Chapter 28
Violet
I couldn’t move, and in all honesty, I didn’t want to. Drawing my knees to my chest, I pressed my chin against them, staring out at the city beyond the window. London was still going, people living their lives as if mine wasn’t swiftly falling apart.
You’d think I would be having a meltdown, but Ryder was frustratingly good at being a distraction. Enough to keep me steady, to clear my head, and allow me to figure out what came next.
Mum and I have faced our share of struggles, but we’ve always found a way through. This time wouldn’t be any different.
The bathroom door whispered open, and a wave of steam rolled into the room as Ryder stepped out.
Droplets clung to his damp hair, sliding down his bare shoulders and chest. With his jeans slung low on his hips, he crossed the space between us with quiet ease and sank onto the carpet beside me, close enough that the heat of his skin reached mine.
We hadn’t exchanged a word since he used my mouth. His expression had been cold after, yet his gaze lingered on my lips as if he might claim them again. I would’ve laughed at the contradiction if not for the humiliating truth that he’d just given me one of the most powerful orgasms of my life.
Which only made the guilt sink deeper, because while men were out there hunting my mum, I was in here on my knees, letting Ryder fuck my throat with one of the biggest dicks I’d ever seen in real life.
Which wasn’t something I’d thought I’d ever enjoy, the roughness, the dominance, the way he erased every thought until there was only him.
But I did.
Daughter of the year right here.
Not to mention the piercing, which was cold against the heat of his skin. And that only made me wonder how it would feel inside me.
Stop it.
“You’re a lot more agreeable after an orgasm,” Ryder drawled, shattering the rare quiet between us. “Maybe we should make a habit of it.”
“I see you’re even more arrogant,” I muttered, sliding my eyes toward him.
He was leaning back, gaze fixed on the window as if he hadn’t just said the most infuriating thing. “Nonsense,” he chuckled. “I’ve always been this arrogant. Honestly, just look at me.”
“Ugh, what are you still doing here?” I groaned, turning toward him fully, only to curse myself when the city lights cut across his body, making it impossible to look away.
“Here?” He flicked me a sideways glance, mouth twitching. “As in this room, or my life in general?”
“Ryder…” My voice cracked with exasperation. “I don’t have the USB drive. I never had it.”
“You think my employer will believe me?” A cigarette appeared in Ryder’s hand, the motion practiced, almost subconscious. “Think they’ll take my word for it, or just hire another meathead to take another shot?”
He glanced down at the crumpled napkin by my feet, the ink from my pen spiralling across it in restless doodles.
“Maybe I could get you to draw one. I’m sure I could convince them this is what they wanted all along.”
I tugged at my hair, untangling the knots with my fingers. “Why do you do what you do?” I asked, not looking away when he met my gaze. “Steal things?”
He shrugged. “Because I’m good at it.”
“Good at it?” I echoed with a frown.
“You’re good at painting,” he said with a careless smile, “and I’m good at taking things that don’t belong to me.”
“Yeah, but my art doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he drawled. “I’ve seen some of your stuff, and I’m still recovering. Pretty sure my eyes bled.”
I gasped and swatted at his shoulder before I even thought about it. Ryder chuckled, a low, rough sound that rolled out of him and, to my surprise, eased something tight inside me. But there was tension beneath it, a faint stiffness in his posture, his eyes darkening by a shade.
Keep your hands against the wall. Or this stops.
It’s so obvious now how Ryder would sometimes tense at a touch, even though he never hesitated to reach for me. Back then, I didn’t notice. My mind was always darting in a dozen directions at once, too caught up in everything else to take notice.
The realisation settled heavy in my chest, laced with frustration.
What could possibly make a man like Ryder flinch at something as simple as touch?
“Did you know… before all this, all I wanted was to make art?” I said, the words tumbling out because the quiet was too loud and my thoughts were starting to spiral.
“For people to lose themselves in it, even if only for a moment. It feels silly now.” I gave a small, bitter laugh.
“It was the only thing that calmed my mind growing up. Everything was just so…”
“Boring?” Ryder finished for me, raising a curious eyebrow.
“Yes! Exactly. I never understood why my teachers complained about my attention when nothing they said ever held it. But with art… I could disappear into it for hours. It’s still my dream, honestly.
For art to be enough. For it to be everything I need.
” I cleared my throat, heat creeping up my neck as I realised how long I’d been talking.
“Mum always said it was a silly, childish dream I should’ve outgrown.
That art wasn’t enough. Maybe she was right. ”
“It’s not silly,” Ryder said quietly, “It’s just not reality.
” He nudged his shoulder into mine, an almost comforting gesture.
“I grew up with nothing. Slept on the floor of a hostel while my mum turned tricks to keep us fed… and to keep her habit alive. Then one day she moved us into this flat by the river. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, and even our own bathroom. I remember standing there thinking… this is it. This is the start. Things are finally going to change.”
“And it didn’t?”
“I should have known.” His voice hardened, almost flat. “A pimp scooped my mum up, kept her working until she could barely stand. She didn’t get a say in who she serviced. My job was to stay in my room, pretend not to hear, and only come out when she knocked three times.”
Ryder’s knuckles tapped the window three times, a hollow echoing against the glass.
“Once, when I was about eight, she knocked. I opened the door, and she was standing there covered in blood.”
His eyes seemed to burn as he spoke, fire flickering in their depths, while my heart ached with every word.
“The guy had broken her nose. Left her with a black eye. And do you know what she did?” His mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “She grinned. Because she’d earned double. Enough for the good stuff, the kind that left her blissfully numb for the next man while I starved.”
“Ryder…” I whispered softly, trying to think of something, anything to say. As if my words could make a difference.
“Why are you sad?” he asked with a faint frown. “It’s just a story.”
“It’s not just a story. It’s your story.”
“Hmm.” His mouth twisted like the idea amused him. “There you go, being all empathetic again.”
As if remembering it was still there, he lifted the cigarette back to his lips and lit it. But he didn’t inhale, just held it, watching the orange tip burn like it could distract him.
“I used to steal,” he said at last. “Anything I could get my hands on. Thought if I brought home enough, I could get her out, give her a chance. But she’d just spend it on more drugs.
And when it wasn’t enough, when I wasn’t enough, she’d get angry.
Said she’d have to make up the difference on her back. ”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Why? You didn’t make her an addict.”
He studied me for a long moment, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away. I couldn’t decide if any of this was real, or just another one of Ryder’s tactics.
But a part of me, the part that always wanted to believe there was good in people, hoped it was the truth. Hoped that, just this once, the mask had slipped and I was seeing the real man underneath.
“I got caught a few times. Petty shit. Put into foster care where I met Hendrix. I hated that, so I lived on the streets, slept rough for a while but I always found myself going back to her. Until...” He cleared his throat, finally taking a drag of his cigarette.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said with the exhale, blowing the smoke away from me.
“I wanted to save my mum from that place, and now my dream is to never be in the same position.”
“I dream of being an artist, and you dream of security.”
“Well, I don’t dream about world peace, do I?” Ryder said, voice edged with sarcasm. “The world has never cared about me, so why the fuck should I care about it?”
“Is that what the compass is for?” My eyes flicked down, catching on the ink carved into the side of his abs.
“You checking me out, blondie?” Ryder chuckled low, even as I rolled my eyes. “The compass is so I never lose myself. So I can always find my way home…” His expression shifted, softer for just a flicker. “…wherever the fuck that turns out to be.”
Ryder took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs so long I thought he’d choke on it, then exhaled right in my face.
So much for his earlier restraint.
“What I’m saying,” he continued, “is you can’t pick your parents. They can do the cruellest things, and you still go back. But maybe you shouldn’t.”
“She’s my mum.” I let out a frustrated sound, raking my fingers through my hair before gathering it up.
I started braiding it just to keep my hands busy, and to get it out of my face.
“She took care of me. When I was scared, she didn’t laugh it off or tell me I was imagining things.
She stayed and listened when I cried. She was there for me even when she had nothing left for herself. She—”
“You’re listing the bare minimum.” Ryder watched me with a stillness that felt almost critical. “And yet she still lied to you.”
His tone was flat, merciless as he turned back toward the city, the glow of the skyline painting his profile in hard lines.
“Seriously, Violet, there’s only one person you can rely on. And that’s yourself.”