21
Bianca
T he following week Ryder and I resume our usual routine as if nothing happened. While I work, he sits in the corner of Bloom , assesses every person who enters, and glares at me whenever he catches me staring.
We argue. More than before. He snaps faster than a whipcrack if he doesn’t like my words, my tone, or my eyes on him. Arthur’s ears are pink whenever the three of us are together because Ryder and I can’t last ten minutes without bickering.
Ryder’s on edge, whatever assignment Carter gave him chasing away his sleep. I find him in front of his laptop every morning fully dressed, usually showered. He taps the keyboard, a multitude of security feeds littering the screen.
Whatever’s happening, it’s escalating if the number of phone calls between Carter and Ryder is any indication. The conversations are clipped, almost encrypted, but the tone is always the same: nervous anticipation.
I finish arranging a bouquet for the elegant man opposite my workbench. A black, tailored suit hugs his frame, a three-day-old stubble peppers his chin, and his bright green eyes remain trained on my fingers.
My stomach hasn’t stopped churning since he walked in, blood rushing away from my face. His resemblance to Noretto at first glance made me do a double take.
He’s not Blaze, but the initial pang of fear buried itself deep under my skin. I can’t wait until he leaves.
Ryder’s in his seat, eyeing his cell. He raked his assessing glare over this guy when he entered, then quickly returned to whatever he was doing on his phone.
His lack of concern should’ve helped me relax... it didn’t. I’d prefer him hovering behind me.
He’s refrained from invading my space this week. It’s Friday but I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times Ryder came close enough that I could smell his cologne.
Last week, he was next to me ten times a day. Today, he hasn’t moved from his spot once. I wish he would. Not only because of the suit, but because I miss his proximity.
I’m not far off bursting into flames whenever he’s close. Not once and not twice I’ve bitten my tongue so hard my eyes watered to stop myself asking him for another round.
I’m frustrated beyond comprehension. So much so that I’m counting down to Saturday. Just one more day. Ryder’s spare bedroom is the only place I can ease the ache between my thighs.
“Shit,” Ryder mutters, straightening in his seat. He’s glaring at his phone, raking his free hand through his hair.
The black velvet ribbon I’m tying falls apart. Ryder looks like he’s seen a ghost, and my pulse soars once more, head filling with dark, unwanted possibilities.
Vaughn. Grey. Noretto.
“Everything okay?” I ask, my throat clenched tight.
He looks up, meeting my frightened gaze. “Close the shop, Winter. We’re going to Columbus. Now.”
I swallow hard, glancing at the suited gentleman as I finish tying the bow around his huge bouquet of blood-red roses, take his money, and follow him to the door, flipping the sign from open to closed .
“What’s happening?” I ask, turning to Ryder.
He’s behind me, phone to his ear. I hear the dial tone ring out twice before Broadway’s voice comes on the line.
“Go for Broadway,” he chuckles.
“Guess who peeked his head above the parapet,” Ryder says, shouldering past me. He yanks the door open and, with a jut of his head, urges me to move.
I can’t hear what Broadway says once I’m outside the flower shop, keys jingling in hand. My breath comes out in hastened puffs, anxiety twisting my stomach.
Who is Ryder talking about? Vaughn? Is he in Cleveland? Why are we evacuating?
It’s Friday, not quite midday. Last week, we didn’t leave until Saturday afternoon. My fingers tremble as I try getting the key into the lock. Ryder takes over, clamping his phone between ear and shoulder.
“Yes. We’ll be in Columbus in two hours. Don’t leave without me.” He grabs my elbow once the door’s locked, guiding me inside the building and up the stairs.
“How can I?” Broadway’s voice reaches my ear. Ryder should lower the in-call volume if he doesn’t want his conversations heard. “Only you know where we’re going.”
A small chuckle falls from Ryder’s lips, throwing my anxiety off course. “True. You have two hours to dream up your next gorefest. Don’t disappoint me. I’ve waited for this moment as long as you have.”
We enter my apartment, and Ryder pushes me toward my bedroom. “Pack a bag,” he mouths.
On weak legs, I stumble away, not far off throwing up over my bed. The not knowing is killing me. If it’s Vaughn they’ve found... if he’s after me... the night I ran away flashes before my eyes, a memory I’d love to forget.
I haul a suitcase from the top of my closet and start throwing clothes inside. I’m not sure when we’ll come back, whether this weekend will be anything like the last one, or if we’re going to Scarlett tomorrow evening. I pack a few dresses just in case. Zipping up the suitcase, I inhale deeply, centering myself. I’m fine. Ryder’s here. I’m safe.
He might hate me, but he won’t let Vaughn touch me.
My hands tremble like a candle flame in the wind as I wheel my suitcase into the living room, finding Ryder and Arthur already waiting. I head for the kitchen, my throat parched.
“Can you please tell me what’s happening?” I ask Ryder. I can hear my fear ringing loud and clear in my shaky voice. “What’s wrong? Who have you found? Is it Vaughn?”
“No, it has nothing to do with you.”
A wave of relief slams into me, knocking the wind out of my chest. I rise on my tiptoes, grasping a glass from the high shelf and accidentally topple another. It falls, smashing on the counter, right over my other hand.
Pain and broken glass slice through me. I jump back, arm outstretched. Blood pours from where a big shard is lodged between the knuckles of my middle and ring finger, dripping onto the tiled floor.
“Fuck,” Ryder snaps, his heavy footsteps filling the apartment. “Let me see.” He’s right beside me, reaching for my injured hand, his brows furrowed.
“I’m fine.” I snatch my hand back, opening the drawer where I keep my first aid kit.
Ryder grips my forearm, harder than ever before, spins me around, grabs my waist, and sits me on the counter, as far from the broken glass as possible.
“I don’t give a fuck how fine you are. You’re bleeding.”
“Not for the first time, I know—”
“Shut the fuck up, Winter,” he snaps.
He’s vibrating with anger, his narrowed eyes shooting daggers my way, but beneath that anger hides something softer. Something that makes me uncomfortably weak in the worst way possible. Weak but safe.
“Just this once swallow your damn pride, stop telling me you’re fine , and let me take a look.”
My throat bobs as I follow the order, swallowing hard. A small nod is all he needs before his deft fingers take my hand. He scrutinizes the cut, the shard of glass poking from an inch-long gash, blood swirling down my skin onto the floor.
“It doesn’t look deep enough for stitches,” he notes.
“I’ve got wound-closing strips in my first aid kit.”
Arthur’s on the move before Ryder can voice the order, his feet tapping against the tiles. He opens the first aid kit, settling it down by my hip.
Ryder gets everything he needs set up in a neat line before he looks at me again. We’re almost eye level now I’m sitting on the counter. Almost being the key word because I’m still craning my neck as he towers before me.
My hand hurts, but the depth of Ryder’s gaze, that softness there, the concern... it pushes the pain to the background. I’d happily slice my hand open every day if it meant he’d look at me like he does now.
“This will hurt.” His gaze dives to my mouth, summoned by a white flash of teeth as I chew my bottom lip. “Take a deep breath for me.”
“I’m—”
“ Don’t .” He grazes his thumb over my injured hand, carefully skittering around the wound. “Don’t tell me you’re fine.”
I nod, dropping my attention to the glass sticking out of my skin, my teeth scraping my lower lip more aggressively.
“Bianca,” Ryder rasps, curling his finger under my chin to lift my head. “Close your eyes.”
I won’t faint , I don’t mind blood , I’m fine , and a few similar proclamations die on my tongue, my eyes closing on cue.
Robbing myself of sight, my other senses heighten. The softness of Ryder’s hands on mine, the proximity and warmth of his body, the scent of him... it pummels me like a prize fighter, making me tremble.
He mistakes it for fear, or pain. Maybe both. His fingers brush mine, they squeeze.
“Deep breath,” he repeats.
I obey, gasping when a sensation I’ve never experienced before rattles through me. A feeling of lightness, as if a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It’s so bizarre, so confusing, that I miss the moment Ryder grasps the shard of glass, pulling it out in one rough motion.
My teeth clamp shut, all sounds swallowed, spine rigid. The warm flow of blood intensifies, soaking my hand. I fight to keep my eyes closed, my breath even.
Pain radiates up my arm, screaming in my veins when Ryder covers the wound with something soft.
“You don’t need stitches.” The rasp in his tone intensifies the butterfly-wings effect in my tummy.
No man before and no man after Ryder could ever make me feel this way. Not one will render me this needy . It’s appalling how often I imagine his big hands on my body, long fingers tugging my hair, that harsh tone whispering filth in my ear.
His low, gravelly voice sends tingles down my spine, and sometimes, when he’s exasperated, almost growling his words, I swear he could talk me into an orgasm. I’m not far from catching fire when those chocolate eyes meet mine, and it’s even more thrilling when his annoyance evokes that predatory glint.
“I’d ask how you’re doing but you’re fine, right?”
Far from it.
The pain is a sharp-toothed, sharp-clawed bitch shredding its way through my nervous system in jagged streaks. No number of steady breaths that fill my lungs with Ryder’s scent can help dry the tears welling beneath my eyelashes.
“Winter,” Ryder prompts again, concern layering his tone. “Open your eyes.”
I shake my head, my lower lip between my teeth.
He lets go of me and his warm hands cup my cheeks. The shuffle of his boots tells me he’s moved closer.
This is embarrassing. It’s a simple cut. It’ll heal. I shouldn’t sit here, tearing up. I’m stronger than that. The pain is bad, but not that bad.
Not enough to make me cry.
Ryder’s care, however, the softness of his touch, the careful way in which he handles my injury... it pokes at the most neglected parts of me. It brings forth painful memories of my adopted parents.
I didn’t realize this until I was older, but they were never careful with me. They didn’t reassure me when I came home with a scraped knee. They didn’t dress my wounds, just threw a pack of plasters at me to deal with it myself.
A big contrast to the way they doted over their biological son. Their little miracle baby. Mom couldn’t get pregnant, hence why they took me in, but once Trevor was born, I ceased to exist.
“Look at me,” Ryder insists. His thumbs brush the soft skin under my eyes, his breath hot on my cheek.
I can’t help it. Against better judgment I blink a few times, chasing the blurred wetness away.
“Fuck,” he whispers on a shaky exhale, eyes jumping between mine, his pupils blown.
Heat swells behind my ribs, arousal soaring because he looks... feral. Possessive.
The intensity of his stare makes me forget the pain. I can only concentrate on how much I want his lips on mine.
“Why didn’t you tell me it hurts this bad?”
“It’s not that bad.” I fill my lungs with his scent, doing my utmost not to rub my thighs together. “You can keep going.”
He brushes his thumbs under my eyes again before dropping his hands. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
I nod, grit my teeth, and summon our arguments to the forefront of my mind, fighting the helplessness chewing at my brain with anger.
Red-faced, Arthur slinks out as if he’s intruding on something indecent.
Maybe he is.
***
Ryder’s mood fell faster than a boulder dropped into a lake once my wound was dressed and I hopped off the kitchen counter, armed with determination.
It might’ve had something to do with me grabbing the suitcase with my injured hand. I wasn’t thinking straight, my mind a hive of emotions, feelings, and ideas. Ideas are the worst.
Could I seduce him?
Could I demand just one more night?
Could I make him see me in a different light?
Fuming at him and myself, I jerked up the suitcase and tore one of the strips. The bandage ran red in seconds.
An argument ensued, successfully killing the remnants of melancholy infesting my mind. Ryder ranted about how infuriating I am, while I fumed that I don’t need him to baby me.
While he rebandaged my hand, Arthur loaded the suitcases into the Jeep, and we spent the ride to Columbus in silence. Again .
I stewed in the passenger seat, arms crossed over my chest, wondering what the hell Ryder’s problem is, while Ryder gnashed his teeth and nearly ripped the steering wheel off the column.
I bend over backward trying not to be any more of a burden than I already am as their assignment , but no matter what I do, Ryder’s constantly pissed off.
“You can either stay in my apartment with Arthur for the rest of the day, or I can drop you off at Hailey’s,” Ryder tells me as we near Columbus. “I should be back around eight, and we’re heading to Scarlett tonight.”
“Where are you going?” I ask before I can bite my tongue. It’s none of my business.
“You wanted to know who I found earlier. Well, Broadway’s on a killing spree and I’ve located the last man on the list who also happens to be the one he wants most.”
I definitely shouldn’t have asked.
My stomach churns. The takeout coffee I finished seconds ago threatens to leap from my stomach, but it’s too late now. He answered my question without hesitation... as much as the topic scares me, I’m also beyond curious.
“Why’s he on a killing spree?”
“He’s murdering every man who ever laid a finger on Violet.”
Another warm feeling spreads across my nerve endings. It’s the same sensation I experienced when Vaughn told me Carter killed his own father to protect Hailey.
It’s sick, twisted, deranged in the worst way, but I can’t stop wondering what it’s like knowing your man will always keep you safe, that you’re his utmost priority. That he’ll maim, torture, kill anyone who hurts you.
I guess I’ll never know.
“I’ll stay with Hailey if that’s okay.”