Ryker

Chapter Nine

My eyes flutter open, and I can feel the room spinning around me. I try to sit up, but a firm hand pushes me back down.

I can’t hear anything because of the infuriating ringing in my ears; my vision is blurry, and I can feel bile starting to rush up my throat. I lean over the bed and puke, just as a pair of shoes back out of the way. The lights pass above me as I lean my head back and focus on the ceiling. The murmured voices start to become clear with every second that passes.

“Ma’am,” a woman’s voice to my left says as we pass through a set of double doors. I look up at her through my hooded eyes. “What’s your name? What happened?”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. My head is pounding, and I wince as we hit a bump. “Where…” Is all I manage to croak out as spots appear in my vision.

“You are at the Central Manhattan ER.” Is the last thing I hear as everything goes black again.

◆◆◆

I dream about the night before my world was flipped upside down. My father often held gatherings for all the families at our house. I was nine and spent that night playing with the other kids. Being an only child and kept in my room most of the time, getting

to play with the other kids was always the highlight of these events. There were two boys with dark hair, one boy was a little older than us with blonde hair that fell into his face, and one young girl who could not be more than four years old.

I raked my hands over my dress as I scanned the yard, watching the boys play with each other. I knew they wouldn’t want to play with me, but I was longing to have friends my age. Sure, I could play with the girl, but she was still playing with dolls, and I hated dolls. The boys were about eleven. They chased each other, playing tag, but the older boy with blonde hair pushed one of the younger ones onto the ground and started laughing at him, causing the third boy to start laughing.

I let go of my mother’s hand and ran out the door to him, scowling. “Leave him alone!” I yelled at the blonde boy,

“Mind your own business, Bianca. Nobody wants you here.” he scoffed as I helped the youngest get off the ground.

“You don’t want me around because you’re just scared of me.” I said, coating my words in a thick layer of sass.

“Yeah, right. Why would I be scared of you ?” He rolled his eyes. “You play with dolls all day. I train with my dad.”

I narrowed my eyes and took a step towards him. “I do not.”

He got in my face and gave me a wicked grin. “You’re going to be just like every other girl in this life. Weak. Pathetic . You will be nothing like us. You might think you’re tough, but you are no one.”

I didn’t respond with words; instead, I punched him in the face. He winced, taking a few steps backward, staring at me in shock. I heard gasps from the other boys around me, but I didn’t care. My blinding rage boiled over as he got his bearings. His eyes became dark, and I swear I saw him snarl like a rabid dog. His muscles constricted, and even though he was fifteen, he looked ten feet tall. I could practically see him growing as he stalked over to me .

The blonde beast charged for me and tackled me to the ground. The fighting techniques my father ingrained in me for the past couple of years escaped my mind as I hit the ground hard, the wind getting knocked out of me. He punched me in the ribs, and it caused my fight instinct to kick in. I bucked my hips, causing us to roll down the grassy hill.

I landed on top of him, giving me the advantage. The shock was still written all over his face, and I smirked. He swung, and I dodged the hit, planting another blow on his jaw. He yelled as his head whipped to the side. I planted both of his hands above his head and put all my body weight on him. I squeezed his sides with my thighs as he bucked and wiggled under me, trying to get free.

I recognized his face—Manzo. He had the same dark, heartless expression. But there was something off about this Manzo. There was still an ounce of life in those cold blue eyes—not like the man I know now.

“BIANCA!” I turned my head and saw my father rushing to me.

He grabbed me and pulled me off of him.

“I won!” I whined as my father set me down. “It’s not my fault he can’t fight.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Manzo stands up behind me, dusting himself off.

“You are going to fight him again and lose.” My father’s expression turned into stone as he glanced between Manzo and me.

“What? Why?” I scowled back at him, and he just sighed. “Because I said so.”

That didn’t make sense to me as a little girl. Why would I have to throw the fight to let him win? I knew I could beat him. I knew I was better.

My father set us back up, and I looked back over to Manzo, who looked more mad than I’d ever seen him. I had embarrassed him and made him look weak in front of the other boys, the future leaders of their respective families. I looked down at the dress my mother had picked out a few hours prior, which was now covered in dirt, and then looked over to my mother, who just smiled. A beautiful smile I would never forget.

I let out a long breath before I turned my attention back to Manzo. This time, I did what I was told and let him win. I, of course, had to make it look real. I was able to get a couple of punches in before I let him pin me to the ground and tapped out.

After that fight, I gave up trying to play with the boys and ran to the only person who showed me love and compassion, “Honey, you did amazing.” My mother said as she led me into the bathroom to help me get cleaned up.

“You didn’t look like you wanted me to win,” I said as I hopped onto the counter, and she wet a washcloth. “I just wanted him to stop hurting Hudson,” I whispered as I swung my legs on the counter.

“I know.” She smiled and kissed me on the forehead. “You are growing into a beautiful woman. We need to keep this face scar- free, okay?” Sadness filled her expression as she placed the damp cloth on my lip. I winced, but I focused my attention on her.

“What’s wrong?” I furrowed my brow.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself about.” She removed the rag and applied a dollop of ointment before giving me a small smile.

“I’m a big girl, you can tell me.” I insist. I hated seeing her like this.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. “I just didn’t realize how grown you have become. Soon, you won’t need me to clean your boo-boos because you will be doing it yourself. You’re already sticking up for others, and I couldn’t be prouder. No matter how old you get, I will forever be there for you. ”

“Even when I’m old and gray, you can always clean my cuts. I’ll always need you, Mommy.” I hugged her and breathed in her flowery scent.

◆◆◆

I wake up and blink my eyes open as I stare at the ceiling, confused about where I am. I turn my head and wince as a shooting pain trails up my arm. I try to sit up, but my body is weak; everything in me is yelling at me to lay back down, but I know I’ve already been here too long.

I groan as I try again, tossing my legs over the side of the hospital bed, and feel a tug on my arm from the I.V. The door opens, and a young girl with light red hair and a face covered in freckles walks in.

“Good, you’re awake.” She gives me a weak smile as she walks up next to my bed and starts to check my vitals.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry that it feels like I’m swallowing thousands of tiny cacti. “How did I get here?” I manage to whisper.

The nurse turns her attention to me and keeps giving me the pity smile I hate. “The cab driver dropped you off. He said you passed out, and he got worried because of the condition you were in when he picked you up.”

I give her a slow nod as I try to recount what happened. I remember finding Jeremy lifeless on the floor, Manzo and all the other bosses waiting for me in the parking lot, then running. So much running. Always fucking running. “How long have I been here?” My voice cracks, and I close my eyes as a shooting pain travels down my spine.

“Just a couple of hours. That cut on your arm needed re-stitching and the stab wound in your side. ”

My eyes fly open. “I wasn’t stabbed…” I move the hospital gown to the side and notice a bandage on my right side. I don’t remember Manzo stabbing me. He never had a knife; he could have gotten a hold of mine, but I would have remembered that. Maybe he did when I was unconscious… but I would’ve known… right?

“When adrenaline kicks in, most people could get shot and not notice…”

I lay back down, put my head back on the pillow, and close my eyes. My skull feels like it’s about to explode. “What else?” I rolled my head to the side and eyed her. “What else was wrong with me?”

“I’m…” She pauses and shifts on her feet. “I’m sure your doctor will discuss that with you.” She grabs the clipboard and takes two steps toward the door, but I grab her wrists tightly.

“I know I was raped if that’s what you’re so apprehensive about.”

She nods, and I let go of her wrists. She lets out a heavy breath and turns back to me. “You have a concussion, and you had internal bleeding, but we were able to stop that fairly quickly. You coded twice. You also have three broken ribs. You lost a lot of blood from the stab wound. Between the rape, the stab wound to your side, and all the bruising, we weren’t sure you were going to make it. We gave you blood…” She points at the smaller bag next to the IV bag, O- is printed on the sticker. It's empty, so the nurse unhooks it from my IV line. "You're a fighter." Her pitying smile returns, and I look away, attempting not to snap. I know it’s because she is uncomfortable and doesn’t know how to interact with someone who’s been through hell. Although she has probably seen victims in worse condition than me, she isn't desensitized to trauma, yet. Either because she has a heart of gold, or she hasn't been a nurse long enough to lose that compassion. I’ve learned that pity is a useless emotion. I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. “Ar e you in a lot of pain?” She asks, concerned. “I can get you some pain medication if you need it.”

I nod but turn away from her as she leaves the room. I scan the room, finding my duffle bag on the seat next to the bed. I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. I shut my eyes as I try to move my arm; the pain radiates through my shoulder.

Fuck. I don’t feel as bad as she was letting on and I’d hoped for a quick escape, but then again, I almost died. At least then I could be with my Mom and Jeremy again, and escape this hell of a life. How much more running do I have in me? I wonder.

The door opens again, and a man in a white lab coat walks in, “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Hoffman. How are you feeling…Miss….” He pauses and glances at the chart in his hand, scowling. “Sorry, what’s your name?” I open my mouth to answer but snap my jaw shut with an audible click. He furrows his brows. “Do you not remember?” He takes another step into the room, places my chart on a hook at the end of the bed, and takes a seat in one of the chairs.

“I…” I croak out and shake my head.

“Do you remember what happened?” He asks, and I nod. He gives me a small smile. “I want to keep you here for a couple of days to make sure you continue to stay stable. Your body could use the rest.”

I shake my head and try to sit up. A wave of dizziness hits me, and I gag as bile tries to crawl up my throat. He helps guide me into a sitting position and props me up with a pillow behind my head. He hands me a bedpan in case I need it. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I- I can’t stay. I need to go home.” Wherever that might be now.

“I think it’s wise that you give it at least a day.” He gives me a soft smile. “We can give you medication to help manage the pain, and since you have a mild concussion, I don’t want to give you anything that will make you drowsy. I need you to stay awake for the next few hours. After that, we can discuss your departure. For now, the police are here to speak with you. We can bring in a counselor. We understand that you just went through a traumatic event…”

I let out a sinister laugh, interrupting him. “Traumatic event. You have no fucking idea.” I scoff. “I’ll let you check whatever will get me out of here. I don’t care if I have to sign a form saying I’m leaving against your advice or whatever… but I’m not staying here, and I’m not talking to any fucking counselor. You can tell the police they can leave. They can’t help me.”

He lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid, under the circumstances, it’s not an option if you speak to the police or not.” He stands and walks over to the counter. “Let’s take a look at your wound.” He puts on a pair of gloves and walks back over to the side of the bed. I raise my arm so he has better access to the wound. He unties the gown and shifts it out of the way, exposing my side. He removes the bandage and I wince as it sticks to the fresh wound. He mutters an apology as he scans it. I keep my gaze focused on the ceiling as he applies ointment and a new bandage.

I jump when a loud bang sounds from outside my room. My heart begins to race, the monitor giving me away as the beeping starts to pick up. The doctor pauses and looks from me to the nurse, who I can see out of the corner of my eye. She keeps glancing between me and the door.

“We are here to help,” Dr. Hoffman says as he gently touches my shoulder.

My blood turns to ice, and I can feel the color drain from my face when I hear a familiar name being called from the hallway. “Lincoln! WAIT!” The voice is distant and one I don’t recognize.

I try to take steady breaths, but a wave of fear courses through me. At the moment, I’m too weak to fight. It’s the perfect opportunity for Manzo to find me. Manzo would know I needed to go to the hospital and would be looking for a Jane Doe or one of the fake names I’ve used over the years.

If he’s not already here, he might be on his way. Lincoln could have called him… maybe I’m getting too ahead of myself. Maybe it’s just a random stranger with the same name. Did I even hear them right? I can't trust my senses. Despite everything that’s happened, I can't imagine him ever turning me over to Manzo, not after what he saw at the motel.

“Everything looks good.” Doctor Hoffman's voice pulls my attention away from the arguing that is growing close. “I have to let the police know you’re awake.” He turns his attention to the nurse, “Go ahead and start a drip of morphine.” He turns back to me and gently pats me. “I’ll be here if you need anything.” Without another word, he leaves.

The nurse changes out my IV bag, and as she leaves my room, Lincoln barrels in, closing the door behind him. He pauses at the foot of my bed, scanning me from head to toe. His face grows murderous as he stalks to the side of the bed and plops down in the empty chair. Not a second later, the door opens again, this time much softer. Ryker enters and positions himself in the corner of the room.

My eyes stay locked on his as weariness morphs into anger. As if he can sense the fight returning to my soul, he smirks. It takes everything in me not to take this IV out of my arm and ram the needle into his neck.

“How are you doing?” Lincoln asks, and I turn my glare toward him.

“How am I doing?” My voice is still hoarse like I’ve been smoking cigarettes for the past fifty years, “I’m just peachy.”

I shift in my bed, wincing again. I try to take a deep breath, but the pain that follows causes me to let out a small whimper. I try to keep it at bay, but I can’t help it. Right now, my enemies are seeing me at my weakest. I might be drugged and dazed, with a slight concussion that may be impairing my judgment, but I do know one thing. They turned me over to the man who tormented me for my entire teenage life, let Manzo kill my friends, and let him kill someone who was like a brother to me. They stood by and watched as he violated me.

The door opens for a third time as two officers enter. Seeing the woman I used to work with at Stardust enter wearing a detective badge completely drained whatever blood was remaining in my face. Her eyes widen when she sees me. She looks around the room, taking in the two massive mobsters. She quickly schools her features and gives me a polite smile.

“I’m Detective Grant, and this is my partner Peyton.” I wouldn’t say that he is handsome; he’s more of the pretty, boyish type—the kind of guy you would find playing beer pong at a frat house. His hair is buzzed on the sides with a styled mess on the top. He looks as if he could have been a quarterback during his high school glory days.

“Peyton,” I repeat, and she nods, giving me a soft smile. “What's your name?” she asks softly.

I just stare at her. Either she has a twin, or I’m hallucinating because the airy, stereotypical blonde that I used to work with shouldn’t… couldn’t be the woman before me.

“I think you should leave,” Ryker says, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

Peyton looks over her shoulder at Ryker before looking back at me with wide eyes. Without her saying a word, I know what that look means. Don’t tell them you know me. We wouldn’t want to blow her cover. Right?

“I understand that you might not be up for talking,” Grant starts, his arrogance showing in full force, “but we’d like to get more information about what happened while it’s still fresh in your mind. ”

He’s not scared of the men beside him. They are murderers, killers, and he knows that. Yet, he still acts like he’s better than them; turning up his nose and testing their patience.

“I have a concussion. I don’t remember anything. You can ask the doctor. I don’t even know my own name.” She pauses for a moment, then slowly nods as she digs into her pocket and hands me her card. “Give me a call whenever you feel safe to talk. I always have my phone on me, so no matter the time, you call.”

I crumble it into a ball and toss it at my feet. “I don’t want or need to talk to you. Nothing happened. I just fell.”

She inhales a slow breath and turns to her partner. “Maybe it would be best if we talked alone.”

“Just go.” I groan and lean my head back against the pillow. “Well, if you change your mind…” Peyton looks pointedly at the

card at my feet and leaves with Grant close behind.

My heart begins to pound, and I try to rub my temples, but even that makes me ache. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” Lincoln says, standing and heading toward the door. “Do either one of you need anything?”

“I need you both to leave and never come back,” I mumble. “Coffee, black.” Ryker answers, both of them ignoring me.

Finally, the morphine kicks in, taking the edge off.

Ryker takes the seat Lincoln just vacated and leans back. “So, Marcello’s daughter, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “Nope,” I say, popping the ‘P.’ “Not anymore.” He tilts his head as he assesses me. “What happened?”

“I don’t think that's any of your business.” I spit the words at him. He raises an eyebrow. “It seems we have a bit of a misunderstanding here.” He leans onto his elbows and smirks. “You will give me the answers I need. You will obey me and follow my commands…”

“Or what?” I hiss. “You’ll turn me over? Kill my family? Rape and torture me? News flash, asshole, there isn’t anything you could do to me that hasn’t already been done. I don’t need to tell you shit.”

Lincoln walks in with two cups of coffee and an orange Jell-O cup. He hands the coffee to Ryker before placing the Jell-o cup on the tray in front of me. “Bianca,” He says, sensing the tension in the room and coming to stand on my other side.

I’m caged. I can’t escape. The power is in their hands right now, and I have no control over what they might do. “We don’t want to hurt you. We just need to understand what is going on. Why does Manzo want you? Why did your father tell everyone you died? Where have you been for the past ten years?”

I huff out a breath, and he places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I shift, trying to get him to quit touching me. He notices and quickly removes it.

“All of you just stood there and watched. If I hadn’t fought back, you would have let him rape me again. I always thought our world had rules. ‘ Protect those who can’t protect themselves and have done no wrong. ’” I scoff. “But that's a load of bullshit that men like you created to feel better about yourselves. You’re all hypocrites .”

Ryker's eyes grow dark. He leans over the bed and stares down at me. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about. You don’t know me. You don’t know my family.”

“I don’t need to. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“What do you think would’ve happened if I stepped in, huh? Do you think he would’ve just handed you over? ”

No, I don’t. It would have been the beginning of an all-out war in that parking lot. Ryker could have died, and Hawkins, and my father. Killing both of their Capo’s in the process. “Even if I would have died in the process, the world would be a better place without the lot of you .” I hiss, spitting it in his face. “You’re a coward.”

In a quick movement, he grips my throat hard. I don’t have time to process what is happening until he blocks off my airway. “This is your last and final warning.” He growls. “You will obey me and be the good little whore you are.” He releases me, trails his hand up my throat, and caresses my jaw as he leans down, all while holding my gaze. “You need to learn how to watch this mouth of yours.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, “One of these days, you might not get a warning.”

He takes a step back, releasing me. I grind my teeth, staring daggers at him. I could come up with a thousand retorts, but I need to play this right. Sometimes you have to know when to fold.

I let out a long sigh. “I will give you a few answers only if you do something for me in return.” I turn my attention to Lincoln. He might be the only one who can actually help me get out of this situation. I might not admit it to myself, but at this moment, I do feel guilty about using the one person who has been kind to me so far. He might be the only one who cares. I swallow hard before I continue, “I need to grab a few items from my motel room. If you take me there and make sure Manzo doesn’t magically show up.”

“You want to go back?” Lincoln asks, narrowing his eyes.

I shrug. “Like I said, I need to grab a few things. We’ll have to find a way around the cops. I’m sure it’s a crime scene now.”

Ryker chuckles. “You think Manzo would have left evidence?”

“Just keep watch for Manzo’s men. I don’t care what you do; just make sure I make it out alive, and I’ll give you some answers. Deal?” I ask through clenched teeth, extending my hand for Lincoln to shake.

He assesses it for a moment before looking at Ryker, who doesn’t move. After an awkward silence, he finally shakes my hand.

◆◆◆

The next day, Ryker and Lincoln help me check out of the hospital. Dr. Hoffman wanted to keep me for another day for observation, but I feel like I’m already pushing my luck. I never thought in a million years I would be leaving the hospital with Ryker Domincio. Well, not in one piece.

We pull into the parking lot of the motel, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. The concrete is stained red where Manzo had me pinned down. I swallow and avert my gaze, focusing on Lincoln, who is in the passenger seat. In my peripheral, Hawkins, who is seated beside me, has his lips pressed together in a thin line. I would have rather sat next to anyone else. Especially since I killed his father.

I open the car door with my bag hitched on my uninjured shoulder and stalk toward the room. I can’t let my emotions, now starting to boil over, flood me. Not yet. I can’t mourn my friend because I know that if I did, it would never end. Maggie, Karmen, Mia, and now Jeremy. I got retribution for my sisters. Manzo is someone who is impossible to defeat. Seeking justice for Jeremy is something I can’t do on my own, especially since I can’t even manage to find justice for myself.

I glance at Ryker, who is walking next to me, keeping his strides short to match my limping pace. There is a small chance that he doesn’t know about what Manzo and all the other Mob bosses are doing. He’s been working with Hawkins, who spent the past two years traveling Europe, one of the biggest imports for girls. I don’t think that is a coincidence.

Ryker tears off the caution tape, and a cop yells from a few doors over. Ryker ignores him as he opens the door and places his hand on the small of my back, lightly pushing me through the threshold. Lincoln and Hawkins stay behind, keeping the cops occupied, possibly paying them off. But who cares? Their pockets are deeper than just low-level NYPD cops.

I stop a few steps into the room. Everything has been trashed. All my drawers are open, and a few of my remaining clothes are thrown around haphazardly. The bed that was previously made, now has its covers pulled all the way down.

My heart clenches at the flowers Jeremy had gotten me the day of the attack. I walk over to them and pick up a rose, running my fingers through the pedals. I inhale a deep breath, letting their faint scent flood my mind. I lay the flower down on the bed and quickly turn around, facing Ryker, hiding my turmoil. He leans against the door with a blank expression, watching me.

I toss the duffle bag onto the bed and unzip it, tossing the clothes that are lying at my feet into the bag. I know I’d already packed a few work outfits the night Ryker first found me at Stardust, so I ignore the few dresses still left hanging in the ratty closet. Instead, I walk over to the desk where I keep my makeup and toss it into the front zipper. Once I think I’ve gotten everything I need from my room, I look back at him.

“Where’s the briefcase?” He asks suddenly, keeping his voice even.

I stare at him, blinking slowly. “What briefcase?” I ask honestly.

His jaw ticks, and he pushes off the wall. “You said if I brought you here, you would talk. So. Talk .”

I scowl. “I really don’t know what briefcase you’re talking about. ”

He lets out an annoyed sigh, running his hands down his face. “The one you took from Leo Hawkins.”

My face lights up with recognition, and he relaxes a little. The tension in his shoulders still palpable. “It’s safe.” I shrug.

“What was in it?” His anger begins to resurface. I guess that didn’t last long.

“A few documents.” I shrug again. “Something about import and export locations. I don’t know. I wasn’t that interested in it.”

“Then hand it over.”

“And, why would I do that?” I chuckle.

“Like you said, you weren't interested in it.”

This time, it’s my turn to sigh. “It’s in the ceiling above the toilet. If you want it so bad, get it yourself.”.” I zip up the duffle harshly. “If you have any further questions, I would ask them now before I lose my patience.” I turn back to face him, keeping my face void of all emotion.

“How did you escape Manzo?”

The quick change in subject startles me. Dropping my arms, I turn back to the only outfit I hadn’t packed. It’s a pair of black leggings and an oversized Tee. When I get a better look at it, I smile. It’s Jeremy’s. The band logo of some indie artist is on the front, and a list of tour dates are on the back.

Not caring if Ryker sees, I strip off the itchy hospital clothes and quickly slip into the T-shirt. Since I’m not wearing any underwear, I dig back into the bag and pull out a sports bra and a pair of panties. Stepping into it, I pull the bra over my hips, up my torso and secure it in place. It's a bit tight, considering I have a few broken ribs, but I know I’m going to be running soon.

Once I’m fully dressed, I clear my throat and drop my arm, glancing away from him as I talk. “He was having a few men over for a New Year's party. Manzo got word that The Boone brothers had been talking about invading New York. The men he invited over had been feeding them information about Manzo. You know how Chicago is.” I shrug and let out a sigh as I settle on the edge of the bed, wiping the sweat from my hands on the papery hospital pants. “He wanted us to entertain them. Since I was his personal whore, he would introduce me last. He sent all us girls to our rooms to get ready. While the guards were distracted vetting the men, Mia, one of the women I helped escape, ran out into the backyard and dug up a bag we had stashed a few weeks prior. There was some cash I stole from Manzo's office, a few outfits, and a couple of granola bars.” I look down at my hands as I begin tapping each of my fingers to my thumb, the feeling I’m reliving it over again almost all-consuming. “While Manzo was talking to the men, we slipped out the back door. I knew there would only be one guard posted near the gate, but I figured fighting one was better than fighting the ten that were posted out front.” I chuckle lightly and meet his gaze again. The look of indifference infuriates me. “We slipped through the gate, and we ran. The end.”

I stand, tossing the bag onto my shoulder. “You asked your questions, and you have your answers.” I toss him the key to the briefcase I kept tucked away in my bag as I swallow and look around the room. “Could you get your damn case and go back outside? I need a minute alone.”

He raises an eyebrow in response as he catches the key. I already know what he’s thinking. Hell no.

“I don’t trust you,” he says after a few agonizing seconds I scoff, “I haven’t done anything to you.”

“To me? No, but you did strangle my sister.” He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

I let out a laugh that holds no humor. “Your sister was sent there to distract me while you killed my friend. You’re lucky I didn’t kill her. She’s still breathing because I spared her life. And to add salt to the wound, you sat back and watched .” I mirror his stance. Raised chin, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed.

“Five minutes.” I have to hold back my shock. Is he really leaving me alone? “I’ll be in here. I can hear everything , so don’t try anything stupid.”

I give him a single nod as he walks into the bathroom where the ghost of Jeremy’s body still lingers. While he’s distracted, I take the opportunity to run to the dresser, pull out the bottom drawer, and grab the folder I hid beneath. Just as I’m rezipping the duffle, Ryker returns with the briefcase in hand. Without a word, he walks out the door, and it closes behind him with a soft click.

I’m not sure how long he will actually give me. Five minutes could be one. So I go straight to his bathroom, pausing only for a moment, looking at the blood-stained tile. My eye catches on something sitting on the edge of the sink. Slowly picking it up, my heart aches as I realize it’s the necklace Jeremy would always wear. I can feel my heart physically breaking. My best friend is gone. Gone . I grip the necklace tighter, squeezing my eyes shut, stopping the tears.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes, staring at myself in the mirror. Letting the numbness start to set in. First, it's my face. The water in my eyes dries up. I blink and the burn in my throat begins to fade. My brain slowly shuts off any thoughts of Jeremy, that night, or anything from the past. I’ve gotten good at this, blocking out the emotional pain. In my world, it’s seen as a weakness, something that will end up getting me killed. If not physically, then it will be the thing that crushes my soul.

Finally numb, I slip the necklace over my head and peer out of the bathroom; not seeing Ryker, I walk over to the window and slowly open it carefully, trying not to make any noise. When the window is open as far as it can go, I toss the bag into the alleyway, hook one leg over the ledge, and then the other. I sit there for a minute, realizing this jump is going to hurt .

Once I prepare myself for the pain that will follow, I jump, landing on my feet next to the bag. I quickly pick up the handles and look back up at the window. Ryker is standing there, staring at me. How did I not hear him approaching?

It doesn’t matter, I need to focus on getting the hell out of here. I look down both sides of the alley, making sure it’s all clear before looking back at Ryker. He’s beginning to jump, so I give a two- fingered salute and do the one thing I'm good at. I run.