Chapter Thirty-Three
Amber
The Next Morning
I’m not sure how long I sleep before I feel him shifting beside me. The mattress dips, then there’s a faint clink of something in the distance. A smell filters into the air. Eggs? Bacon? Maybe even a little toast. My stomach rolls the second it hits me.
I pry one eye open to see Ryder coming back into the room, bare chest glowing faintly in the morning light, a plate in his hand.
“Figured you’d need somethin’ in your guts after all that tequila last night,” he says with a lopsided grin.
He sets the tray down on the nightstand beside me.
“Brekkie in bed. Not exactly my style, but there ya go,” he says shyly.
His lips twitch into a slight smirk as I gruffly try to sit up, my head swimming in an alcoholic fog.
I can barely see him through my bleary eyes, my stomach turning uncomfortably.
The gesture is sweet. Too sweet. My throat closes, tears threatening to form again because no man has ever done something so thoughtful for me after sex.
“Thanks,” I whisper, forcing myself upright. The smell hits harder now. The grease is intense—too intense. My stomach twists violently.
“Shit—” I manage to get out the word before stumbling to the side of the bed, grabbing the trash can just in time. I retch until my stomach is empty, my body trembling with each heave.
Ryder’s hand is on my back instantly, rubbing slow circles to soothe me. “Easy, love. Just a hangover doin’ its thing.” His voice is gentle with concern, but there’s no judgment.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, tears streaking down my cheeks. “Sorry,” I croak, slightly embarrassed.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. Get some kip, yeah? I’ll be right here when you wake.”
I collapse back onto the bed, my head extremely dizzy, his scent wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
I’m too tired to keep my eyes open. They flutter closed, my head drifting into a peaceful, hungover haze.
Somewhere within the fog, I hear him whisper against my hair, “Swear on my life, I’ll never hurt ya. ”
Then I’m gone again.
When I wake, it’s dark outside.
Dry mouth… head pounding… body still sticky with sweat. Yeah, I’m definitely fucking hungover.
Reluctantly, I roll over, hand slapping the cold sheet beside me, connecting with nothing but air. It’s empty… the sheets too cool where Ryder should be.
Everything hits me at once. He promised me he’d be here when I woke up, and he isn’t.
I called him Eddie’s name while we were fucking, and he got pissed.
No matter how many sweet nothings he whispered to me last night, he still left me here alone—the bastard escaping during the middle of the night.
It’s the only explanation. Not that I blame him for it.
I did the same thing to him after the last time we fucked.
For a second, panic spikes in my chest. Then I notice a folded paper on the pillow.
Have a show tonight. Thought you might want this. ~Ryder~
Taped to the note is a backstage pass.
I sit there staring at it, my heart twisting. Last night’s promise plays on repeat in my head, tangled with the taste of him on my tongue, the feel of his girth inside me, and the sound of Eddie’s name leaving my mouth when I came undone.
I shouldn’t go.
I should walk out the door and never look back. But something drags me forward, some masochistic need to see him again, and see if he truly is a man of his word.
Dragging my ass out of bed, I attempt to look somewhat pretty, even though I move like a slug through every motion.
Once upstairs, I find myself on the top floor; the doors opening to the familiar cry of female hysteria as men taunt and tempt them from the stage.
The club is too loud. With lights flashing and the bass rattling my bones, I clutch my pass like it’s a lifeline, weaving through the crowd until I find the backstage curtain.
The same security guard who carried me back here before is standing there, his size a skyscraper in comparison to my petite frame. His muscles are popping, each vein bulging as his body takes up the entire doorframe.
“Hi again,” I say shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m back. This time I’ll come quietly.”
The bouncer eyes me curiously, rolling his eyes when I flash him the special pass that gets me backstage. He moves the curtain for me, pointing down the hallway towards the room I last met Ryder at. “He’s back there.”
Nodding, I carefully make my way backstage, my mouth dropping when a hot guy in chaps walks by me, ass flashing me like a full moon. He tips his hat to me, and in the sexiest Australian twang, says. “Ello, doll.”
Cheeks blazing, I quickly make my way toward Ryder’s room, my stomach doing flips as my hand fits around the knob, desperate to see him again and apologize, this time sober.
My heart drops the second I hear screams on the other side of the door, my hand freezing mid turn.
Slowly, I carefully open the door, peeking in to find Ryder completely naked, moving hard between the thighs of an older woman.
He’s pounding into her with ruthless precision.
She’s older, maybe fifty, with platinum hair that tumbles down her shoulders, and cheap red lipstick smeared across her mouth.
Her palms slap the mirror for leverage, breasts swaying with each hard thrust. She moans with a practiced, taunting pitch, like she knows she has an audience.
My body freezes, but my eyes stay fixated. More intrigued than bothered, everything moving in slow motion like I’m in a trance.
This shit isn’t happening. Is it?
Ryder’s gaze finds mine in the mirror, a coldness in his eyes that chills me to the core.
A sharp gasp escapes me as I stumble back, but it doesn’t matter. He sees me. He knows I’m watching.
His hips keep driving forward, faster, harder, as though my presence fuels his libido. His gaze stays locked with mine, daring me to look away. Sweat runs down his chest, muscles flexing, every inch of him a weapon trained on me.
The woman follows his stare, tilting her head until her eyes meet mine in the mirror.
She smirks, dragging one hand down her stomach and between her thighs, pleasuring herself as Ryder slams into her.
“Mmm, that’s it, Ryder,” she moans, her gaze still fixed on me.
“Show her how a real man fucks. Show her what she lost.”
Ryder doesn’t flinch. He grips her hips tighter, pulling her back to meet every brutal thrust. His jaw ticks, but his eyes never leave me. It feels deliberate. Like he wants me to see. Like he wants to break me.
My stomach churns. I should leave. I should run. But I can’t. I’m pinned in place, breathing shallow, my heart nothing more than a sick lump in my throat.
The woman laughs. It’s low and dirty as she presses her cheek to the glass, her lips leaving a smear stain across the already dirty pane.
“Does it sting, sweetheart? Watching him sink into me? Knowing he’s mine right now?
” She moans again, louder this time, her smirk widening. “He’s not thinking about you anymore.”
Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I can’t blink.
Ryder’s gaze is like iron shackles holding me in place.
His thrusts get more violent, maybe even angrier, and for a moment, it almost feels like I’m the one he’s fucking.
My thighs press together, shame and hurt collide inside me in ways I don’t quite understand.
The woman reaches back, threading her fingers into his hair, her nails dragging across his scalp as she looks at me through the mirror.
“Poor little thing,” she croons. “Thought you were unforgettable? Men like Ryder always come back to women like me. Women who know how to take it. Women who don’t cry when they’re fucked.
Women who can fund a life he’s always dreamed of. ”
There’s a stack of cash on the dresser, more money than I’ve ever seen. Oh my god! He’s a fucking gigolo! I fucked a goddamn gigolo.
I choke on a sob, the room suddenly tilting.
“You said you were different!” I whisper shout, my voice catching between words.
Ryder’s voice comes out low and menacing, his condescending growl meant only for me. “You wanted me to fuck the memory of your precious fiancé out of you. So, I did. That’s all this was. Don’t pretend I was anything more than a fuck to you.”
The words hit harder than his thrusts.
“Ryder…”
“You called me his name when you came, Amber.” His eyes burn into me. “You’ll never admit it, but that’s all I’ve ever been to you. Just a fuck—a quick fucking lay.”
The woman moans again as she grinds against him, her smile too fucking smug and triumphant for an old hag getting banged in a dirty dressing room.
“Why are you still standing there, little girl? Where’s the tears?
Where’s the fucking heartbreak? Oh, that’s right.
You don’t give a fuck about him. Not like the rest of us do.
” Her laughter scrapes across my skin like an iron rake.
I have to force myself to tear my eyes away, my body shaking with rage and devastation.
“You don’t get to do this to me,” I whisper brokenly before my voice rises into a scream.
“You don’t get to judge me when you’re nothing but a cheap whore searching for their next warm body!
You promised you’d never hurt me, Ryder!
And here you are, proving you’re just as fucking rotten as the rest of them! ”
Everything between us fractures into jagged edges, my heart breaking, but not because of him, because I cheated on Eddie with this Outback prick. The fantasy bubble officially popped and melted.
He slows his pace, pulling out of her with a vicious rage. His breaths come out hard and angry, his stare crystalizing to sharp spikes.
“Don’t turn this around on me. You’re the fucked up one, Amber,” he spits, yanking a towel off the counter.
“You need mental help. Until you figure this shit out, you’ll keep wrecking everything you touch, just like you wrecked me.
” He strokes himself a few times before gripping the bitch by the hair, her aging knees cracking as he lowers her to the ground.
She knows what he wants her to do, and she does it without hesitation, sucking him off until he unloads inside of her. He doesn’t groan or even make a noise; he just stares, our eyes meeting in a spiteful battle of who’s more wrong.
Jealousy and rage ignite inside me like wildfire. My hands curl into fists, throat burning with tears I’d rather choke on than shed. For once, I don’t hold back, my words spilling out of me like cold venom.
“You’re disgusting,” I spit, voice trembling with fury. “Both of you.”
His expression is unreadable for a beat, but then his lips twist into something cruel.
“You think you’re any better?” His voice is flat and dripping with scorn. “You used me, Amber. But maybe that’s what you do? Maybe you’d fuck very guy who gives you a little attention because your fiancé couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“You said you understood last night.”
He smirks, his lips twitching into a snarl. “I’m what women call a Casanova, Amber. I’ll fucking say anything to get women in bed, even lie to their faces and call them special. But you’re not special, Amber. Never were. Not to me, and definitely not to your ex.”
“That’s not true!” I snap, my voice cracking. But it is. And he knows it.
He steps closer, pointing at me, still naked and hard.
“You called me his name when you came, Amber. You couldn’t even give me that moment.
All I am is a placeholder and a way to fuck your pain away.
But guess what, bitch? You’re a placeholder too, an itch I scratched and can’t get away from.
” His words hit like bullets, piercing through me one after another.
“But you left me that card… you asked me to come here!”
He chuckles evilly. “Because I knew you’d find me like this. Tit for tat, baby.” It’s then that I realize he’s been talking without an Australian accent this whole time.
“Oh my god! You’re not even Australian!”
He shrugs. “But the ladies still love me.”
The woman chuckles beside him, her smirk widening more. “Poor thing. She actually thought she was special.” She leans forward, licking Ryder’s shoulder with slow exaggeration. “Do us both a favor and get the fuck out of here. You’re ruining the mood.”
The weight of the last few days hits me like a semi.
“You don’t get to talk about me like I’m broken when you’re the one sticking your dick in anything that moves. You don’t get to promise me you’ll never hurt me and then do this the next fucking day!”
“But I did,” he says coldly, “and for some reason, you’re still standing there looking stupid.”
Any fight left in me dies right there. Shoulders sagging, I keep my tongue, too bruised and broken to fight with them a second longer.
“That’s right, run along, little bride. You were never cut out for this game.”
Her mocking follows me out the door, each word cutting deeper than the last. The tears don’t start until the cool night air hits my face and I know I can’t stay here.
Everyone here is dead to me.
All I have left is Italy.