Chapter 9 Ryker #2
‘Do you work here now?’ I ask.
‘No, I volunteer.’
‘Still?’
She looks over her shoulder. ‘Why would I have stopped?’
I follow her down the hallway. Her skirt swooshes delectably around her thighs as her hips sway from side to side. As we go through the last door, I see half a dozen dogs in cages against the wall. Some continue sleeping while others whine or wag their tails at the sight of us.
‘Kind of sad, isn’t it?’ I ask, dropping the bag.
‘All the more reason for me to be here.’ She bends over, scooping out some kibble and pouring it into a metal bowl. ‘Chuckie was here once, remember? I’d hate it if he felt alone.’
Chuckie’s sniffing one of the other dogs in a cage while he wags his tail. I lean against the doorframe before grabbing some treats from a nearby container. I whistle for him to come before handing him a few.
‘Why are you doing this so late at night?’ I ask.
‘Why are you asking so many questions?’ she snaps, filling another bowl and placing it in one of the cages.
When I don’t answer, she cuts me a look and I shrug.
There’s a small tattoo on her left wrist, mostly hidden beneath a silver bracelet.
She caves with a sigh. ‘Dr Aimee messaged me asking if I could. She’s sick, and they need to be checked on and fed because they’ve recently had surgery. ’
I watch her place a bowl into the last cage before rolling up the bag and sealing it with a clip.
‘So, what’d the blond want?’ I kick one ankle to rest in front of the other.
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘What blond?’
‘The guy Chuckie wanted to tear to pieces out front.’ I give him another treat. ‘Good boy.’
She shrugs. ‘He’s organised a race and needs a fourth.’
‘There’s another Tropics so soon?’
‘It’s private,’ she says simply.
I eye her up and down. ‘Sounds dodgy.’
She scoffs. ‘Because The Tropics is legal? Besides, the money is good.’
‘You don’t need the money.’
‘How would you know?’ she quips with a scowl. Her eyes flare up in an intoxicating golden swirl of chestnut, my favourite colour.
My body heats. She’s right. If I hadn’t left, I would know about her life. I push up my sleeves, wanting to get out of this stagnant-smelling shithole, when I catch her eyes travelling along the length of my body. Her lips part as she pauses on my ink.
‘I got ’em all over.’ I smile. ‘You wanna see?’
She sucks in a quick, shallow breath and takes my arm, turning it over and seeing the burn. ‘What happened here?’ she gasps.
She’s careful not to touch the area, but a raw and searing pain still follows.
‘My, my, Gianna Brooks,’ I tease. ‘Do you sincerely care? Or is it because you want me on my knees later?’
She ignores me, a loud sigh pouring from her perfect mouth as she pulls me back down the hall.
We go through the nearest door to a large office.
Everything smells sterile here and she pushes me into a wheelie office chair behind a small desk with a computer.
I fall into it willingly, feeling it travel a little across the floor.
‘We need to wrap this, Ryker. It looks bad. Seriously, what the heck did you do?’
She crosses the room and rustles around in a cupboard, returning with a first-aid kit.
She brings across another chair and sits herself right between my legs.
My cock jerks, arousal warring with my brain.
I know I need to stay away from her, but I bring my uninjured arm around her waist and wheel her in even closer.
I’m surprised when she doesn’t fight me and instead, pulls my arm into her lap and pours alcohol over the wound.
The sting slashes through my skin, but it feels good. We’re quiet as she dabs at the wound and wraps it. I take the chance to look at her, really look at her. It’s the first time she isn’t scowling or making some pissy remark.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Gianna’s snarky voice is still melodic.
‘Are we friends now?’
‘Are you done being a dick?’ She stops and looks at me. ‘Having you back home is a wild time as it is.’
She returns to her task and her teeth sink into her lower lip. Excitement sparks my insides at the sight. She finishes tying off the gauze, but her fingers still grip at my arms, sending heat flooding through my veins.
‘I didn’t ask for attitude.’
‘It’s on the house,’ she quips. She lifts her chin, showcasing her neck, and my fingers twitch at the want – no, the need to reach for her. Or maybe I’ll flip her over my knee and show her what being a brat gets her.
She’s a fucking conundrum, my Little Suspect.
Lust floods my system as she leans across my lap, bringing her face an inch from mine, and I breathe her in. Fuck, how I’ve missed that smell. Jasmine and lemons. I want to pick her up and throw her on top of the table, hike up her miniskirt and taste every inch of her.
She continues to lean down, reaching inside the first-aid box beside us, but I stop her. My fingertips graze her cheek and she closes her eyes, leaning into my touch. It feels fucking magical to have her skin against mine again. Energy buzzes between us, for us. No. It’s created by us.
I draw her in closer, not stopping until her sweet exhalations fan across my face.
‘Gianna …’
The delicate column of her throat pulses. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. Such a perfect mouth. I wonder if she’ll let me have a taste. A nip. A lick. Anything. I’ll take anything that is Gianna Brooks and devour it.
Maybe this time could be different? Maybe we could …
‘Why’d you do it?’ she whispers.
I clench my teeth, a burst of regret and rage coursing through me. I know what she’s talking about … but I still ask, ‘Do what?’
She reaches up, letting her fingers dance across my cheek before she grips my jaw and demands eye contact. ‘Why did you give up everything? You had an entire career lined up with the Sonics … it was what you always dreamed of.’
My nostrils flare. ‘Not all dreams actually matter.’
She gives a sage nod, but says nothing. The pressure from her fingers eases and I reach out, stopping her from pulling away, needing to live in this fantasy for just a little while longer. She tips her head forward, resting her forehead on mine. It’s bliss.
A loud bang interrupts our charged silence, snapping us to our feet. Gianna presses against me, and I feel her heart thudding against my body. Chuckie barks and darts off to investigate, his paws smacking against the floor.
‘Chuckie, no!’ Gianna screams, chasing after him.
My fingers wrap around her wrist and I drag her back behind me, following Chuckie’s barks ahead of her.
The dogs in the kennels behind us howl and fight against the confines of their cages.
The rattling sound echoes after us as we reach the front door, where Chuckie has his teeth bared and hackles raised.
Gianna rushes to his side, trying to pull him back and calm him.
He forms a protective stance between her and the door, not taking his eyes away from it as the battering continues and the door shakes from whoever is on the other side.
I reach for the handle, but Gianna’s hand shoots out, stopping me.
‘Wait. Maybe they’ll go away.’
The door shakes and the raging continues. Aggressively. Whoever it is, they’re fucking angry.
The door stops shaking, and I cut her a look.
‘Ryker, no—’
I twist the handle, immediately stepping out, only to be met with moonlit shadows. Then I catch sight of someone running in the distance, their trench coat flapping behind them.
I set off to chase them, but my boot lands on something hard. I pick it up and …
No fucking way.
I turn to Gianna and see her face turn pale. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke, Ryker?’ she spits, charging at me and pummelling my chest.
The wind could do more damage. I easily bring her wrists to her sides, dropping down to meet her eyes, expecting to find hate. Instead, heart-shattering sadness is there. She thrashes against my hold, her bottom lip trembling.
‘I was with you the whole time,’ I speak slowly. ‘Why, and how, would I do this?’
‘Then how?’ she cries, ‘I only made one of these, and you know who the last person to wear it was … so how is it here?’
Her tear-filled eyes search mine before her body falls limp against my chest. I hold her close, thinking she’s about to collapse to the pavement.
And it hits me, like a punch in the middle of my chest: I still can’t have Gianna. Not without hurting her more than I already have.
My mind races through what happened the last time we got what we wanted. I’ll never forget her gut-curdling scream.
I pull away, releasing her once she’s steady on her own feet.
A familiar hollowness seeps into my chest and up my neck, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my throat, one I relish in so I never forget it.
I have to remember what I fucking came here for.
A wave of rage tightens my muscles and I let it take over, fuelling my fire.
My eyes fall to the mask in my hand, a skull face painted silver. The same mask that arrives via text every year. Only now I’m holding it.