Chapter 4 Ryker #2
Smart girl. Even in shock, that sharp mind was coming back.
“Exactly. So, he’s probably within a couple-mile radius of the mansion.
” I kept my tone encouraging, even as my mind raced through legal scenarios, none of them pretty.
“You’re doing great, Faith. I need you to think back and tell me everything. ”
“I just remember the blood,” she whispered. “So much blood. And the pain in my head—that’s the first thing I remember.”
“Before that? Nothing?”
“Just fuzzy images.” Her voice cracked, and it took every ounce of professional control not to pull her into my arms. “I remember screaming.” My pulse spiked. “I screamed for him to stop.”
A coil of rage, mixed with relief, surged through me. Rage that some man had done something horrific to her. Relief, because that scream was the first tangible factor in building a case of self-defense.
Still, the thought of that guy—whoever the fuck he was—hurting her? My fists clenched before I could stop them. “Stop what? Was he attacking you?”
She blinked. “I just remember being scared and angry, and then this explosion of pain in my head.” She touched her scalp gingerly, wincing. “Like someone hit me with a baseball bat. I’m sorry. It’s coming in pieces.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re doing incredible. So, you remember being in the woods with this man. You remember screaming for him to stop. Then someone or something caused that pain.”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
Her lip trembled. “I looked down, and he was just lying there, bleeding. So much blood pooling underneath him.”
Here it was. The moment that some jury might use to determine guilt or innocence. “Did you stab him, Faith?”
Her shimmering eyes locked with mine, and I saw the answer before she spoke. Saw the guilt, the confusion, the desperate need for someone to tell her it would be okay.
Christ, I wanted to be that someone.
“I must have,” she whispered. “I had the knife in my hand. I must have stabbed him.”
“But you have no memory of actually doing it?”
“No, but what else could have happened?”
A dozen possibilities. “What were you doing in those woods? Were you there to meet someone?”
“I …” She shut her eyes for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Do you remember anyone else being in those woods? Aside from you and him?”
“No. But it was so dark. Just slivers of moonlight through the trees.”
“So, someone else could have been there.”
Desperation colored her voice. “I don’t know. I’m trying so hard to remember.”
“You’re doing great.” I checked my watch again. “Just a few more questions, and then I’m calling 911.”
“I think it’s already too late.” Her voice broke completely. “He was so still. Not moving at all.”
The knife lay near us on the Persian rug like an accusation, blood dark on the blade.
Now for another huge, life-changing question.
“Whose knife is that, Faith?”
She stared at the weapon like she’d never seen it before.
“Faith.” I leaned closer, caught her chin gently with my fingers. Her skin was ice cold. “Stay with me. Do you remember having the knife before you went into the woods?”
“How could I have done this to someone?”
She was spiraling, her eyes welling with fresh tears.
I cupped her face with both hands. “Faith. Look at me.”
Those emerald eyes focused on mine, vulnerable and trusting.
“This is very important,” I said softly, my voice dropping to a soft, lethal whisper. “I need you to tell me … is that your knife?”
Her gaze flickered to the bloody blade.
Please say no. Please say it belonged to him, that you took it away in self-defense, that this whole nightmare has a clean, legal explanation.
“My foster brother bought it for me,” she whispered.
FUCKKKKKKKKKK. There it was. The worst possible answer.
I dropped my hands and stood, mind already shifting into crisis mode. Premeditation. That’s what the DA would argue. That she brought her own weapon. That this wasn’t some random attack; this was planned.
I’d need to establish why she carried that knife. If there was a history—past threats, a stalker, anything that justified her need for protection—it could reframe the narrative from premeditation to reasonable precaution.
I glanced at my watch again, mind racing through damage control. “Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?”
“My head hurts so bad.”
“Okay.” I placed what I hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You did good. Now, I need to get you to the hospital to get checked out.”
I guided her to Blake’s waiting car.
“Take her to the hospital,” I told him. “Don’t let her say a word to anyone.
Not. One. Word. Get her assessed for injuries, but don’t throw away any of her clothing.
And make sure they photograph and document every single injury.
Especially her head wound. I want it on record that she was attacked tonight, not just attacking. ”
Before I could shut the door, Faith’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength. “You’re not coming?”
The panic in her voice shattered my ribs.
She looked up at me, those wide eyes searching mine, and something fundamental shifted in my chest. Even covered in blood, even with her memory fractured, even facing possible murder charges, she looked at me like I was the only solid thing in a world that had tilted off its axis.
And, God help me, I wanted to be exactly that for her.
“Ryker.” My name on her lips was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of absolute trust. The kind of trust I hadn’t earned. The kind that terrified me because I wanted to move heaven and earth not to break it.
Yet I wasn’t sure what happened tonight either.
I crouched down beside the car, bringing myself to her eye level. Her fingers were still wrapped around my wrist, and I could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin.
“I need to handle this first,” I explained, my free hand coming up to cup her face before I could stop myself. Her skin was cold—too cold. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. But, Faith, we have to find whoever this is and pray to God he’s still breathing.”
She leaned into my touch, just slightly, and that small gesture of need undid something inside me.
“Promise you’ll come?” she breathed, and there was something raw in her expression that made my heartbeat stop for a second because some part of her recognized me as safe. As hers.
“I promise.” I shouldn’t be making any promises yet. I needed to gather evidence, find out what the fuck happened.
Blake cleared his throat. “We need to go.”
“I’ll see you soon.” I stood and shut the door. My mind was already racing through the next steps: call 911, get to the scene, make sure forensics processed everything by the book. If this went sideways, I needed every piece of evidence handled properly from minute one.
When Blake’s car pulled away, Faith turned in her seat, keeping her eyes on me through the back window. Even through the distance and glass and darkness, I could feel the pull of her gaze. She looked at me like I was her lighthouse in this storm.
As the taillights disappeared around the corner, I desperately hoped that two things were true.
One: the guy still had a pulse—hence, Faith wasn’t staring down murder charges.
Two: she was the victim here, not the aggressor. Because if Faith was actually guilty, how could I justify defending her when I’d vowed to never go down that road again?
But yet, how could I walk away from her, no matter what?