Chapter 4
ELLIE
Sweat cascades down my face and burns my eyes as I stealthily dodge Ryker’s attack.
“You’re going easy on me,” I accuse, crouching into a ready position and lifting my hands to block his next blow.
It comes and, predictably, barely grazes me.
Despite the fact we’ve been practicing for over an hour, Ryker has barely broken a sweat, even dressed in a heavy gray hoodie and sweatpants. I, on the other hand, am drenched in sweat, my cheeks no doubt a vibrant shade of red.
He smiles at me, but it’s more a baring of teeth, his ice-blue eyes crystallized shards in his tan face.
“Do you really think I’ll punch you hard enough to hurt?” Amusement laces his tone, even as he feigns to the right, countering the move with a kick designed to sweep my legs out from under me.
I easily dance out of the way.
“I can’t learn if you won’t teach me,” I point out, trying not to sound as frustrated as I feel. How am I supposed to learn to take on The Divine One and POP if the guys constantly treat me with kid gloves? Even Raymond refuses to fight full-out with me, afraid he’ll accidentally hurt me.
But POP won’t hold back.
They never do.
And since I’m not allowed to meet with my personal trainer anymore…this is the only option I have.
Ryker’s smile falters before being wiped away completely, replaced by his customary scowl. He stops fighting and crosses his arms over his chest. One foot taps impatiently against the hardwood floor.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Ryker tells me, his tone brisk.
I move toward where I discarded my water bottle, in the far corner of the room.
I think it’s supposed to be a ballroom, though it’s only partially completed.
One side of the vaulted ceiling is adorned with ornate plasterwork—swirling floral motifs and gold-leaf accents—but abruptly, the ornamentation gives way to exposed wooden beams and dangling wires.
Scaffolding clings to the far wall like skeletal ribs.
The marble floor is a patchwork. Polished, gleaming tiles merge with raw concrete, dusty and scattered with buckets, palettes, and rolls of blueprints.
This grand room is like everything else at Hotel Hell, as we’ve taken to calling it behind Raymond’s back.
A mockery of what it could be.
And isn’t that what we all are? A mockery? Chasing after a threat we know we can’t catch? It’s why the FBI hasn’t made any arrests, why we’re still in hiding, why Ryker and Landon both had to fake their deaths.
“Ellie, are you fucking listening to me?” Ryker’s angry words cut through my thoughts like a fin in water.
And instantly, I’m pissed.
Really fucking pissed.
“What did you just say to me?” I whirl on him, my chest heaving, a heated flush crawling up my spine and seeping into my cheeks.
Rage prickles the back of my neck, anticipation racing along after it.
I step closer to Ryker until I’m not just encroaching his personal space but dominating it.
I have to notch my chin up to see him better, his features cast in shadow from the hood slung over his head. “Ryker.”
“You’re angry and pissed at the world. I get that.
I do. But you’re taking that anger out on everyone around you.
And, worse than that, you’re taking it out on yourself.
” With an almost blistering speed, he reaches for my wrists, capturing one in each hand.
He holds them above my head, forcing me to strain slightly.
It doesn’t hurt, though. If anything, energy fires up my spine in a series of intermittent lightning strikes.
“I’m training,” I snap at him through clenched teeth.
“That’s all you’re doing,” he retorts, and his long lashes resemble strokes of black ink. I don’t know why that’s what I focus on, but suddenly, they’re all I can see. Then, in a gentler voice, he rasps out, “Baby girl…”
Some of the anger drains from me at his despondent expression, and I feel myself sag, the only thing keeping me upright his hands around my wrists, iron shackles that tether me to reality.
“I know you’re worried about me,” I whisper, my gaze flicking across his face, noting the minute white scar bisecting his bottom lip. The stubble on his jaw. The scowl on his face contrasting with the molten heat in his blue eyes. “I just…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He takes a step closer, still holding my arms above my head, though he transfers them to one hand. His other moves to rest on my waist, where my shirt has risen up. His pinkie finger brushes against my sensitive skin, eliciting a fresh round of goose bumps.
“I killed someone,” I say through numb lips, those three words settling like a lead weight in my chest. It’s the first time I ever confessed that truth out loud.
“This isn’t even the first time I’ve done it.
” Patricia’s face pops to the forefront of my mind—a face I long to forget but know I never will.
Sometimes, I can still hear her neck cracking; that noise will haunt me for the rest of my life. “And Landon—”
“Is healing. Going stir-crazy.” He continues his slow ministration, his pinkie like fire on my skin, his mere touch blotting out the rest of the world. “Worried about you.”
“I’m…” I was going to tag on the word “fine,” but we both know that’s not the truth. It hasn’t been for a while.
“You’re drowning, baby.” He leans forward until he can rest his forehead against my own, his breath fanning across my face. “You’re drowning, but we’re here. We can help you stay afloat. Just let us in. Stop pushing us away.”
My heart thunders in my chest, oxygen wheezing out of my lungs.
“We?” I say, my voice barely a breath of air.
Out of all the guys, Ryker is the one who is most adamant against sharing me. Not that I can blame him. I would go insane if I had to see the guys with other girls, though I understand that’s the fair compromise.
Indecision flashes in his eyes and remains there, even as he crowds me with his body.
“Trust us. Trust me. Let us keep your head above water.” He moves us backward until I’m flush against the wall, my arms extended above my head, his hand on my waist and his fingers stroking my skin.
My heart wedges itself in my throat as I stare into his face—a face I’ve memorized over the years, every scar and freckle and imperfection. Though, admittedly, they are few and far between.
An avalanche of emotion slams into me and sweeps me away.
Slowly, keeping my eyes locked on his, I push up onto my tiptoes and free my wrists from his embrace. Stubble abrades my fingertips as I run them across his jaw, which is currently clenched. It relaxes marginally at my touch, however, some of the tension draining from his body.
“Ellie…” My name is a pained exhale.
I push down his hood until I can run my fingers through his disheveled black hair, the strands sticking in all directions. He moans at my touch, his long lashes fluttering, and leans further against my palms.
“Ellie. Baby.” His lips brush mine, a tease of a kiss, and I chase it, chase him.
Kissing each of my guys is different. Some are soft and soulful. Others are ravenous and passionate.
Ryker? He kisses me like he’s dying. Every press of his lips against mine, every swipe of his tongue against my parted lips, makes my arousal amplify. I want his hands on me, inside of me, all over me.
He runs his hands up my waist and cups my breasts through the material of my shirt. I drag my own hand under his shirt, feeling his hot, corded muscles flex beneath my palm.
And all I can think is—why have I been avoiding this for so long?
Why have I been avoiding them?
For months, I’ve been in a perpetual daze, wading through knee-deep tar and unable to see more than a few feet in front of me.
It was an existence of monotony and loneliness and a depression that sank its spindly claws deep into me and refused to let go.
But kissing Ryker is like stepping into the light.
I can feel it lacquering my face, warming my skin, encompassing me in its soft embrace.
My brain scatters in a thousand different directions when Ryker releases my breasts, roughly grabs the back of my thighs, and hoists me into the air. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around him and tug at his hair, holding his face to mine.
“You’re not alone.” Ryker’s voice is a rasp against my lips. “You’ll never be alone. Don’t push us away. Don’t push me away.” He punctuates each promise with a kiss that causes my body to liquefy, to become aflush with sensation.
Guilt stings, the feeling like saltwater dripping into an open wound.
He’s right, isn’t he? He may not have said it outright, but I’ve been an epic bitch lately. I’ve been so consumed with my own trauma, my own fears, that I’ve been pushing the guys aside. Before they were my lovers, they were my best friends. They needed me, and I haven’t been there for them.
I vow to myself, right then and there, that I’ll do better.
That I’ll be better. My quest for revenge won’t get in the way of my relationships with the five men who hold my heart.
It’s not split among the five of them. They each have it in its entirety.
It’s battered and bruised and tarnished from years of pain and crippling depression, but it’s all I can offer them.
I just hope it’s enough.
“We need to stop,” Ryker rasps, his fingers clamping on my ass. “We need to stop right now.”
“What?” I feel languid, my body leaden and heavy. I blink at him, attempting to wrangle my senses under control once more.
“If we don’t stop, I’m going to fuck you right here and now.” His raspy proclamation sends another surge of heat through me, my pussy clenching instinctively.
“Would that be a bad thing?” I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, even as he lowers me to the ground, his cock straining against his pants in a way that almost looks painful.
“Yes,” he growls out. That’s it. No other explanation.
But I get it.
Ryker is…conflicted. Not with me—I know that—but with the situation.
He understands that I have feelings for the other guys, and I think a part of him even accepts that to some extent.
What he hasn’t accepted, however, is sharing me with them.
I’m unsure what this means for us, or if there ever will be an us, but I don’t want to push him.
It’ll break my heart if he chooses to walk away from me, but at the end of the day, I love him enough to let him go. All I want is for him to be happy.
Having sex with me, especially now, will change everything between us.
I know it as well as he does. There will be no going back.
No second chances. I won’t be able to let him go any more than he’d be able to let me go.
We would be tied for life, two souls that inexorably found each other in the dissonant chaos of this world.
Shadows darken Ryker’s face, a frown touching his lips. “Ellie—”
“I understand. I promise,” I tell him, and I mean it, even if fear swells behind my ribs and pain slashes at my spine.
“I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. You’re the only person I love. The only one I’ll ever love.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I love you too,” I assure him. “So, so much.”
A sad smile graces his face. “But I’m not the only one, am I?”
I can’t answer with words—a knot has wedged itself in my throat—so I simply shake my head.
No. He’s not.
“That doesn’t mean I love you any less,” I whisper, wanting him to believe it. Needing him to.
“I know that.” He blows out a breath and shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Fuck, I know that. You have the biggest heart of anyone I ever met, baby girl.”
A wry smirk tugs at my lips. “I’m not sure if that’s exactly a compliment. You don’t really know a lot of people.”
A bark of surprised laughter escapes him before he sobers, stepping closer to take my hands in his.
“I’m working on my shit, Ellie. I promise.
I won’t let you go. I can’t. You’re a part of me, embedded so deep, it’ll be impossible to remove.
But this is something I need to work on.
I’m not…” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m not asking you to choose.
I know that would make me a selfish asshole.
Just…just give me time to wrap my head around this, okay?
Don’t give up on me.” The last words are a whisper, a plea that burrows its way beneath my skin and finds a home there.
“Never,” I vow, wanting desperately to hug him but not knowing if he’ll welcome it. “You gave me time to deal with my shit. I can give you all the time in the world to deal with yours.”
“So, you dealt with it? Your shit, I mean.”
A giggle escapes me. “Out of context, that sounds really, really gross. Makes me think I have a constipation issue.”
“Do you?” Ryker asks seriously.
I swat at his shoulder.
For a moment, we stare at each other, both smiling, a companionable silence permeating the space between us.
But it doesn’t last. It never does.
The door to the ballroom is pushed open, and Raymond stalks inside, his expression terse, his lips compressed in a firm line.
Ryker steps farther away from me, despite the fact we’re no longer doing anything. He casually reaches for his hood and flips it over his head once more, shadowing his face.
“What’s wrong?” I frown at my uncle, a ball of panic rising in the base of my throat.
“Dom was just contacted. Again. POP is having another meeting.” Dark lines etch themselves into the skin around his lips and eyes. “Dominic’s father invited you and him to it.”
Okay? How is that any different than normal? Harvey calls practically every day.
Then Raymond continues.
“This time… This time, I think you should go.”