Chapter 20
Twenty
Kelly
I may not remember everything, but I remember enough.
The pounding at the steel door grows so violent the floor trembles under my feet. Dust rains from the low ceiling, mixing with the bitter taste of fear on my tongue. Riot stands between me and the staircase, broad shoulders squared, gun raised, fury radiating off him in waves.
Not panic. Not fear.
Fury.
Like he’s ready—eager—to rip apart whatever’s trying to get in.
“Stay behind me,” he repeats, low and lethal.
I grip the gun he handed me earlier. It feels wrong in my hand, foreign, heavy, too full of consequences for someone who can’t even remember her own life.
But I remember this, Riot’s voice steadying me. His hands on mine when he taught me…Wait.
My breath catches.
A memory hits me like a punch to the chest.
Not a flash. A full moment.
Riot behind me in an open space behind the clubhouse, hands wrapped around mine, adjusting my grip on something small and metal.
‘You trust me?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I whispered.
‘Then do exactly as I tell you. That’s how you stay alive.’
I gasp, fingers tightening around the gun now. He taught me to shoot.
Riot doesn’t turn, but he hears the breath hitch. I can tell by the way he shifts half an inch toward me while keeping his gun aimed at the door.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I remembered something,” I whisper.
His jaw ticks. “Later. Survive first.”
The top door above slams again.
The metal groans. Splits. Bows inward.
They’re almost through.
“Riot,” My voice shakes despite my best efforts. “How many?”
“Too many,” he mutters.
“Can we run?”
“Not yet.”
Another strike—BOOM—echoes through the underground. The beam above cracks. Riot steps forward, feet planted, weapon steady.
I crouch behind a support beam like he told me to, heart hammering so hard it hurts. Sweat prickles my palms. The storm outside rips through the forest, wind shrieking through whatever vents the intruders didn’t crawl through.
“What do they want?” I whisper. “The rest of the Kings will be here soon.”
Riot doesn’t answer. Maybe he can’t. Maybe the rage choking him won’t let words come out.
A final violent slam punches the door off its hinges.
It crashes inward.
Shadows spill down the stairway—three, four, five men, all armed, faces hidden behind black masks marked with the raven painted red across its beak.
The same mark that stole my memories. The same mark that stalked us. The same mark pinned to the front of the truck that tried to kill me.
My entire body locks.
They freeze mid-step when they see Riot standing in the open.
One lifts his weapon. “I wouldn’t,” Riot warns.
He fires. Riot moves faster.
Two gunshots crack—one from the intruder, one from Riot. The man at the front drops instantly, slamming into the stairs. Blood splatters the concrete.
The others rush down.
Chaos explodes.
Riot shoves me back as gunfire erupts.
“DOWN, KELLY!”
I drop instantly, hands over my head as bullets scream past, pinging off steel beams. Riot unloads his clip in controlled bursts, every shot precise. The underground becomes smoke, yelling, thunder overhead, footfalls pounding, metal cracking.
One attacker jumps the last five steps, landing behind a generator. He fires blindly.
Riot lunges sideways, rolling behind a pillar.
He fires twice. The man collapses with a grunt.
Another figure moves along the left wall, silent like a ghost.
I see him before Riot does. “RIOT—LEFT!” I scream.
Riot whips around, but the intruder already has the gun raised.
Time slows.
Riot can’t dodge in time. He’s too far. He’s exposed.
So I move.
I don’t think. I don’t breathe.
I act.
I raise the gun Riot gave me and fire.
The recoil shocks my entire arm, jolting through my shoulder so hard my bones vibrate. But the bullet lands.
The man jerks, stumbling backward, gun flying from his hand as he collapses against the wall.
Everything stops.
Riot’s head snaps toward me.
His eyes—oh God.
Raw. Wide.
Something between horror and pride and terror.
“Kelly,” he starts.
But another masked man barrels down the steps behind him, swinging something heavy. Riot ducks as it smashes into the pole. Sparks fly.
Riot spins, fist connecting with the man’s jaw—once, twice, three times—until the masked figure drops like a stone.
But I barely process it.
All I can hear is the ringing in my ears. All I can feel is the tremor in my arm. All I can taste is adrenaline.
I shot someone. To protect him.
The realization hits hard, but before I can spiral— THUNK.
The emergency exit behind us slams open from the outside.
Riot curses. “Backup door—should’ve been locked. FUCK!”
A massive figure steps in, a different build than the others. Taller. Heavier. Almost strangely calm.
He wears a different mask.
Black. No raven mark. No red slash.
Just blank.
Empty.
My whole body goes cold.
Riot shifts instantly, placing himself between me and the new attacker. “Kelly, get behind the column. Now.”
“No,” I breathe. “I’m not leaving you.”
“This isn’t optional,” Riot growls. “Move.”
But I can’t.
Something about this new man— the stillness, the posture, the almost military precision— Something in me recognizes danger so deep it hits my bones.
The man steps fully into the dim light.
And stops.
Not at Riot. Not at me.
But at the bodies on the floor.
He tilts his head, assessing silently, like he’s counting.
Finally, he speaks.
His voice is low. Steady. Almost gentle.
“Ledger.”
Riot goes rigid.
My heart drops to my stomach.
Ledger. His real name.
Only people who knew him before the Kings use that name.
Riot’s voice comes out like gravel. “Who the hell are you?”
The man laughs softly. “Been a long time.”
Fear spikes through me so violently my knees weaken.
“Riot,” I whisper.
He doesn’t look back. Not once.
The masked man takes another step forward. His movements are unnervingly controlled, the kind that rejects randomness. Calculated. Familiar.
He lifts a hand the way someone calls a dog.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he says calmly. “We only wanted leverage. You made it messy.”
Riot raises his gun. “Say your name before I end you.”
He chuckles again. “You don’t remember me?”
Riot’s entire frame tightens.
Then—the man removes his mask.
I gasp.
Riot goes pale.
“You,” he breathes.
The intruder smiles faintly. “Took you long enough.”
I look between them, heart pounding.
“You know him?” I whisper.
Riot’s jaw clenches so hard a vein bulges at his neck.
“I thought you were dead,” he says quietly.
“Oh, I was,” the man answers. “The Russians just didn’t bury me deep enough.”
A chill rips through me.
This man—whoever he is—is tied to Riot. To Bratok.To the reason I was run off the road.
The man steps closer.
“Kelly, right?”
Riot moves like he’s going to lunge—but the man lifts one finger.
Riot freezes.
Not out of fear. Out of calculation.
The intruder looks directly at me now. His eyes are cold.
Curious.
Detached.
“You weren’t supposed to live,” he says simply. I flinch. Riot steps halfway in front of me.
“But you did,” the man continues. “Which complicates things.”
Something in my chest cracks open.
“You—” I choke. “You ran me off the road.”
“No,” he says. “My men did. I just watched.”
My stomach flips violently.
“You hurt her,” he snarls, voice cracking open like a wound. “You erased her goddamn memory.”
“That was an interesting upside,” the man replies calmly. “I admit, Ledger, I didn’t expect that. But sometimes fate does the work for us.”
Riot lunges. I scream.
The man turns and fires.
It’s not a bullet— It’s a flashbang.
White light detonates through the room.
Sound disappears.
My ears ring sharp enough to feel like knives.
Riot hits the wall—hard.
I try to run to him, but the world spins violently. My vision fractures into shards of light, my hearing gone except for a faint high-pitched whine.
The masked man — the monster — is suddenly in front of me.
Too close.
I stumble backward. My hand squeezes the gun Riot gave me, but my vision is too blurry. My legs too unsteady.
He grabs my wrist.
Hard.
Riot roars my name distant, muffled.
The man smirks.
“Ledger always did pick fragile things,” he murmurs.
A memory slams into me so hard I choke:
Riot standing in my apartment doorway. My voice tight.
‘Don’t treat me like I’m breakable.’
His palm cupping my cheek.
‘I don’t. I treat you like you matter.’
The memory steals my breath.
The man yanks me toward the door.
Riot staggers to his feet, fighting the fading concussion of the blast.
He sees the attacker dragging me.
He snaps.
His voice is a sound I’ve never heard from another human being.
“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!”
He charges, unhinged, wild, lethal, even while half-blinded. The masked man shoves me aside, spinning to meet Riot, fist connecting with Riot’s jaw with a brutal crack.
Riot stumbles then launches himself forward again.
They crash into the reinforced door, both grunting. The masked man is strong, trained, vicious.
But Riot?
Riot is inhuman right now. He’s an animal.
He grabs the man’s throat, slams him into the wall, elbow driving into ribs again and again and again—But the intruder moves fast.
He twists Riot’s arm, flips him, slams him to the ground.
I scream.
Riot rolls, gasping, blood on his lip.
Before I can reach him, the attacker kicks me back, sending me sprawling into crates.
Riot’s voice breaks. “NO!”
Then the attacker lifts his gun. Riot is too far from me. I’m too shaky to move fast enough. The muzzle lifts toward me, and Riot does something that makes my heart shatter.
He throws his weapon aside.
And steps between me and the barrel.
Like a shield. Like a sacrifice.
Like he was born to protect me or die trying.
“No!” I scream. “Riot!”
He spreads his arms, chest exposed, eyes burning.
“If you want her,” he snarls, “you go through me.”
The attacker tilts his head.
Smirks.
Raises the gun.
My heart stops.
Not again. Not again.
A memory slams into me with violent clarity:
Riot’s voice, low and hoarse in my ear:
‘I don’t fall easy. But once I do, I don’t stop.’
Just like that, everything becomes blindingly clear.
I won’t lose him. I won’t let him die for me.
I won’t stand frozen while fate tries to erase him from my life again.
I scramble to my feet.
My hand finds the discarded knife near the fallen attacker.
I don’t think.
I fight.
I launch myself toward the masked man with a cry I don’t recognize, part terror, part fury, part memory coming back in one explosive realization:
I loved Ledger Riot Masters. And I still do.
I slam the blade toward the attacker’s arm. He jerks back. Riot lunges with me. And together, e knock the gun from the bastard’s hand.
It clatters across the concrete.
The man snarls, stepping back, recalculating, then flees through the emergency hatch he came from.
Riot surges after him. “No!” I shout. “Riot, don’t!”
He stops.
Turns.
Breathing hard. Bleeding. Shaking.
But alive.
And his eyes land on me like it hurts him to look.
“Kelly,” he rasps, voice breaking. “You remembered.”
I nod, tears streaming. “I remembered us.”
And he falls to his knees like his body can’t hold the weight of that truth.