruined climax that knocks the breath from my lungs.
My head falls back against the wall, dazed, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of it.
He holds me there for a long second.
Breathing like he’s been in a warzone.
Because he has.
We both have.
And we lost.
To each other.