9. Ryder
9
RYDER
T here’s something about tailing someone that always feels inherently dirty. Maybe it’s the creeping paranoia or the low-grade thrill of it all, but following Laina in the dead of night makes me feel like a creep.
But Ash has given direct orders, and I’m smart enough not to piss him off.
I keep my bike a good fifty feet behind her little silver sedan as it sits in the parking lot near an empty road. Dagger is worried about her. He thinks Reynolds is after her, which would be a pretty good lead.
Seems almost too good to be true, but I suppose that’s why I’m following her.
I lean against the side of my bike, my eyes trained on her apartment window. Man, has this girl got some security rig! Her place has more eyes on it than a federal prison. I pull out a cigarette and light it.
I should leave. Ash will want a report, and standing here like some romantic anti-hero in a low-budget film isn’t exactly productive. But something keeps me rooted to the spot, my gut twisting in a way I don’t like.
I exhale a lungful of smoke into the night, letting my head fall back as I stare at the stars. They’re sharp and cold tonight, like shards of glass scattered across black velvet.
Footsteps crunch nearby, and I freeze. Not Laina. Someone else.
I flick the cigarette away, letting it sizzle against the damp pavement, and turn toward the sound.
A man steps out from the tree line. He’s built small and skinny and acting a little too twitchy for my liking. His hoodie is pulled low, and his hands are shoved deep in his pockets. I can’t see his face, but I know a threat when I see one.
“Well, well,” I say sharply. “Looks like I’m not the only one lurking in the shadows tonight.”
The guy hesitates, one boot scraping against the gravel like he’s thinking about running.
“Bad idea,” I warn him, pulling my pistol out of the holster at my hip and letting it dangle casually at my side. “Real bad idea.”
He freezes. Smart man.
“You looking for something, friend?” I ask, taking a slow step forward.
The guy tilts his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the gleam of something—teeth, maybe—in the faint light. “Nothing, man. Just passing through.”
“Passing through? In the middle of nowhere? You sure about that?”
He shifts from foot to foot, and I can see the faint tremor in his shoulders. He’s scared—but scared doesn’t mean harmless.
“Listen,” I say, taking another step. “You’ve got three seconds to turn around and walk your ass back home. And if I see you again, I’m not asking questions.”
He hesitates for one breathless second—then bolts and disappears into the dark.
I wait until the sound of his footsteps fades completely before lowering my gun and sliding it back into its holster.
That wasn’t random, I was sure of it.
I turn back toward Laina’s house. The faint glow of a lamp spills through the curtains in one window, and I can see her silhouette move across the room before disappearing out of view.
Something about that skinny bastard lurking around doesn’t sit right with me. Reynolds may or may not be dead. But whoever that guy was, he wasn’t just passing through.
Just as I think she’s about to head to bed, her door suddenly opens and I see her slipping out. She double-checks the door to make sure it’s locked, and hurries to her car.
I count to fifteen after she pulls out of her driveway.
I straddle my bike and rev the engine to life, it growls monstrously in the still night air. I watch her place for another minute before peeling away.
Alright, little lady, let’s see where you’re headed this evening.
Her brake lights glow red in the night up ahead, and I can see her silhouette every time she passes under a streetlamp, her hands gripping the wheel, her shoulders tight with tension.
She’s nervous. Good . Nervous people make mistakes, and mistakes give me answers.
Except—God help me—I don’t want her to make a mistake.
The engine of my bike growls low as I throttle back slightly, allowing her a little more distance. I knew she was tangled up in something big and dangerous, and it was my job to make sure she didn’t pull us all down into the muck with her.
Her car turns onto an even darker road than the one we’re on. With the trees pressing close on either side, it feels eerie. I follow behind, keeping my headlight low.
If it’s true that she was one of the Puppeteer’s victims, then damn that explained a lot.
The haunted look in her eyes, the security setup, the way she flinches at sudden noises or checks over her shoulder like someone’s breathing down her neck.
And if that’s true, then Ash is wrong and she’s not the enemy. She’s just another victim caught in the crosshairs.
And I’ve seen enough people like that to know how the story usually ends.
Following Laina isn’t exactly hard. She drives like she’s got somewhere important to be, but she checks her rearview mirror too often, tapping the brakes at random intervals. Either she knows someone’s tailing her, or she’s naturally paranoid. My money’s on both.
But when she takes the turn leading to Hellfire Riders’ territory, I sit up straighter on my bike, a curse slipping through my teeth.
What the hell is she doing here?
The clubhouse comes into view a few minutes later—a sprawling building surrounded by bikes, pickups, and the faint flicker of firelight from barrels scattered across the gravel lot. The sounds of music and laughter spill out into the night, mingling with the low growl of engines and the occasional holler from some biker with too much whiskey in his system.
I stop well before the main gates, killing the engine and rolling my bike into a patch of overgrown brush. I’m not about to roll in wearing Dead Demons colors. No, that would be a great way to earn a bullet to the head and a shallow grave in the woods.
I shrug out of my leather cut, the familiar weight of it slipping away as I stuff it into my saddlebag. Underneath, I’m dressed in a black hoodie and jeans—plain, unassuming, forgettable. I tug the hood over my head, pulling the strings tight enough to shadow most of my face.
Blend in, Ryder. Just blend in.
Laina’s car is parked near the clubhouse entrance, tucked between two bikes.
I clench my jaw as I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking, keeping my head low. Every instinct is screaming at me to stop. To turn around, call Ash, and let him deal with whatever the hell this is.
But I can’t stop. Every step I take is one step closer to understanding what Laina is up to and why she keeps making decisions that could get her killed.
As I approach the clubhouse, I catch sight of Laina, standing near one of the garage bays, her arms crossed tight over her chest, her brows furrowed in a way that makes her look both pissed and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
And then he walks over.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair slicked back and wearing a grease-stained Hellfire Riders patch. His smirk is all easy charm, a smile that says he knows exactly what he’s doing and the effect it has on women.
I hate him on sight.
Laina’s expression softens as he leans casually against a workbench, his eyes fixed on her like she’s the only person in the world. She lets out a huff—clearly annoyed—but a faint smile also tugs at the corner of her mouth, and I swear to God, something sharp twists deep in my gut.
The guy says something that makes her laugh. It’s not a full laugh, but it’s there—a soft little sound that punches me square in the chest.
I grit my teeth, my fingers flexing in the pockets of my hoodie.
What the hell is she doing smiling at him ?
The guy leans in slightly, his head tilting toward her like he’s telling her some grand secret. She listens, nods, and—Jesus Christ—she smiles again .
I clench my jaw so hard I swear I hear my teeth grind.
He’s standing too close; looking at her like he’s memorizing every damn detail of her face. What’s worse is she’s letting him.
I shouldn’t care. She’s not mine. Hell, I don’t even know her. But watching her smile at that scrawny fuck feels like gravel scraping against raw nerves.
He reaches out, touching her arm lightly, and my vision goes red at the edges.
Careful there, buddy.
Laina doesn’t pull away, but she does shift slightly, hugging herself tighter. Good. At least she’s not melting under his smarmy grin.
But the knot in my chest doesn’t ease, and I realize—uncomfortable and undeniable—that I’m jealous.
Yeah, jealous.
Of a guy whose name I don’t even know.
She says something to him, then her eyes flick toward the clubhouse and she starts walking away, her boots clicking softly against the concrete.
The little asshole watches her go, his head tilting slightly, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful.
So she’s got Hellfire Rider connections.
Christ, this just keeps getting better.
I force myself to stay put, to keep my feet planted right where they are even though every instinct in my body is screaming at me to march over there, throw the guy against the nearest wall, and remind him—remind everyone —that Laina’s not some toy to be played with.
She disappears around the corner, and he finally turns back to whatever the hell he’s working on.
I let out a slow breath, my heart hammering in my chest.
Get a grip, Ryder.
The heavy wooden door of the clubhouse swings open, and I slip inside behind a group of rowdy bikers.
The Hellfire Riders’ clubhouse smells like smoke, spilled whiskey, and testosterone-soaked bad decisions. I’ve been in enough places like this to know how things work; keep your head down, don’t make eye contact, and, above all, don’t act like you don’t belong. If I’m lucky, they’ll assume I’m a new initiate or someone’s buddy who might be joining the club.
But it’s hard to pretend I belong here when my eyes keep tracking Laina.
She’s standing at the bar, her slim shoulders stiff under her leather jacket as she listens to the blonde standing next to her. The woman—Izzy, I think—leans in close, her golden hair catching the low light like a halo. But there’s something sharp about her, something that says she’s not just a pretty face hanging around bikers for free drinks.
I don’t know her, but I know the men in this room.
Hawk, the club president, stands near the pool table, leaning one hip against it, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the room with that hawk-eyed stare of his.
God. I hate him.
Vance sits in a booth along the far wall. Flipping a blade between his fingertips as he listens intently to Laina.
I should punch him for daring to get that close to her.
And then there’s Tank, the man that’s built like a brick wall. He’s wearing dark leather, and leaning against a pillar, a lazy smirk on his face. He takes a sip of the beer he’s holding as he does a quick sweep of the crowd.
I look away from the three men I want to avoid.
Three men who’d rip me apart if they knew I was here.
Laina doesn’t belong here. Not with men like these circling around her like sharks scenting blood in the water.
The blonde—Izzy—says something, and Laina’s lips press into a tight line. Her hand tightens around her glass and her knuckles go white.
Whatever Izzy had said had rattled her.
Why are you here, Laina?
I lean further into the shadows, pulling my hood lower over my face. I can feel the weight of my pistol tucked into the back of my jeans, the cold press of metal against my skin. If things go sideways, I’m not walking out of here without a fight.
A slight movement near the bar catches my eye.
Hawk shifts his gaze toward Laina and Izzy, and something flickers across his face. Recognition? Curiosity? Whatever it is, it puts me on edge.
The blonde suddenly turns, her lips moving as she says something sharp to Laina before she stalks off toward the back of the clubhouse, disappearing into a side hallway.
Laina is left standing alone, her drink untouched and her shoulders hunched just slightly inward.
She glances over her shoulder, and for a split second, I think she’s looking right at me but she’s not.
I catch the look in her eyes—fear mixed with determination—it twists something in my gut.
Dammit, sweetheart. What are you doing here? I think to myself again.
She sets her glass on the bar and starts walking, her boots clicking softly against the scuffed wooden floor. She’s heading to the bathroom or the exit, her gaze fixed on the door like it’s the only lifeline in a room full of predators.
I wait a beat, then I follow.
I move like a ghost, keeping to the edges of the room, weaving between the crowded tables and half-drunken bikers.
Laina pushes through the heavy wooden door, the faint creak swallowed by the steady thrum of bass from the speakers. I slip through behind her, my eyes locked on the back of her head.
But I don’t make it two steps before a hand lands heavily on my shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going, stranger?”
The voice drips with casual menace, like a coiled snake ready to strike. I turn slowly, already knowing who I’ll see.
Vance .
He’s leaning casually against the wall, a cigarette pinched between two fingers, his dark eyes are sharp and assessing as they flick over me. His lips curl into something between a smirk and a sneer.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he says in a deceptively light tone. “You lost, or are you just sightseeing?” he asks casually.
“Didn’t realize I needed permission to grab some fresh air.”
Vance’s grin widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. Because you don’t look like one of ours. And I make it a point to know every face under this roof.”
My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression blank, cocking my head slightly. “Maybe your memory’s slipping. Too much nicotine and whiskey will do that to a man.” I crack a smile and he takes the bait. Still, the tension stretches between us, thick as smoke.
Vance takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls in the air between us. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Men around here tend to cut those out if they waggle too much.”
I smirk and feeling more confident lean in slightly. “Good thing I’m not much of a talker, then.”
His eyes narrow, the playful edge slipping away to reveal something sharper. For a moment, I think he’s going to call over a Hellfire Rider. Hawk, or maybe Tank. But then he steps back, flicks his cigarette to the ground, and crushes it under his boot.
“Watch yourself,” he says coolly. “Hellfire doesn’t take kindly to ghosts wandering through its halls.”
With one last look, he turns and disappears back into the clubhouse.
His lingering stare burns into my back and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Vance is sharp—sharper than most. I roll my shoulders to shake off the tension and hurry out after Laina before someone else stops me.
The door leads to a side parking lot. Laina’s already halfway across the gravel, her slim frame outlined under the glow of a flickering tiki torch. Her arms are crossed, her is head down, and she’s moving fast like she’s got somewhere she needs to be.
I fall in step behind her but keep my distance. My boots crunch softly over the gravel, but she doesn’t turn around. Either she’s too lost in her own head, or she’s just used to looking over her shoulder and seeing nothing.
She rounds a corner behind the back of the clubhouse. I pick up my pace.
This isn’t safe or smart.
And yet, here I am, following after her like some second-rate detective.
Laina stops suddenly, glancing behind her. I duck behind a stack of crates holding my breath as she hesitates. She adjusts her bag on her shoulder, mutters something under her breath, and keeps walking.
I move fast, closing the distance between us before she can turn the next corner.
I catch her wrist just as she reaches for the handle.
“Don’t scream,” I growl, keeping my voice low as I pull her backward.
She lets out a startled gasp, and her free hand shoots out, clawing at my chest, but I spin her around and push her backward through the door into an empty hallway. The talking and music from the bar become muffled.
Luckily, no one sees us.
My instincts take over and without missing a beat, I keep her pinned against me and open the first door I find.
We stumble into a cramped coat closet, the faint scent of mothballs and stale leather invades my nose as the door clicks shut behind us.
Laina struggles in my arms, her breath coming out in sharp gasps, but I press her back against the wall, one hand braced beside her head, the other still wrapped loosely around her wrist.
“Easy,” I say softly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her wide eyes locked on mine.
Up close, she’s even more stunning than I had realized. Her lips are parted, her cheeks are flushed, and the faint scent of vanilla and lavender—lingers on her skin.
“What the hell are you doing?” she gasps.
“I could ask you the exact same thing.”
"Let go of me, Ryder. Now."
Her voice is steady despite the slight tremor I can feel running through her. She's trying to keep it together and stay strong even pinned here in this dusty closet with my body caging her in.
I lean in closer, catching the hitch in her breath. "Not until you tell me what the hell you're doing sneaking around Hellfire territory in the middle of the night."
She twists her wrist, trying to break my grip, but I hold firm. "I don't owe you any explanations," she hisses. "You're the one who just dragged me into a coat closet."
"Yeah, to keep you from doing something stupid, In case you haven't noticed, this isn't exactly the safest place for a girl like you to be wandering alone in."
"A girl like me?" She scoffs. "For your information, I’m not sneaking around! I was invited.”
“Are you with one of them?”
"That's none of your business. My personal life has nothing to do with you or the Dead Demons."
My hand tightens slightly around her wrist. "It is my business if you're cozying up to Hellfire to get information on us, or Reynolds."
"I'm not cozying up to anyone. But even if I was, how is that different from what you're doing right now? Dragging me into dark corners, demanding answers?"
I grit my teeth, frustration coiling tight in my chest. She has a point, but I'm not about to admit it. "The difference is, I'm trying to keep your ass alive. Whoever you're meeting here, whatever you think you're going to get from them, it's not worth the risk."
"You don't get to decide that for me," she snaps, her voice rising slightly. "I'm not some damsel in distress that needs to be rescued, Ryder. Izzy is my best friend, and she asked me to meet her here tonight.”
“Hawk’s woman?”
“Yes. Well, I mean. He doesn’t own her. We’re not property!”
Her dark eyes stay locked on mine, defiant but flickering with something that sends a sharp jolt of heat through me. I loosen my grip on her wrist and brush my thumb over her pulse point, where her heartbeat races under my touch.
“You know what I mean,” I murmur.
“No. I don’t think I do.”
“God, you’re being difficult.”
That makes her laugh.
“What? Are you serious? Me? Difficult? You and your boy band are the ones who decided to get involved in my life, not the other way around.”
“And you’re lucky we did.”
She swallows hard, and her lips part slightly as she exhales. My eyes flick to her mouth—soft, inviting, and far too close. The air between us thickens, charged with something dangerous.
Her brows furrow slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Her breath brushes against my cheek, and I swear to God, it’s like pouring gasoline on a lit match.
“If I’m so lucky, then why are you holding me like this?” she whispers, her voice hesitant but challenging.
“Because, Laina…You keep walking into places where men like me don’t follow the rules.”
She shivers, and I feel a tremor ripple through her body, even though she’s trying like hell to hold her ground.
God help me, I’m already burning for her.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“No,” I admit honestly. “It’s more a warning.”
She holds my gaze with dark, fearless eyes as she considers my words.
Her pulse racing under my fingertips, she replies quietly, "I don’t know how many times I have to tell you assholes but I've faced monsters before. Real ones. The kind that haunt you in the dark and you're not one of them."
She tries to yank her arm away, but I press into her firmly barely leaving a breath of space between us. The heat of her body bleeds into mine, and I fight a sudden urge to pin her against the wall and wedge my thigh between hers. Her eyes widen a fraction as I lean in, my lips hovering a mere inch from hers. The air crackles between us, electric and dangerous.
"Maybe not," I murmur. "But I'm no saint either, sweetheart. And right now, alone with you... I'm thinking all kinds of unholy thoughts."
Laina swallows hard, a faint flush spreads across her cheeks as her gaze darkens; pupils eclipsing warm brown, green, and gold.
The last thread of my control snaps like a frayed wire.
I surge forward, capturing her mouth with mine in a searing kiss. She makes a small, surprised sound that melts into a breathy moan.
Her lips part under mine, soft and yielding as I pour every ounce of pent-up frustration and desire into the kiss. She tastes like whiskey, intoxicating and addictive. I nip at her bottom lip, my tongue soothing the sting before delving deeper; claiming her mouth in a way that leaves no doubt about how badly I want her.
Laina's free hand comes up to grip the front of my hoodie, her fingers curling into the fabric as she pulls me impossibly closer. Her body arches into mine, all soft curves and searing heat. I groan low in my throat, my self-control fraying at the edges.
I break the kiss, my breathing ragged as I trail my lips along her jaw and down the smooth column of her throat. She gasps, her head falling back against the wall as I find the sensitive spot just below her ear. My teeth graze it lightly sending a shiver down her spine.
"Ryder."
My name falls from her lips like a plea and a warning all at once.
I release her wrist to bury my fingers in her hair, tilting her head back as I press her harder against the wall. My other hand skims down her body to grip her hip, dragging her lower body flush against mine.
God, I want her so bad. I want to touch every inch of her; map the curves and valleys of her body with my hands and mouth until she's trembling and desperate. I want to sink into her heat and make her forget everything but my name.
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, resting my forehead against hers.
But then she shifts and I let her go—not because I want to, but because holding her any longer will feel like stepping over a line I can’t uncross.
Laina backs away slightly and turns until her spine is pressed against wooden shelves behind her.
“I need to get going…” she says softly.
“I’m taking you home.”
She hesitates and then rolls her eyes.
“I didn’t sign up for Dead Demons to be stalking me.”
A cold wicked grin spreads over my lips.
“Of course you didn’t sweetheart, but orders are orders, and my boss likes to make a lot of them.”
“I could go get Hawk right now.”
I scoff at what I know is an empty threat and murmur, “Aww, you don’t want to ruin our fun now do you?”
She shifts her weight opening the closet door.
“No. I guess not, but you better not piss me off.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”