8
Ryder
I pace outside Scarlett , eyes on my phone, fingers tapping away. Another clip pinged thirty seconds ago, showing Bianca at a bus station in Dayton. I’m searching for the best angle on the footage, trying to pinpoint what bus she took.
Knowing where she’s heading will save me and Koby a trip. We’ll skip asking cashiers and we’ll go straight to targeting the surveillance systems at every station along the line.
Fuck . I grip the base of my neck, digging my fingertips deep into the flesh. In times like this, when Koby’s taking way too long to take a leak, I wish I was smoking.
I could use a cigarette right about now. It’d calm my nerves. A cigarette or a glass of bubbly. Either would do.
“You alright, Ryder?” the bouncer at the door asks, watching me pace back and forth. “Something happening?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” I spit out, shoving the useless phone into my back pocket.
No matter how much I zoom in, I can’t tell where the bus Bianca took is heading. The surveillance system at the station is ancient, the picture quality far from acceptable.
I crack my neck left and right, ignoring the noise pressing in on me from all sides. The partygoers outside Scarlett are gathering en masse, mostly loud, rowdy teens. It’s midnight already. Everyone knows the real party starts around now when girls are the perfect level of drunk and willing, and the best DJ comes on for his three-hour-long set.
A cab stops by the curb, dropping off another wave of barely legal babes at the door.
At least that’s what I assume, having seen it one too many times, but when the back door flings open, it’s one girl. Alone. Not glammed up for the club.
Gray jeans cling like a second skin over her hips and legs, ending right above her ankles. White sneakers match the t-shirt she’s wearing under a black cardigan that reaches below her ass, her dark hair in a messy bun, eyes rimmed bright pink in contrast with the puffy bruises below. Bruises that scream of sleep deprivation.
I’m glued to the spot, staring at the girl I’ve been hunting for over two months. The pictures I found online don’t do her justice. She’s pretty in them. If she weren’t, I wouldn’t flick through them daily, memorizing everything about her.
Yeah, pretty, but not breathtaking. Not in the pictures.
Now, standing fifteen feet away, she’s gorgeous in this heart-wrenching, broken sort of way that punches the air out of my lungs. Not even the ashen tint to her skin or the hint of freshly wiped tears take away from how gorgeous she is. They add to it, just like that unguarded softness. The kind that stirs a feral darkness beneath my skin.
Keep her safe.
The thought hits my chest like a wrecking ball. It takes me three deep breaths and a lot of staring at her to get my composure back in place.
Yes, gorgeous suits Bianca perfectly. There’s an innocence about her features. Full lips, big honey-colored eyes, freckles peppering the apples of her cheeks, dips and curves everywhere I’d want them.
She’s short, too. Fucking jackpot.
I never paid attention to height. Not until I saw taller-than-a-tree Carter with petite Hailey beside him.
Now, short girls are my downfall. There’s something thrilling about a height difference. Something downright primal about hiding a girl in my arms and keeping her safe.
The cab driver fetches her suitcase from the trunk, his long, calloused fingers grasping the handle. Bianca pulls a few twenties from her pocket, passing them over without counting. The guy does, licking those calloused fingers as he separates the bills. Before he’s finished counting, she’s dragging the suitcase behind her, rushing toward me .
Well, aiming at the main doors, but I’m in the way.
“That’s not enough,” the driver says, looking up to where Bianca stood. She’s not there anymore, her steps fast, not far off running. “Hey!” he yells, following suit. “Get back here! You owe me another twenty!”
Her ashen complexion gives way to ghost-like paleness, eyes scanning the space between her and the bouncer guarding the entrance. There’s less than ten feet between us now and my pulse slams into overdrive when she meets my gaze.
“Shit,” she breathes, scanning the line of people waiting to get in, every muscle in her body rigid.
She’s closing in on me fast and I’m still locked on the spot, shock gunning through me because she’s here .
Why? What made her come here of all places? Why did she leave Vaughn? Why did she cry? What the—?
My mental gears grind to a halt when the cab driver lunges forward and grips Bianca’s upper arm, yanking her back.
Her eyes widen, fear mixing with shock. My eyes widen too, but not in fear. They widen because a protective, fucking possessive lightning bolt scorches through my veins.
The cab driver’s hold on Bianca grows firmer and, along with it, the need to break his hand grows within me.
He digs his fingertips into her soft flesh.
His nails whiten.
And I see red.
“Let her go,” I snap, taking a threatening step his way, my hand brushing the holster at my side in some freakish, newly acquired reflex. “ Now .”
He looks at me, eyes clashing with my chest. He must’ve expected we’re the same height. We’re not. Not even close. He cranes his neck, bravado faltering.
“She owes me money.” His tone is calmer, less snappy.
I pull a fifty out of my back pocket, holding it between two fingers. He reaches for the bill, but I snatch it back.
“Not so fast.” I wave the fifty in his face, taking another step forward to tower over the asshole. “This is yours today. But if there’s a single bruise on her tomorrow, I’ll find you. Mark my words. I’ll break your fingers one by one.”
He scans my face, scrutinizes my chest, and catches the way my fingers graze the holster of my gun sitting under my jacket.
Recognition floods his features. He stumbles back, dropping Bianca’s arm. Her face falls, fear and shock giving way to drawn eyebrows and a curious head tilt. She scrutinizes me whole, as she absentmindedly curls her fingers around her arm, massaging soothing circles over the spot the driver held.
It’s a small gesture, but powerful enough that the man quakes in his boots. She’s in pain and that doesn’t bode well for him.
He might not know my name but he knows who owns Scarlett . Everyone does. And everyone also knows that guys with guns standing outside the club shouldn’t be disrespected and neither should the girls those guys protect.
“Keep it,” he stammers, backing away. He doesn’t immediately turn, as if he’s afraid I’ll shoot him in the back the second he spins on the heel of his worn shoe.
It’s plausible. I haven’t yet decided if letting him off is a wise choice. Anger coils around my insides, his fingers digging into Bianca’s arm at the forefront of my mind. The scene replays whenever I blink, testing my resolve to let the man walk.
In the end, rational thinking helps tame the violent streak awakened by the possibility of bruises blooming over her sun-kissed skin.
Once the driver’s side door of the cab has slammed shut and tires squeal as the coward flees, I glance at the girl I’ve been trying to catch for weeks on end.
Our eyes meet, hers wide, big, and jumping between mine... her lips are parted, swollen. Add the tears drying on her cheeks into the mix and that primal, feral darkness stirs inside me once more. So potent I can taste it.
An invisible hand appears on my back, pushing me forward to... I don’t really know what .
Grab her? Hide her in my arms? Kiss her?
Maybe all the above.
But before I can, her features lose their softness, hardening under my gaze. She drops her hand, squares her shoulders, and lifts her chin, defiance bleeding into her features.
The sudden change freezes the unnamed warmth blooming inside me.
“You okay, Bianca?” I ask, confused by not only her behavior but also my own reactions.
She doesn’t frown at the sound of her name. She doesn’t look surprised. No, she looks... triumphant. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t seem fine ten seconds ago. Far from it, but now she’s a brand-new person. No sign of the helplessness she displayed when exiting the cab. No tentative, charming delicacy. No uncertainty.
She’s cold, detached, and confident.
That’s hardly the reaction I expected. She doesn’t know me. Most girls would scurry away after witnessing that little power play between me and the cab driver. Some would breathe a theatrical sigh of relief at being rescued, some would swoon, others would wipe away relieved tears.
Bianca does none of that.
She stands her ground, unaffected, gaze almost challenging.
The initial heart-stuttering reaction I had to her pink-rimmed eyes and innocent face fizzles further.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my tone matching the hardness of her features.
“Looks like I found what I’ve been looking for.”
“The feeling’s mutual, trust me. While I do have at least nine more questions, I should take you to Carter. He’ll want to hear the answers.”
A small frown dents the space between her dark eyebrows, but that challenging edge doesn’t falter. “So, if you’re not Carter... Which one are you?”
“The one who’s been sitting in front of a laptop, trying to find you.” I reach for her luggage, expecting she’ll yank it out of my reach.
Wrong again. She goes rigid when I enter her personal space. Schooling her features, she exhales, lets her shoulders sag an inch, and hands the suitcase over willingly.
I’m in her space for three seconds tops, but the sweet scent of her body blasts a wave of heat through me, annihilating the cold chill she induced a moment ago. She smells like a day at the beach. Sea salt, coconut, some exotic flowers...
Turning abruptly to inhale the crisp evening air, I head for the club’s entrance, pulling her suitcase behind me, irritated by the confusing hot and cold.
“Oh, we’re walking, are we?” she mutters, falling into step beside me. “Ryder. Ryder Blackwood, is it? The tech whizz.”
“I see Vaughn filled you in.” I motion at the bouncer, watching him scramble to open the door.
Koby bursts through it, a jacket hanging from the tip of his index finger. He pauses mid-step, glancing between me and Bianca. I smirk, enjoying one of those few-and-far-between moments when Koby’s truly stunned.
The pleasure I get from catching him off guard is immense... but it doesn’t last long. He shoots Bianca a slow, flirty smile that sparks a fresh, violent streak inside me.
Back the fuck off sits on the tip of my tongue and stays there because Bianca still looks cold. Defiant. Unapproachable.
Not my type.
“I see you found the little rebel,” Koby drawls, roving her from head to toe.
I’ve seen women react to my best friend more times than I can count. Most giggle, some blush, some smile, and all are equally entranced by Koby’s attention. He has that easygoing vibe about him that steals too many hearts. It’s a good job he doesn’t keep them any longer than a good fuck, so they never realize how dark Koby is beneath the soft mask.
There’s no denying he has a way with women. They fall at his feet, melting into puddles. It’s never bothered me, but tonight I’m fucking seething watching him flirt with Bianca.
I expect a look of pure awe on her face, but she’s immune to Koby’s heated, deliberate once-over. That’s new.
“You must be Koby.” She tilts her head as if observing something mildly interesting. “I’m Bianca ,” she emphasizes, a clear signal to never call her a little rebel again.
That’s a big mistake. Koby’s like a child with these things. Tell him he can’t do something and that’s exactly what he’ll do, if only for his own entertainment.
“This will be interesting,” he muses, stepping aside. “After you, sweetheart .”
Ah, the old game of trying out different pet names until he finds one that will make her shed her panties for him. He’s done it before with the few girls who didn’t immediately succumb to his charm. There haven’t been many; less than there are fingers on one hand.
The most recent disinterested girl was a waitress at Scarlett . It took Koby two weekends to find a pet name that turned her knees weak. He fucked her at the back of the club after baby girl hit her G spot.
Ten seconds ago, I’d happily bet Broadway it’d take Koby weeks before he hit a nerve with Bianca, but when sweetheart rolls off his tongue, she freezes.
Her shoulders hike up around her ears, muscles stiffen for a second before she shudders like she’s shaking off invisible insects.
Not the reaction Koby was going for, surely, but a reaction, nonetheless. A strangely powerful one at that, given it’s such a common pet name she must’ve heard it countless times.
“I won’t like you, will I?” she grits out past clenched teeth. “Call me whatever the fuck you want, but use that word again, and I’ll knee your balls.”
“Kinky,” Koby huffs, bouncing his eyebrows. “I like that, sweetheart .” He’s calling her bluff, amused by her red face, I bet.
He should’ve paid attention to her body language before dishing that out again. The way she shuddered betrayed there’s a foul memory associated with sweetheart .
He also shouldn’t have underestimated her threat. And he definitely shouldn’t have looked away from her to make an amused it’s-on kind of face at me.
Bianca seizes his inattention, grips his jacket with two fists, and swings her knee right between his legs.
Hard.
So fucking hard Koby’s eyes roll back into his head.
The second she steps back, he’s on his knees, clutching his balls, his complexion changing colors like a kaleidoscope.
She bends down staring at him with a hint of mirth. “One thing you should know about me... I don’t bluff.”
She pats his cheek before rising to her full height, if such a thing can be said about a girl that, by my measurements, barely hits the five-foot mark. She looks at me over her shoulder with a small smile that softens her features, hitting me right in the chest.
“Shall we?”
“Koby’s right...” I say. “This will be very interesting.”
She chuckles, heading toward the entrance. I follow as if she has me on a tight leash. I don’t pass up the opportunity to pat the still-kneeling Koby on the cheek like she did. He’s gasping, eyes crinkling with a smile.
“I think I’m in love,” he rasps in a high-pitched wail.
I pat his cheek again, harder this time. “Do join us when you’re feeling up to it.”
He inhales a deep breath, marshaling the pain undoubtedly coursing through him. I don’t wait until he gathers his wits, following Bianca who’s already inside, head turning left and right to admire the luxurious space.
“This way,” I say, veering left to lead her through a narrow corridor that bypasses both the main club and the VIP area.
Something tells me Hailey would have a fit if she saw Bianca right now. Carter will want answers first. Answers and assurances before he allows the girls to meet.
It’s a bit odd that, after being on the run for three months, Bianca shows up here as if nothing’s fucking happened.
“Wait,” I say, stopping her at the end of the dark hallway.
I pull my phone out, scanning the camera feeds from inside, noting that Apollo’s looking after Hailey and Bianca while Broadway’s in with Carter, the informant long gone.
“Okay, let’s go.” I open the door, taking another whiff of Bianca’s coconut scent as she pushes past me.
Thirty seconds and three knocks later, we enter the office, both men swinging their heads toward us, perplexed for the shortest moment.
“Look who I found,” I say, leaving Bianca’s suitcase by the wall while she strides inside, heading straight for the boss.
“She took a cab here,” I add, noticing Carter’s suspicious eyes raking over the girl who stops before his desk and extends her petite hand.
“Should I introduce myself?” she asks as the door opens and Koby joins us.
“I doubt there’s a single thing we don’t already know about you, cupcake,” he says, his voice still strained, every step careful, measured, and a little on the limping side.
“You don’t have to introduce yourself,” Carter denotes, taking her hand with a light squeeze. “But I’d appreciate an explanation of how you got here. Or rather, why . We’ve been looking for you.” He gestures toward one of the large sofas, urging her to sit. To my annoyance, she picks a spot opposite Koby who struggles while lowering himself down.
“What happened, Koby?” Broadway asks, leaning to the left of the many monitors on the wall.
“Little trouble here...” He motions with his chin at Bianca, “...kneed my balls.”
Broadway snorts a laugh while Carter’s eyebrow raises slowly, the innocent gesture a nonverbal order to explain.
“He called me sweetheart .” Bianca spits out the endearment as if it’s a chili pepper and she hates spicy food.
“And that’s offensive because...?” Koby asks.
“Because...” She pauses, swallowing hard, eyes falling to the floor. Her fingers wring the hem of her cardigan for a heartbeat. Then, with a roll of her shoulders, the momentary helplessness fades away. “Vaughn’s been calling me that lately.”