10. Laina
10
LAINA
R yder pulls his bike to a stop just across from my apartment building. I climb out of my car and slam the door shut, my pulse still hammering from the way he’d followed me through the night like a leather-clad shadow.
Why did I let him kiss me? More importantly, why did I kiss him back?
Every part of me just wanted more, but I knew getting involved physically could only be bad news. Right?
I cross my arms across my chest and shift my weight onto one hip as I turn to face him. He swings off his bike in one fluid motion, his boots hit the pavement with a heavy thud. The streetlight catches the sharp angle of his jaw and the faint scruff dusting it like he’s perpetually on the edge of being clean-shaven but can never quite get there.
His hoodie hangs loose over his frame, shadows clinging to the deep hollows of his collarbones, but it does nothing to hide the way his broad shoulders taper down to a lean waist. The man moves like he knows every eye is on him, like he doesn’t care that he’s carved out of bad decisions and raw charm.
God help me, he’s stupidly attractive. Dangerous, but attractive .
They all are.
He shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, tilting his head slightly as he studies me.
“Looks like we made it,” he says.
“Sure did.”
“And the only reason you went to the Hellfire Riders tonight was Izzy?”
His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s a weight behind it that makes me uneasy.
“Yes,” I reply carefully, keeping my eyes locked on him. “Izzy’s my best friend. Has been since we were kids.”
Ryder huffs out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a smirk. “Makes sense, then. The way you walk into their clubhouse like you belong there. Like they’d burn the whole damn place down if someone so much as looked at you wrong. Are you going to tell them about us?”
“I don’t know.”
“I would if I were you. Typically, you can only be close to one of us.”
“They don’t believe me,” I blurt out abruptly.
“About?”
“The Puppeteer. They think I’m being paranoid and that I need to go live with them. But I don’t want to. I want to figure this out. I need to know what’s going on with Reynolds.” I glance away, staring at the cracks spider webbing across the pavement. “We thought… We thought it was them at first. The Hellfire Riders. The killings, the disappearances—it all pointed in their direction.”
Ryder doesn’t move or speak, but I can feel him watching me, considering my words; his presence feels heavy and unrelenting.
“Izzy and I started digging into the murders,” I continue softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “We looked into everything; club records, financials, rumors. But by the time we realized it wasn’t them, it was already too late. He had me.”
“Reynolds,” Ryder whispers.
I nod, my throat tight. “He was already pulling strings and covering his tracks. He was pitting you guys against Hawk and his men. The Hellfire Riders aren’t perfect, but they’re not monsters. Reynolds… he’s something else entirely.”
Ryder exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders are tense and his jaw is locked tight like he’s biting back something sharp and bitter.
“I know the Dead Demons worked with him,” I say, my voice trembling slightly as I force myself to meet his eyes. “You ran jobs for him. Helped him.”
For a moment, Ryder doesn’t respond. His green eyes lock onto mine, and I see something raw and fractured beneath the cocky swagger he usually wears like armor.
“We didn’t know,” he says, his voice rough and edged with regret. “When we started running jobs for Reynolds, we thought he was just a dirty cop. A piece-of-shit guy with a badge and an angle. But that’s the thing about people like him, Laina—they’re good at wearing masks. At making you think they’re just playing the same game as everyone else.”
His voice dips lower, his words carrying the weight of something heavy and ugly. “By the time we realized who and what he was—it was too late. We were tangled in his web, and every move we made just pulled us in deeper.”
I swallow hard, tightening my arms around myself as I absorb his words.
“People died because of him. Because of us ,” Ryder continues, his gaze never leaving mine. “You think that doesn’t sit heavy on every guy in our club who had their hands in that mess? On me ?” He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “We should’ve seen it. We should’ve known. And now we’re paying for it. Every damn day. And you got hurt because of it.”
The bitterness in his voice feels like a physical thing, clawing at the space between us. I can see the regret carved into the lines of his face and in his green eyes which flicker with something haunted and unspoken.
“Do you regret it?” I ask softly. “Working with him?”
Ryder’s mouth twitches into a humorless smirk, but there’s no light in his eyes. “Every fucking day, sweetheart.”
The silence stretches between us long and heavy, broken sporadically by the faint sound of traffic in the distance.
I take a step closer, the cold air biting at my exposed skin. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I know the reports say he’s dead, but it doesn’t add up. None of it does. You know he’s still out there, don’t you?”
Ryder’s eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he watches me. “You’re not wrong to be scared of him. He’s smart. Cunning. And if he’s still out there…”
“Then he’s not done,” I finish for him.
Ryder nods and takes a step closer, his presence wrapping around me like a shadow. “You can’t do this alone, Laina. Whatever you’re digging into—whatever trail you think you’re following—it’s going to get you killed.”
“I can’t stop, Ryder. Not until he’s gone. Not until I know he can’t hurt anyone else.”
He stares at me, his jaw tightening slightly, his eyes sharp and unreadable. Then, slowly, he lifts one hand and brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his rough knuckles grazing my cheek.
“Well…” I mutter breathlessly. I’m desperate to have him kiss me again but know I can’t risk a physical entanglement with any of them. No matter how badly my body is telling me to jump his bones.
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to let me go inside now?” I ask, taking a step toward my apartment hoping it will break the tension between us.
Ryder's hand lingers for a moment longer, his calloused fingers feel warm against my skin. Then he drops it.
"Yeah. Go on. Get some rest."
I nod, fumbling for my keys as I turn toward the building entrance. But I only make it a few steps before his voice stops me.
"Laina."
I glance over my shoulder to where Ryder is standing, backlit by the streetlamp, his expression unreadable in the shadows.
"Be careful," he says quietly. "And if you need anything?—"
"I know," I interrupt softly.
“You sure you’re good?”
I nod, though my stomach feels tight. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
It’s a lie, of course. I’m not fine. I haven’t been for months. But Ryder doesn’t push or call me out on it. Instead, he falls into step beside me as I start walking toward my building.
“Well, let me at least walk you to your door. I can be a gentleman…sometimes.”
I snort out a laugh, and he grins when I do. His lips part revealing big white teeth and a curved smile that arches up. He looks marvelous with a smile.
We’re silent as we approach the entrance but I feel deeply comforted. His presence feels solid and steady. Like a protective wall keeping away the shadows pressing in from every direction.
When we reach the stairs leading up to my front door, Ryder pauses, glancing over his shoulder down the street before turning his eyes back to me.
“Do me a favor, Laina,” he says quietly. “Don’t go digging into this alone. Reynolds… if he’s still out there, he’s not someone you want to face by yourself.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promise.
“You better be.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then snaps back up to my eyes. “I mean it, sweetheart.”
Before I can respond, something catches my eye—a faint glint of something metallic, by my front door.
I freeze mid-step. A small, unmarked cardboard box sits on the worn welcome mat, the edges stained with something dark. It’s perfectly centered as if someone had carefully placed it there. A chill creeps up my spine, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My heart starts pounding. I know even before I look who it’s from.
Ryder notices my hesitation and follows my gaze. His posture stiffens immediately, and in one smooth motion, he steps in front of me, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Ryder—” I start, but he shoots me a look over his shoulder, sharp enough to pin me in place.
I watch, frozen, as he crouches next to the box, tilting his head slightly listening for something. When nothing happens, he reaches out and carefully nudges the corner of the box with his knuckles.
It doesn’t move.
Ryder exhales sharply through his nose, then glances back at me. “Did you order anything? Were you expecting a package?”
“No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Nothing.”
His jaw hardens as he slowly, carefully lifts the lid.
The breath rushes out of me in one sharp gasp.
Inside, nestled in crumpled black tissue paper, is a tiny marionette doll. The wooden face is painted in sharp, haunting lines, the glassy eyes wide and unblinking, a grotesque smile carved into its mouth. Strings dangle loosely from its limbs, but it’s the small, handwritten note pinned to the doll’s chest that makes my knees buckle.
You’ll always be mine, Laina. No matter where you run.
My stomach turns over, bile rising in my throat as my vision blurs. All I can hear is the heavy thud of my heart about to implode on itself. Ryder gets to his feet grimly, the box still in his hand, his face a mask of tightly coiled fury.
“Inside,” he orders, his voice low and lethal. “Now.”
I don’t argue. My legs feel shaky as I climb the remaining steps and fumble with the lock. Ryder comes in after me, his movements sharp and purposeful as he sets the box down just inside the door and shuts it firmly behind us.
The soft click of the deadbolt feels louder than it should in the stillness of my apartment.
“Stay here,” Ryder mutters, moving quickly through the small space. He checks the windows, the back door, and the closets. When he’s satisfied we’re alone, he turns back to me, his green eyes blazing with something fierce and protective.
“Where the hell did this come from, Laina?”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself as I sink onto the edge of the couch. “I don’t know. It wasn’t there earlier. I would’ve seen it.”
Ryder curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Fucking Christ. I saw a guy nearby earlier, but it wasn’t Reynolds. He looked like some asshole creep or something.”
“Other people live in these apartments, Ryder.” I remind him in a hollow voice that doesn’t sound like mine. All I can do is stare numbly at the box sitting just inside the door. Even from here, I can see the outline of that awful doll peeking out. My stomach turns over again.
"It's him," I whisper in a trembling voice. "It has to be. The doll, the note…it's his signature. His way of letting me know he's still alive and watching."
Ryder crouches down in front of me, his hands coming to rest on my knees. "Look at me.”
I drag my gaze away from the box, meeting his intense green eyes.
"We're going to figure this out," he says calmly. "But right now, you're not safe here. Grab some clothes and whatever else you need. You're coming with me."
I blink in surprise, shaking my head slightly. "What? No, I can't just?—"
"This isn't a debate Laina. We’re leaving. Now.”
“Wait.” I grab his forearm, holding him in place, using his presence to help me snap out of the shock and back to reality.
“What?”
“My cameras. I have video surveillance around my whole apartment.”
I hurry to my bedroom ignoring the thunder of fear as it tears through me.
Ryder is right on my heels. My heart hammers in my chest, and a cold sweat slicks the back of my neck. Every creak of the floorboards under my feet feels like an alarm blaring through the silence of my apartment.
When I reach my bedroom, I stumble to my desk and slam myself into the chair. The monitor flickers to life with the push of a button, the soft hum of the hard drive filling the tense silence. Ryder stands next to me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His hands grip the back of my chair, his knuckles white, as he leans over me to stare at the screen.
Thank God he’s here, I think to myself. If he hadn’t been following me, if he hadn’t insisted on walking me to the door, I would have come home alone, and then…I push the thought away.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter under my breath, clicking through the footage from the last few hours.
The screen is split into four quadrants showing the front, back, parking lot, and side alley. I hit rewind and the footage zips backward in eerie silence. Most of the footage is of my neighbors. Old people. A couple with a cute baby. Nothing out of the blue.
“There!” Ryder says suddenly.
I freeze the footage and slowly drag the timestamp forward.
The screen flickers, and there he is.
A tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a dark sweatshirt, the hood pulled low over his head. Sunglasses and a black baseball cap further obscuring his eyes. His posture is hunched as he steps into the building and approaches my front door, carrying the box in one gloved hand.
The man pauses right in front of my door, tilting his head slightly—like he’s listening. Or maybe… like he knows he’s being watched.
My breath catches as I watch him set the box down gently, almost… reverently. Then he straightens, turns on his heel, and walks back down the stairs, disappearing into the shadows of the night.
“That’s him,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
Ryder’s jaw tightens as he leans closer, his face inches from mine as he studies the footage. “The camera didn’t get a good angle on his face. Dammit.”
“No,” I croak out. “But his build. His posture. It’s him. I know it.”
Ryder stays quiet for a long moment, his hand coming down to rest on the edge of the desk beside me. His fingers twitch like he’s fighting back the urge to hit something.
“This guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Walking right up to your door in the middle of the night, leaving that… thing behind.”
“It’s his way of letting me know he’s close,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around myself. “He wants me scared. He wants me to feel like I’ll never escape him.”
Ryder straightens up, running both hands through his messy dark hair. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking under his skin.
“Pack a bag, Laina. You’re not staying here tonight. Hell, you’re not staying here at all until we figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Ryder, I can’t just leave. We should call the cops. I need to talk to Izzy and…”
“No.” He interrupts me firmly. “You don’t get to argue with me on this. This bastard walked up to your door like he owned the place. You think he won’t do worse if we leave you here alone? You’re coming with me. End of discussion.”
I open my mouth to protest again, but the look in his eyes shuts me down instantly. There’s no room for negotiation or argument here.
“I’ll carry you out myself if I have to.”
What the hell do I do? If I show Izzy the box she’ll have to believe me, right? But I’d have to drive to her or ask her to come here. There are too many variables. I don’t know who to trust or where to go. My head starts spinning, and I struggle to focus. All I can think about is that Reynolds was here. He found me.
Ryder places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly.
“Laina, it’s going to be okay. I’m here with you. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to take this bastard down, alright? I just need to get you somewhere safe.”
“Okay,” I whisper in defeat. “Okay, I’ll pack.”
Ryder nods sharply and steps back. “I’ll let you pack. Don’t be too long.”
I grab a duffel bag from my closet and start shoving clothes inside; jeans, sweaters, underwear, anything I can grab without thinking too hard. My hands shake as I zip it closed, the distant glow of the monitor still flickering with the image of the man on my porch.
Down the hall, I hear Ryder’s voice on the phone. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying or who he’s talking to. When I’m ready, I find him waiting by the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his shoulders squared like he’s preparing for a fight.
“Ready?”
I nod, clutching the strap of my duffel bag tightly.
Without another word, he unlocks the door and steps outside first, scanning the area with a sharp, predatory focus. When he’s satisfied that no one is lurking in the shadows, he gestures for me to follow him out of the building, taking my bag from me and flinging it over his shoulder.
The night air is cold, biting at my exposed skin as Ryder leads me to his bike in the parking lot. He swings one leg over it effortlessly, then turns to face me, holding out a helmet.
“Get on,” he says gruffly.
I hesitate, clutching the bag to my chest, and ask, “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere he won’t find you.”