Chapter 8 Ryker
RYKER
I watched the officers lead Faith toward the door, metal cuffs catching the harsh fluorescent light. Her shoulders held straight, chin up. Still fighting to appear strong.
But I saw what no one else did. The tremor in her hands. The way her breath hitched when the shorter officer gripped her elbow. The flash of raw terror in her eyes when they met mine one last time before the door closed between us.
Vulnerable. Afraid. Trying so damn hard not to show it.
I’d seen that exact look once before. During Axel and Dakota’s drama, when I’d arrived at Axel’s penthouse building after organizing a detective to come talk to him. What I hadn’t expected was to find Faith in the lobby.
I definitely hadn’t expected to see her with some guy.
And I really hadn’t expected my immediate, visceral reaction to it.
The asshole was leaning into her space with that practiced flirtatious grin that screamed, I peaked in college and never got over it. Then he reached down and touched her hip, and I swear to God, I’d never wanted to punch a complete stranger more in my life.
Something hot and possessive coursed through me, which was ridiculous. Faith wasn’t mine. I had no claim on her. We weren’t even technically friends.
So, why were my hands already curling into fists?
Maybe because Faith wasn’t smiling back at the guy.
Now that I looked past my own territorial rage, I could actually see what was happening.
While this jackass was all swagger and smooth lines, Faith stood rigid as steel, her hand already coming up between them like a barrier.
Her whole body language screamed, Back the hell off, in about twelve different languages.
She doesn’t want this.
The realization shifted something in my chest. This wasn’t jealousy anymore. This was something else entirely.
I started forward just as her voice cut through the lobby’s ambient noise. “Touch me again, and it’ll be the last time your fingers are attached to your body.”
I stopped. My lips twitched. That’s my girl.
Wait. What? My girl?
The idiot actually laughed, like this was some kind of foreplay. “Ooh, feisty. I like that in a—”
“Let me be crystal clear,” Faith interrupted, grabbing his hand as he reached for her again.
She bent his fingers back at an angle that made me wince from ten feet away.
“When a woman you met thirty seconds ago tells you not to touch her? You listen. You back away. You definitely don’t put your hands on her hip like she’s yours to handle. ”
The guy’s face went from cocky to pained in about two seconds flat.
The lawyer in me cataloged it automatically: unwanted touching after being told to stop.
That was battery—technically assault in some jurisdictions.
He’d already committed a crime. Faith, on the other hand?
She was within her rights to use reasonable force to defend herself.
The finger bend was proportional to the threat. Textbook self-defense.
Not that I gave a damn about the legal technicalities right now.
“Here’s a free life lesson,” she continued. “You’re not God’s gift to women. We don’t all want your attention. And we definitely don’t want your hands on us. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today. Otherwise, these fingers? They’d be making sounds fingers shouldn’t make.”
Jesus. That was hot.
She shoved his hand away and released him.
He cradled his hand against his stomach, glaring at her. “Crazy bitch.”
And there went my amused smile.
I crossed the distance in six strides and shoved both hands against his chest. He flew backward, stumbling to keep his balance.
So, yeah, that would definitely constitute battery. Did I care? Not even a little. Protecting her fit my code.
Faith’s eyes went wide.
“Apologize to her.” I stepped forward again, getting in his face. “Now.”
The guy looked between us, sizing me up, realizing I had at least four inches and forty pounds on him.
“Sorry,” he muttered in Faith’s direction.
“Look at her when you say it,” I growled. “And mean it.”
His jaw clenched, but he turned to Faith. “I apologize.”
“If I ever see you near her again,” I promised, my voice low enough that only he could hear, “those fingers will be the least of your problems.”
Technically a threat. Christ, five minutes around Faith, and I was racking up potential misdemeanors like poker chips.
Like the coward he was, he scurried away.
I turned to find Faith standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in that way that always made my pulse rate spike.
I expected … I don’t know. A thank-you?
But this was Faith. She never did what I expected. Which was exactly why I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“I had that covered,” she said.
I walked closer, sliding my hands into my pockets to keep from doing something stupid. Like touching her. Like pulling her against me and checking she was really okay. “I know.”
Her eyebrow climbed higher, silently demanding an explanation.
“I saw you bend his fingers back.” I couldn’t hide my smirk. “Gotta say, that was entertaining as hell. Guy should’ve learned boundaries in kindergarten.” I arched a curious brow. “What would you have done next if I hadn’t stepped in?”
A wicked gleam entered her eyes. “I was about thirty seconds away from explaining that his compensating sports car in the valet line? Everyone knows it’s because he’s hung like a hamster.
And if that didn’t work …” She shrugged.
“I was going to knee him in the balls so hard, his ancestors would feel it.”
I burst out laughing. Full-on, head-thrown-back laughter that echoed through the marble lobby. “Hung like a hamster?”
“What? It’s probably true. Did you see that car? Classic overcompensation.”
“Jesus, Faith.” I was still chuckling. “Now I almost regret stepping in. That would’ve been way more entertaining to watch.”
“Right?” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You robbed me of my moment. I had a whole emasculation speech prepared. I was going to make him cry.”
“I have no doubt you would have succeeded.”
Holding my gaze until both our smiles died down, she eventually cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for the backup. Even if I didn’t need it.” Faith’s words carried that trademark edge, sharp enough to cut glass. “The shoving was pretty satisfying to watch.”
I didn’t mention how much more satisfying it had been to do it. Or that when I’d walked into Axel’s lobby and spotted that jackass cornering her, leaning in like he had any right to breathe her air, I’d fantasized about introducing his face to the marble floor. Multiple times.
Instead, I smiled. Nice and civilized. “So, what brings you to Axel’s?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and I tracked the movement like a man hypnotized.
Light mocha-colored silk with hints of auburn that caught the lobby lights.
The gesture exposed a thin white scar along her jawline, barely visible unless you were looking.
Unless you’d memorized every inch of her face, like I had.
Another story she’d never tell. Another battle she’d won.
“Thought I’d check on Dakota.” Her green eyes shifted to my phone. Christ, those green eyes. They had the slightest flecks of blue in them, like the Caribbean ocean you could see right through to the sand. “You?”
“Organized a detective to meet with Axel.” Suddenly, being here went from all business to all thrill. I mean, honestly, getting to share the elevator with her? I felt like a teenage boy. “Shall we?”
The approval process dragged. Security protocols.
Key cards. Meanwhile, I cataloged details: the way she drummed her fingers against her thigh (nervous habit), how she bit the inside of her cheek when thinking (adorable), the faint scar on her skin that disappeared beneath her shirt (story number twelve she’d probably never share).
When we entered Axel’s private elevator, the doors sealing with a soft whoosh, everything changed.
Her shoulders pulled tight. Fingers twisted together, knuckles white. The confident woman who’d just handled a creep without breaking a sweat suddenly looked like she wanted to claw through steel.
“Claustrophobic?” I wondered aloud.
She shrugged. “Just a little.”
I gave her a look that said, Try again, Counselor. I call bullshit. After all, I’d become a student of Faith Morrison, and this wasn’t nerves. This was something deeper. Raw.
Her breath hitched, and I could see the moment of hesitation play out before finally revealing what was bothering her.
“When I was little, my parents died in a car accident.” She stared at the elevator buttons like they held secrets.
Her breathing had changed. Shorter now, deliberately controlled.
I’d seen it a thousand times with witnesses on the stand—that careful modulation right before they revealed the thing that would break them open.
“After, they stuck us in this tiny police room while they figured out what to do with us. Hours. Just me and Blake in this box that kept getting smaller. I couldn’t breathe.
All I could think was that my parents were dead and they were never coming back.
Nobody was coming for us, and the walls kept closing in and closing in and … ”
Her voice cracked. Actually cracked. Faith Morrison, who could stare down a lion without blinking, was starting to come apart in front of me.
Something shifted in my chest: a tectonic plate moving after a lifetime of stillness.
She’d just handed me a piece of herself she probably hadn’t given to anyone.
Maybe not even her brother. Me. This woman who guarded herself like classified intelligence had just let me past every wall, every defense, straight into the raw center of her fear.
“Hey.” I cupped her cheek before I could think better of it. Her skin burned warm beneath my palm. “You’re okay. You’re here. With me.”