12. Ryker
Chapter 12
Ryker
I wake before dawn with the taste of lemon in my mouth and violence in my blood.
Fuck.
Rolling out of bed, I try to shake off the lingering dream—Cayenne spread across my sheets, that sharp tongue finally silenced, those defiant eyes finally yielding. But the fantasy clings like her citrus scent, cutting through the expensive air filtration system that’s supposed to keep my head clear. Just another way she’s breaching my defenses.
The clock reads 4:47 AM. Too early to be thinking about betas who don’t know their place. Too late to go back to sleep and pretend I’m not already hard from the memory of her wrapped around Jinx, all fire and submission and challenge.
She’s going to run again.
The certainty settles into my bones as I pull on workout clothes, muscle memory from years of chasing things that don’t want to be caught. I’ve read enough psych profiles, tracked enough marks to recognize the signs—the constant twitch of her fingers seeking keyboards, the way her eyes map exits while her mouth spits defiance, the thrumming tension that makes her vibrate like a live wire seeking ground.
The question isn’t whether she’ll try to escape.
The question is whether I can stop her without breaking something essential in the process. Without breaking myself.
The security monitors cast blue shadows across my spartan quarters, showing the basement door still locked, no movement for six hours. But this is Cayenne Sterling—the woman who walked into Sterling Labs’ servers and walked out with enough secrets to earn a death mark. For all I know, she’s already in our systems, just waiting for the right moment to prove how useless all my carefully constructed boundaries are.
My phone buzzes with Quinn’s nightly report. More beta hospitalizations in the financial district. More treatment centers appearing overnight like mushrooms after rain. The pieces are there, a puzzle I can’t solve because the key is locked in that drive and in the mind of a woman who’d rather jump between buildings than trust anyone with her secrets.
I press my forehead against the cool window, watching dawn paint the mountains in shades of grey that remind me of her eyes when she challenges my authority. Which is constantly. Eternally. Like she was created specifically to test every wall I’ve built.
“You’re up early.”
Finn’s voice carries from my doorway, knowing and far too amused. The beta always could read me better than I can read myself.
“Don’t.” The word comes out rougher than intended, but Finn’s presence has always made it harder to maintain the walls I build for everyone else.
“I didn’t say anything.” He pushes his glasses up, but I catch his smirk in the reflection. “Though if you’re worried about our guest, she’s been in the training room for the past hour.”
“What?” I turn from the window, scanning the monitors that show an undisturbed basement door. “How?—”
“Did you really think that lock would hold her?” Now he’s not even trying to hide his amusement. “She picked it twenty minutes after we went to bed. Been running laps ever since.”
Pride and fury war in my chest, familiar enemies that always surface when it comes to her. Goddamn impossible woman.
“She needs boundaries.” I grab a shirt, trying to ignore how my alpha stirs at the thought of her scent in my training room. Our space. “Structure.”
“Like the basement door?” Finn settles into my reading chair, making himself comfortable. Typical. “She’s been locked up her whole life, Ryker. Just in different ways.”
“Explain.” The word comes out sharper than intended, but Finn doesn’t flinch. He never does.
“Think about it.” He takes off his glasses, cleaning them with methodical precision that belies the weight of his words. “She’s spent years hiding behind screens, fighting battles through proxies, living in a cage of her own making. Now she’s faced with real connection, real pack dynamics, real feelings?—”
“We are not her pack.”
“No?” Those keen eyes study me over his frames. “Then why did you spend an hour last night researching beta integration into alpha packs?”
Caught. I turn back to the window, watching dawn creep across our grounds like my excuses—slow, inevitable, transparent. “Know your enemy.”
“Is that what she is? The enemy?”
The question hits too close to the tangled mess of instincts she provokes. Protect. Possess. Control. Submit.
That last one scares me the most.
“She’s a mission,” I say finally. “A protection detail.”
“Right.” Finn’s disbelief could fill the Grand Canyon. “That’s why you growled at Jinx for scenting her.”
“He attacked a PCA officer.”
“And you were perfectly calm about that until he pinned her.”
I resist the urge to bare my teeth at the memory—Jinx’s hands on her, her legs wrapped around him, the way their scents mingled into something that made my alpha want to tear the world apart.
No to rut.
“If you’re done psychoanalyzing me,” I grab my phone, “I have a disobedient beta to deal with.”
“Careful.” Finn’s voice stops me at the door. “Push too hard and she’ll run. Not because she wants to, but because she thinks she has to.”
“Like you did?”
His sharp inhale makes me regret the words immediately. “Below the belt, Alpha.”
“Finn—”
“No, you’re right.” He stands, and for a moment I see the haunted young man we found in that Dublin alley. “I did run. And I would have kept running if a certain alpha hadn’t shown me that safety doesn’t always mean chains.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning.
“I—”
“Don’t.” Finn steps close, his scent spiking briefly before he presses a kiss to my lips. “I get it.” And then he’s gone, leaving me to inhale the bitter note in his scent that says more than words ever could.
Fuck.
Needing to move, to do something—anything other than linger in my head—I leave the room. But not before pausing to really look at it. Something in Finn’s words has me seeing the space through fresh eyes.
It’s simple, really. A bed. A desk. A dresser. And yet it feels cold. Militaristic. White walls and no color anywhere. Nothing personal. Nothing that screams this room is anything but a temporary stop.
Fuck.
Bass vibrates through the hallways as I make my way to the west wing, music loud enough to wake the dead pouring from the training room. I push through the doors ready to rip into Cayenne—and every thought leaves my head.
There, in the center of the mat, she’s passed out. Sprawled like a starfish, one arm thrown over her eyes, breath deep and even. Sweat still clings to her skin and hair, giving her scent a syrupy sweetness that reminds me of state fair lemonade.
The black sports bra and leggings do nothing to hide the constellations of freckles scattered across her stomach. That creamy skin makes me want to trace each one with my tongue, map her body like territory I need to claim.
Shit.
I stare at the ceiling, fighting for control as my body shivers with the need to see how well she takes my cock.
No. Stop.
Amusement from Theo vibrates through our pack bond. I try to shut him out, but his laughter echoes in my head anyway.
Screw it. I march over to the sound system and shut the music off.
She rises like the dead, torso stiff as she sits up and blinks at me blearily. “What the hell?”
“How is it that music that loud knocks you out?” I cross my arms, studying the way exhaustion wars with defiance on her face.
“Drowns out the thoughts.” She grumbles and stands, stretching in a way that makes me look anywhere else.
“How long have you been in here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She rolls her shoulders, and I catch the slight tremor in her hands. Tech withdrawal, probably. Or maybe pure stubbornness.
“You need to find a way to sleep.” I struggle not to let alpha command seep into my voice. My instincts scream to force her to rest, to take care of herself. But that’s not what she needs. Not what will make her strong enough to survive.
“Excuse me?” The mockery in her tone hits every alpha button I have.
“If you refuse your body sleep, you’re worthless on the mat and in the field.” I meet her glare head-on.
“Well, alpha man, I’m not in the field.” She smirks, and something in me snaps.
“Fucking trouble.” I rush her without warning. Baptism by fire—the only way to see someone’s true instincts.
She comes alive instantly, dodging with a grace that makes my blood sing. That smile—sharp and deadly—curves her lips.
“Tsk, tsk, big guy.” She taunts, circling. “Just because you’re big doesn’t mean?—”
I take her legs out with a sweep. Her body hits the mat with a satisfying thud, air rushing from her lungs. I expect anger. Frustration. Maybe fear.
Instead, those green eyes narrow, and her smile turns feral. Before I can react, she executes a perfect roll, legs locking around mine in a takedown that leaves me staring at the ceiling, wondering what hit me.
That should not be as arousing as it is.
“Jujitsu.” I manage to gasp out, eyes caught on the flex of her thighs as I roll to my knees.
She shrugs, that crooked smile doing things to my pulse. “Just using my body structure to its advantages.”
“Alright.” I wipe my hands on my sweats, reassessing. “What else are you hiding?”
“Now why would I give away all my secrets?” She winks, and I decide it’s time to hit where it hurts.
“The report on the other night just came in.”
Interest flickers in her eyes. “Which report?”
“Quinn’s report on the night you hacked Sterling Labs and decided to jump between buildings.” I let contempt color my voice. “You ran instead of fighting.”
“Excuse the fuck out of you.” Anger blooms on her cheeks. “I was up against two assassins. I know when to get out of dodge.”
“And yet if you were properly trained, you wouldn’t have run.” I circle her slowly, watching her track my movement. Testing.
“Like I said, I know when to pick my battles.”
“And if you were properly trained, you would have taken out those assassins, and you wouldn’t be here.” Before she can retaliate, I spin her in a circle and stop suddenly, pointing her at a wall. “What can you use as a weapon in here?”
“What?” Confusion bleeds into irritation.
“Weapons. Now!” I bark, my voice reverberating off the walls as shoulders around the room instinctively straighten.
She spins to face me, jabbing my chest with one finger. “What the fuck is this?”
“Situational awareness.” I get right in her face, using my height to make her focus. “Assess your environment. Weapons and exits under duress.”
She rolls her eyes—one day I’m going to spank her for every time she does that. “I got out of there. This is a waste of time.”
“Then humor me.” I turn my back on her—a calculated risk—and head toward the equipment shelf. I grab a scarf, holding it up.
“Kinky.”
“Turn around.”
“Are we fucking?” She actually listens, though her mouth keeps running. “Because I’m down for a hate fuck.”
“Shut up.” I tie the scarf over her eyes, trying to ignore how her citrus scent spikes with something that isn’t fear. “I’m going to teach you not to run. From any fight.”
“I prefer to stay alive.”
“That’s my point.”
“How do I stay alive if I don’t run from a fight I can’t win?”
“I’m going to teach you to win every fight.”
“Impossible.”
“Go back to that night on the roof.” I press her as I step away, studying her posture. “Image it. What do you see?”
“Ryker.” She groans.
“Focus.” The command slips out sharper than intended.
“I just landed on the roof. I have my gun out.”
“No more bedazzled guns.” Christ, I still can’t believe she did that. “It’ll give you away every time.”
For once, she doesn’t argue. Progress.
“I roll on the roof and hide behind an HVAC unit.”
“Good. Go on.”
“A bullet whizzes by me.”
“Because you bedazzled your gun.”
“Agree to disagree.”
Her head turns and tilts. Good—she’s fully in the memory now. “What do you see?”
“Exits.”
“Focus on what you can use as a weapon.” I move around her slowly. “Anything is a weapon if you try hard enough.”
“I don’t see anything.” The whine in her voice hits something primal in me—too close to an omega’s plea for comfort.
Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard.
“Focus,” I growl.
“There’s a piece of metal laying on the roof. It looks like it fell off a vent.” She shakes her head slightly.
“Good. Does it have a seam?”
“Yeah.”
I walk up behind her, close enough to feel her heat but not quite touching. With deliberate movements, I spin her once before removing the blindfold. Her eyes meet mine, pupils dilated.
“Those are sharp as hell,” I tell her, holding her gaze. “Unravel it and use it as a weapon.” I step back before I do something stupid like taste the sweat on her neck. “Now pick out every weapon in this room.”
She turns in a slow circle, and I take the moment to appreciate how her leggings hug every curve. Training. We’re supposed to be training.
“The weights.” She points to the rack. “Both as projectiles and blunt weapons.”
“Good. What else?”
“Jump ropes can be used to strangle.” Her eyes catch on the equipment lined against the wall. “Resistance bands for the same. That pole from the chin-up bar could be removed and used as a staff.”
I step closer, letting my presence push her. “Faster. You don’t get time to think in a real fight.”
“The mirrors.” She spins toward them. “Break them for sharp edges. The foam mats could be a shield. Those wooden practice swords?—”
“Someone’s coming at you right now. What’s your first grab?”
Her hand shoots out, snatching the resistance band from the wall beside her. Smart. Quick. Efficient.
“Why that?” I press closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
“Because it’s silent.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my alpha fixates on the movement. “I can garrote someone without making noise. No one expects it from a beta.”
“Good.” The praise comes out rougher than intended. “But you’re still thinking like someone who wants to run. Those bands can be used for offense too.”
“Show me.”
The invitation in her voice makes my cock throb. Two words shouldn’t sound that much like sin.
I take the band from her hands, our fingers brushing. “Attack me.”
She doesn’t hesitate, coming at me with a combination that would have dropped someone who didn’t have years of combat training. I let her get close—closer than I should—before snapping the band around her wrist and using her own momentum to spin her.
She ends up pressed against my chest, the band now wrapped around both her wrists, her back arched in a way that makes me want to bite her neck.
“See?” I growl against her ear. “Control your opponent’s movement. Make them submit.”
Her breath catches. “Is that what this is about, Alpha? Making me submit?”
The challenge in her voice makes my grip tighten. “This is about keeping you alive.”
“Sure it is.” She pushes back against me, and fuck, the friction sends fire through my veins. “Nothing to do with you being a control freak.”
“If I wanted to control you—” I spin her to face me, the band still keeping her wrists bound. “You wouldn’t be out of that basement.”
Those green eyes flash. “No? Then what do you want, Ryker?”
To bend you over this mat. To mark every inch of you. To make you beg.
“I want you to survive,” I say instead. “Now show me how you get out of this hold.”
Her eyes hold mine for a heated moment before she moves. The motion is pure grace—a twist of her body, a roll of her shoulders, and suddenly she’s free. The resistance band dangles from my fingers, still warm from her skin.
“Like that?” Pure innocence in her voice, but her smirk gives her away.
“Better.” I circle her again, assessing. “But you’re still telegraphing your moves. I saw that coming.”
“Did you?” She matches my circle, keeping the distance between us constant. Her confidence bleeds into her stance now—less defensive, more aware. “Seems to me like you’re the predictable one, Alpha.”
“Explain.”
“You’re teaching me to fight.” She gestures around the training room. “But what you really want is to understand how I think. How I move. What makes me tick.”
Clever girl.
“Is it working?” I counter.
“Maybe.” She stops moving, head tilted. “But here’s what I’ve learned about you—you’re all about control, but not the way Jinx is. He embraces chaos. You try to contain it.”
“Your point?”
“My point is,” she steps closer, challenge written in every line of her body, “you can’t contain me, Ryker. And it’s driving you crazy.”
Time to show her exactly what kind of control I possess.
“Again,” I command. “This time, I want you to close your eyes. Tell me every exit, every weapon, every advantage in this room.”
“Why? I just did this.”
“Because this time,” I move behind her, close enough that my breath stirs her hair, “I’m going to make it harder.”
Her pulse jumps—I can see it flutter in her throat. “How?”
“By hunting you.”
Color floods her cheeks, but she straightens her spine. “Fine. Don’t blame me if you end up on your ass again.”
“Eyes closed.” The words leave my mouth wrapped in alpha resonance that makes the air molecules between us vibrate. I watch her body respond before her mind decides to comply—pupils contracting slightly, a barely perceptible straightening of her spine, the infinitesimal tilt of her chin. Not submission, but acknowledgment. She closes those green eyes, but that defiant smirk remains etched on her lips like a challenge I’m increasingly desperate to accept.
“There are three exits,” she begins, voice steady despite the pulse visibly fluttering at the base of her throat. “Main door, fire exit, and the window—” her head tilts slightly, tracking some calculation I can’t see, “—though that’s probably reinforced.”
“It is.” I begin circling her, my footsteps deliberately silent against the training mat. The heat of her body reaches me even from three feet away, her lemon scent sharpening with each circuit I complete. Her skin pebbles with goosebumps as I pass behind her, though I’ve made no sound. “Keep going.”
“The equipment wall has the most potential weapons. Weights, bands, ropes...” Her voice trails off as I move closer. “The mirrors could be broken for?—”
I grab her from behind. She reacts instantly—a sharp elbow aimed at my ribs that I barely dodge. “Good. But you lost track of me.”
“Did I?” She hooks her ankle behind mine, and suddenly we’re both going down.
We hit the mat hard, but I manage to roll us, pinning her beneath me. Her eyes snap open, pupils blown wide.
“Now what?” I taunt, holding her wrists above her head. “You’re trapped. No weapons. No tech. Just you and your opponent.”
Her chest heaves against mine. “You’re assuming I’m trapped.”
“Aren’t you?”
That damn smirk again. “Rule one of situational awareness—your opponent’s body can be used against them.”
She arches up, and the friction shorts out my brain. In that moment of distraction, she gets a leg between us and flips our position.
Now she’s straddling me, her hands planted on my chest, victory bright in her eyes. Sweat makes her skin glow in the morning light, and all I can think about is how she’d look riding my cock with that same triumphant expression.
“Like that,” she purrs.
I should throw her off. Should reassert control. Should definitely not be getting hard while she’s pressed against me like this.
“Better,” the word escapes as a growl that vibrates through my chest into hers where our bodies connect. “But you’re still making mistakes.”
“Oh?” She rolls her hips with deliberate precision, her pulse visibly jumping at the base of her throat when she feels the evidence of what she’s doing to me pressing against her core. Her pupils dilate until only a thin ring of green remains, the scent of her arousal spiking from citrus to something heavier, richer. “What mistakes would those be?”
“Never—” My hands find her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave tomorrow’s evidence. The sensation of her yielding beneath my grip sends alpha instincts roaring through my bloodstream. “Get—” My voice drops another octave, the sound barely human as her body arches in response. “Cocky.”
I flip us in one smooth motion, using momentum and body weight to reverse our positions. This time I trap her completely—thighs pinning her legs, hands securing her wrists above her head, chest pressing her into the mat. My hips settle against hers with deliberate pressure, the thin layers of workout clothes doing nothing to hide my arousal or the heat radiating from her core. The mat beneath us creaks with our combined weight, our harsh breathing creating a rhythm that matches the drumming of my heart against my ribs.
Her gasp sends fire through my veins.
“Is this how you train all your students?” Her voice comes breathier than usual, but that defiance still sparks in her eyes. “Or am I special?”
“You’re trouble.” The words rumble from my chest as I lean closer, drawn to the pulse racing in her throat. “And you know it.”
“Maybe you like trouble.” Her fingers curl against my chest, not quite pushing me away. “Maybe that’s why you keep letting me provoke you.”
Christ. The scent of her arousal mingles with citrus and sweat, making my alpha howl. Every instinct screams to claim, to mark, to own.
“You think I’m letting you do anything?” I shift my weight, pressing her harder into the mat. Letting her feel exactly how much control I’m clinging to.
Her breath hitches. “I think—fuck.”
“You think what?” I drop my head, letting my lips brush her ear. “Tell me what you think, little beta.”
“I think,” she arches against me, the movement pure sin, “you want me to run. Just so you can chase me.”
The truth of it hits like a physical blow. Because she’s right—some primal part of me wants exactly that. Wants to hunt her, catch her, break her wild spirit just enough to make her submit without destroying what makes her burn so bright.
“You have no idea what I want.” But even as I say it, my lips trace down her neck, tasting salt and sweat and destiny.
Her hands slide up my arms, nails digging in just shy of pain. “Then show me.”
I raise my head, finding her gaze dark with challenge and heat. One kiss. One taste. That’s all it would take to shatter this fragile boundary between us.
The training room door slams open.
“Well, well.” Jinx’s amused drawl cuts through the air like a blade, the training room’s temperature dropping several degrees with his presence. “This is an interesting training technique.”
I don’t move immediately. Can’t move, really, with my muscles locked in combat between instinct and reason. The alpha in me strains against its chains, urging me to sink teeth into the pulse point visibly fluttering beneath her jaw. To drag possessive hands down her body while maintaining eye contact with my second. To make it abundantly clear through scent and sound and primitive display that she’s?—
My fingers dig into the mat beside her head, leaving permanent indentations in the foam. Not mine. She’s not mine . The thought fractures through my consciousness like broken glass, each shard cutting deeper than the last as I force my body to respond to command rather than instinct.
“Fuck off, Jinx.” The words come out more growl than speech.
“No, no.” He strolls into the room like he owns it, amusement rolling off him in waves. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m just here for the show.”
Cayenne’s laugh vibrates through every point where our bodies touch. “Sorry, Havoc. Private lesson.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” His grin turns feral. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Ryker’s finally going to?—”
“Enough.” I push away from her before I do something stupid like actually claim her in front of him. The cold air between us does nothing to calm my raging cock or my alpha’s demands.
She sits up slowly, that damn smirk still playing on her lips. But I catch the tremor in her hands, the way her pulse still races at her throat.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asks, all fake innocence.
“Six AM,” I counter, just to watch her scowl.
“Seven.”
“Six-thirty.” I cross my arms. “And next time, actually sleep instead of trying to wear yourself out.”
“Is that an order, Alpha?”
The challenge in her voice makes my cock throb. “It’s a suggestion. One you’ll follow if you want to learn how to fight instead of run.”
She rises with that liquid grace that first caught my attention, adjusting her sports bra in a way that has to be deliberate. “Maybe I like running. Especially when it means someone like you might chase me.”
Christ.
“Out.” I manage to grind out. “Both of you.”
Jinx’s laughter follows them as they leave, but just before the door closes, I catch her words:
“So, Havoc, want to show me that parkour course?”
Fuck.
I slam my fist into the nearest wall, relishing the bite of pain. Better than focusing on how perfectly she fit under me. How right she felt in my space. How much I want to...
“Problems?” Theo’s voice drifts through our pack bond, thick with amusement.
I slam my shields up, blocking them all out. But not before I catch the echo of their laughter, their knowing.
I need a cold shower. And maybe to rethink every life choice that led me to this moment—pining for a beta who sets fire to every careful boundary I’ve built.
Tomorrow I’ll do better. Tomorrow I’ll maintain control.
But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. Because Cayenne Sterling isn’t just trouble.
She’s exactly the kind of chaos I’ve spent my life trying to contain.
And god help me, I want to let her burn it all down.