Chapter 7 Faith
FAITH
The door exploded open like someone had just kicked it off its hinges.
“Faith Morrison?” His voice could’ve etched glass. “I’m Detective Rodriguez. I need to ask you some questions.”
Ryker moved. Not stepped, not shifted. Moved. One second, he was beside me; the next, he was a wall of barely contained violence between me and the detective. The black cotton of his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders as every muscle coiled, ready to strike.
My heart forgot how to beat properly.
The way Rodriguez looked at me—like I was gum stuck to his shoe on a hot day—cracked open wounds I’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.
“I was very fucking clear with Wolfe that she’s not answering any questions right now.” Ryker’s voice could’ve frozen hell and made the Devil request a sweater. “You have some nerve, trying again.”
Rodriguez’s glare shifted. “You that hotshot defense attorney I’ve been hearing about?”
Ryker’s shoulders rolled back, and somehow, he got bigger. Physics shouldn’t work that way, but here we were. “I’m her defense counsel. As I stated, she won’t be answering questions.”
Sweet baby Jesus. Even facing down a hostile detective, this man radiated the kind of controlled power that made my brain short-circuit in the best possible way.
Rodriguez’s eyes found me again. “Already lawyered up, eh? You know that doesn’t look good for you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
Oh. Hell. No.
“Every citizen should have legal counsel present when questioned by a homicide detective.” Ryker’s growl made my skin prickle in ways that were completely inappropriate, given the circumstances. “I’m surprised I have to remind a seasoned professional like yourself of basic constitutional law.”
“There’s a dead man in the woods. Maybe you should focus on getting justice for him instead of protecting the woman who killed him.”
My stomach twisted into origami.
Ryker’s jaw ticced. “Did I just hear you correctly? You’re assuming my client’s guilt before you’ve even processed the scene? That’s quite the expressway to reasonable doubt, Detective.”
Rodriguez went predatory. “You sure you want to stake your entire career on this one, Counselor? I heard about what happened with that Anderson case. Real shame how that turned out.”
Anderson case?
Ryker went so still, I thought time had stopped. “You will not question her. End of story. Now get the hell out of my client’s room.”
Rodriguez smiled like Christmas came early. “You don’t realize who the victim is, do you?”
Ice crawled down my spine.
“Police haven’t been able to identify the body yet.” Ryker used what had to be his courtroom voice. Careful. Calculated.
“Actually, we did.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say, this case is about to get very interesting. When we conduct our formal interview with the suspect, we’ll be sure to share all the juicy details.”
He headed for the door, then paused. “Oh, and, Morrison?” The guy locked his eyes with me. “When this hits the news …” His whistle was low, theatrical. “Well, let’s just say, it’s going to be a hell of a show.”
The door clicked shut.
Silence pressed against my eardrums.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Ryker turned, and the transformation stole my breath.
The lethal predator who’d just gone toe to toe with Rodriguez vanished.
In his place stood the same man who’d stepped between me and that creep in Axel’s lobby, who’d been ready to break bones without hesitation.
The same man who’d held me in that elevator when my world tilted sideways, his voice in my ear, promising everything would be okay.
His fingers found my wrist, like he needed physical proof I was still here, still whole.
The hint of calluses on his thumb scraped against my skin, grounding me in this moment.
This was Ryker: my defender, my protector, the man who looked at me like I was something precious in a world full of broken glass.
He moved closer. “You never thank me for protecting you. That’s nonnegotiable.”
My breath caught. The intensity in his eyes made promises that had nothing to do with legal defense and everything to do with the kind of protection that came with possession.
“You okay?” His voice stayed soft, but his hand hardened around mine.
How does he do that? Switch from destroyer of worlds to tender protector faster than I can blink?
“I don’t even know my legal rights,” I admitted. “If that detective had demanded I talk, I wouldn’t have known how to stop him from interrogating me.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” He sat on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping, gravity pulling me toward him, like the universe had opinions about where I belonged.
Truth was, I wasn’t just grateful he was a lawyer. I was grateful it was him. Ryker had this way of reading my body before my mind caught up. Of knowing when I needed strength and when I needed softness. Of making me feel like I mattered in a world that kept trying to convince me otherwise.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’re in this together. You hear me?”
God, the way he was looking at me. Making me feel right now. In a tornado of terror, he was grounding my nerves, making me feel like I was all that mattered. And that I was worth going to war for.
“I need to …” My voice cracked. “I want to apologize to the deceased man’s family.”
“Out of the question.”
I tugged at the thin hospital gown, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. How small.
“I must’ve killed him, Ryker.” The words tasted like bitter acid and regret.
Through the small rectangular window in the door, I watched a nurse laugh at something her colleague said. Just two people having a normal day. Did they know what I was? What I’d done?
They were normal people, living normal lives, maybe completely unaware that a murderer sat thirty feet away, holding the hand of a man too good for her.
I thought I’d been building someone worth knowing. Years of clawing my way out of foster homes, out of the belief that I was fundamentally broken, fundamentally unwanted. And here I was. Proving every family who’d sent me back right.
“You’re the prime suspect in his death. Any communication between you and the guy’s family is off-limits.”
“But …”
“Faith.” He took my chin between his thumb and finger.
The heart monitor beside me beeped its steady rhythm. Each sound pulsed against my temples like a tiny hammer. I should tell him to go. Release him from whatever misguided sense of obligation kept him tethered to me.
I had feelings for him. Real ones. The kind that made my chest ache when he walked into a room. And that was precisely why I should cut him loose before I dragged him under with me.
“It’s kind of you to want to offer your condolences.”
“And express how incredibly sorry I am for any part I might have had in his death.” My shoulders curled inward.
I could feel myself shrinking, becoming that little girl again.
The one who’d broken Mrs. Patterson’s porcelain bird at nine years old and watched my foster mother’s face go cold.
It was another time I’d learned early that mistakes weren’t forgiven.
They were tallied. And eventually, they added up to goodbye.
But this wasn’t a broken trinket. This was a body in the woods. A person with people who loved him, who would never see him again because of me.
“But doing so is basically a confession,” Ryker continued, “and everything you say will be used against you.”
“I took a life, Ryker.” My voice came out small, and I pressed my palm against my temple, willing the throbbing to stop. “I must have, and the least I can do as a decent human being is tell his loved ones how very sorry I am.”
He sighed. “I know you want to. And someday, maybe there will be an opportunity for you to speak to them. But not now. Right now, we need to work on your defense.”
“It feels wrong to worry about myself right now.”
“You’re fighting for your life, Faith. You have to worry about yourself.”
“But—”
“You can’t go back in time. The guy is gone, and we can’t change that. The only thing we can control is every step we take from this point forward. And every single step has to be on point, building a defense. Okay?”
My chest ached with competing emotions. Guilt that someone was dead because of me. Shame that I had to prioritize my survival over what felt morally right. And underneath it all, this gratitude that Ryker was here, guiding me through the darkness when I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.
I studied the determined set of his jaw, the way his thumb still moved against my skin, like he couldn’t stop touching me. Even now, when offering condolences felt like the only decent thing to do, I trusted him. Trusted him with my life, my future, my fractured moral compass.
A nurse appeared with a plastic-wrapped bundle. “These are for you.”
She set the package on the bed and left without another word.
I stared at the contents: pale blue paper scrubs, the kind that rustled when you moved.
Disposable underwear. Foam slippers with no-slip grips on the soles.
Soft cottons and real fabrics were for people who hadn’t killed anyone.
Paper was what they gave you when you became a case file instead of a person.
“Faith, they found your car,” Ryker said. “It was a few blocks from the mansion. Why?”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds. The pressure behind my eyes built, memories dancing just out of reach, like smoke.
“And why were you barefoot in a dress?”
“I don’t remember,” I said honestly. Twisting my hands, I waited a few seconds, getting back to what felt like a more important and time-sensitive topic at the moment. “That detective was implying you’re risking your career, defending me.”
“That detective is full of more shit than a fertilizer factory.” Ryker’s thumb hadn’t stopped its circular assault on my ability to think straight. “Many cops think defense attorneys play for Team Evil.”