6. Riley
6
RILEY
“ I ’m really not in the mood for this,” I sigh, reluctantly climbing out of Royce’s truck in the gravel parking lot at The Depot on Tuesday morning. It’s been seven days since that awful day. Seven days where I haven’t spoken to my daughter. Seven days of worrying whether she’s okay. If she’s even alive.
I haven’t dared to voice that last thought aloud. To put it out in the atmosphere. It feels like tempting fate, and with the cards life has been dealing me recently… yeah, I’ll keep those dark thoughts to myself.
Still, it’s like the guys automatically know when my thoughts veer in that direction and dive in with various distractions. All three of them talk about Aurora with absolute certainty that she’ll be coming home.
And not just home to me, but home to them .
The number of tears I’ve shed listening to Logan talk about Aurora attending his games and the spot he’s reserved for her in Hot Shot Huskies, Royce including Aurora in hypothetical future plans like her presence in our lives is an inevitability. Even Grayson’s excitement at introducing her to the family business—or, as he phrases it, her legacy .
“I know.” Royce’s deep voice breaks through my wayward thoughts as he rounds the truck and walks beside me toward the large warehouse where The Depot is situated. I don’t think I’ve ever been here during the day, and looking at the large metal structure, you’d never know it was a heaving dive bar and fighting ring when the sun goes down. It blends seamlessly with the countryscape around us—the open fields that stretch as far as the eye can see. “But with Bertram out of prison, learning self-defense is in your best interest. We’d all feel better about you walking around campus if you knew a few basic moves. Especially…” He sticks his tongue into his cheek, his jaw hardening.
Especially after what happened with Ben.
That’s what he was going to say.
It’s precisely why Tara has organized this mandatory self-defense session for all the girls who work at Lux and why she has pushed for increased security and protection for all staff members with the new club owner. I haven’t been at work since everything with Aurora went down, but I’ve heard about the new bouncers and stricter rules from her text updates.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be all for learning to defend myself. Especially given what happened with Ben.
But today?
I just don’t have it in me to care.
Royce pulls me to a stop before we reach the door, his hands squeezing my shoulders before sliding to grip the top of my arms as he lowers his head to mine. “I know you don’t want to do this. I know this is the last place you want to be. I’m sure Tara would get you out of it if you absolutely don’t want to go in there, but I think the distraction would do you good. It isn’t going to fix anything, but there is a catharsis in physically expelling all that you’re feeling.” His piercing blue eyes search mine, soft with affection and sympathy. “You’re lost right now. Everything is spiraling out of control, and you can no longer identify up from down. While I can’t empathize with exactly how you’re feeling, I do understand that feeling of having no control over your life.
“Stepping up to an opponent, facing your fears head-on, it’s like... it’s like reclaiming a piece of yourself. You can't control everything that’s happening, but for those moments when you’re lost in the draw of the fight, you control your body, your movements, your power. It’s a release, a purging. You let out all that pent-up frustration, anger, and fear. And in that brief moment, you feel... liberated. Like you’re not just surviving but fighting back. It won’t solve everything, but it might give you a little breathing room, a break from the suffocating weight of it all.”
Staring up at him, I hold his gaze before sighing. “Okay,” I murmur.
He smiles, reeling me into his chest for a brief hug before we enter the warehouse. Without the usual revelry to drown out the noise, the steel doors clang shut behind us, echoing through the cavernous space. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation, mingling with the faint aroma of stale beer that lingers from the previous night.
The steel warehouse, usually filled with raucous crowds and pounding music, has been transformed into a makeshift arena for the self-defense class. The harsh fluorescent lights typically focused on the ring in the center of the room now illuminate multiple mats spread out on the worn concrete floor around the ring. Some are already occupied, and I wave as some girls I work with glance my way.
I recognize Tara’s friend, Rome, standing in the middle of the ring, wearing loose shorts and an undershirt. Her brother stands beside him, similarly dressed, as they converse quietly. The two of them, plus Royce, are our demonstrators today.
“You came!” Tara greets me with a broad yet compassionate smile as she strides toward me in a pair of skin-tight workout leggings and a bra that shows off her toned stomach. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, emphasizing the bright pink tips that swish as she walks. She doesn’t stop until she barrels into me, her arms wrapping me up in a tight embrace that forces the air from my lungs.
Despite not wanting to be here, I practically collapse into her as I seek strength from her hug. When I’d messaged her last week to tell her I wouldn’t be at work for the foreseeable future, I’d dodged her texts and calls, wanting to know what was wrong. I’d thought maybe Xander would have filled her in, but it appears he was keeping everything on the downlow. Eventually, Logan took pity on her and answered her call to explain the situation.
I appreciated him doing that. I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words aloud.
“You didn’t have to come,” Tara murmurs for only me to hear.
“It’s fine.” Pulling back, I give her a tight smile. Glancing Royce’s way, I tack on with a sarcastic drawl, “Apparently, attempting to beat up someone else will be cathartic for me.”
Tara laughs. “He’s totally right. The rush is a high like nothing else. It’ll give you something else to focus on for a couple of hours, if nothing else.”
I arch a brow in a silent question.
“What?” she chuckles. “I grew up around a group of guys who know how to fight. You think I didn’t pick up a few things?”
Yeah… but the way she said that… it was almost as though she was alluding to something more. Huffing a laugh, I let it go.
“I’m gonna go talk to Xander and Rome,” Royce says, placing his hand on the base of my spine as he looks down at me. “You okay here?”
I give him a reassuring smile. “I’m good.”
His stare lingers for a moment longer before he breaks it, striding toward the ring where Xander and Rome are still standing.
“How are you really?” Tara asks when he’s out of earshot.
“Surviving.”
She nods, and her expression says she knows exactly how that feels. “The guys taking care of you?”
“Yeah, they’ve been great.”
She arches a disbelieving eyebrow. “Even the douchebag?”
I chuckle. “Shockingly, yes—even Grayson.”
“Good,” she says with authority, turning to link her arm with mine as we move toward an empty mat. “Because I’ll happily junk punch him if need be.”
“I was kinda hoping I’d be capable of doing that myself after this session,” I tease.
Facing me, she flashes her white teeth in a vicious impersonation of a grin. “That’s the spirit.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with me taking some time off?” I ask awkwardly. Logan had informed her that I wouldn’t be in for my shifts, but I never actually discussed it with her—mostly because I have no idea what’s going to happen. “If you need to replace me with someone else, I understand.”
“What are you even saying right now? Of course, it’s fine!” She waves a dismissive hand. “I got your shifts covered, and I’ve taken you off the schedule for the foreseeable future. Take as long as you need, and I'll slot you back in when you’re ready to return.” Reaching out, she squeezes my hand. “Your focus is where it needs to be. Don’t worry about Lux. We’ll be here when you’ve got Aurora back.”
I squeeze her fingers in return. “Thank you.”
“Alright, ladies. I think we’re ready to start,” Xander calls out from the ring. His gaze scans the room, and glancing around, I realize all the mats are now occupied, everyone having teamed up.
Spotting Kelsey on the far side of the room, I wave at her. She waves back before Xander’s commanding voice cuts through the murmurs, demanding our attention as I look back to where he, Rome, and Royce are standing.
“Welcome, everyone, to today’s self-defense class. Today, we’ll learn some basic moves that will enable you to break free of an attacker’s hold so you can escape and call for help.” With a clap of his hands, Xander leads us through a series of dynamic warm-up exercises designed to get the blood pumping and our muscles primed for action.
Lunges, jumping jacks, and high knees fill the air with the sound of exertion until we’re all sufficiently warmed up, and Xander emits a piercing whistle to regain our attention.
“One common self-defense move for escaping an attacker’s hold is the wrist grab escape,” Xander explains, gesturing for Royce to step forward.
Royce grabs Xander’s wrist aggressively but does not move to do anything else as Xander turns his head to face us. “In any self-defense situation, remaining as calm as possible is crucial. Panicking will only cloud your judgment and make it harder to execute the technique effectively.”
Lifting his arm that Royce holds, he continues, “If an attacker grabs your wrist, focus on the grip. Determine whether the attacker’s thumb is positioned on top of or under your wrist. This will influence the direction of your escape.
“Use your free hand to create space between your wrist and the attacker’s grip,” he explains. “You can do this by pushing against the attacker’s thumb or leveraging your hand against their fingers.” He demonstrates exactly that. “With the space created, rotate your arm in the direction that weakens their hold on you. So, if the attacker’s thumb is on top, rotate your arm downward. If their thumb is below, rotate your arm upward.” He demonstrates both moves for our benefit.
“Then, once you’ve rotated your arm, pull your wrist away with a swift and decisive motion. Use your entire body to generate force if necessary.” He pulls his arm from Royce’s grip and faces us fully. “As soon as you break free, move away from the danger zone immediately. Utilize any nearby objects or obstacles to create additional barriers between you and your attacker. Once you’re safely out of their reach, seek help from bystanders or authorities.” His eyes run over each of us, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now, it’s your turn.”
“Do you want to be the attacker or attackee first?” Tara asks, grinning like she’s having a blast.
“You’re way too excited about this,” I point out with a half-smile. “Attackee. I’m a little worried you might get carried away and kick my ass.”
Laughing, she makes grabby hands for my wrist, which I hand over before systematically working through Xander’s moves.
“Good,” she praises when I break free. “Go again, but faster this time.”
She has me repeat the action several times until I can complete the entire move without having to stop and think. From the corner of my eye, I spot Xander, Rome, and Royce walking around the room. Occasionally, one of them will stop to critique someone.
Once everyone has had a chance to practice the move, they return to the ring and work through another one. As the morning goes on, the moves become more engaging, and several hours later, I find myself facing off against Tara, my hands balled into fists in front of my face as I wait for her to throw a punch.
Her eyes gleam with excitement, and admittedly, I’m having more fun than I thought I would. Tara’s fist swings toward my face, and I immediately block with a well-timed parry. Tara follows it with a powerful kick that I again block before throwing a counterattack.
Sweat dots my forehead and drips down my back, but a grin ignites my face as we work through the moves Xander showed us. Royce was right. There’s something liberating about fighting back. About knowing I’m not solely surviving. My battle may not be physical, but this physical exertion feels good .
“Well done, Riley,” Xander praises, crossing his arms as he stands at the edge of our mat and watches us.
“Hey, what about me, asshole?” Tara teases.
“Your footwork is off,” her brother retorts with a wry smirk.
“Like fuck it is. Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll prove it to you,” Tara throws back at him, all while continuing to block and counter my moves.
“Tara,” Xander sighs. “You do remember this is a self-defense class, don’t you? It wouldn’t be a good look if I kicked your ass in front of all your employees.”
Snorting, she flashes a glower his way. “You mean, it wouldn’t look good for you to get beat up by a girl. Worried it’ll hurt your chance with the ladies?” She smirks viciously.
Damn, I love their sibling spats.
Shaking his head, Xander walks toward the front of the group, whistling to call us to attention.
Hands on my hips, I suck in deep breaths as I glance around the room, noticing everyone else is sweaty and breathless too. However, there’s a sense of accomplishment on everyone’s face.
“I think that’s plenty for today. You’ve all done great,” Xander praises. “Remember, in any situation, remain calm, assess, escape and evade, and seek help.”
Murmurs of thanks echo off the steel walls before everyone disperses, the other girls slowly filtering out of the warehouse. Tara bounces up to me, a bundle of energy despite the grueling workout.
“I’ve gotta bounce if I’m going to have time to shower before work.” She gives me a quick hug. “Text me, yeah?” She’s already walking away when she spins and points a finger at me. “And I want to be kept in the loop.”
As the steel door slams shut behind her, Royce approaches. His eyes bore into me as if searching for answers to unasked questions.
“You were right,” I tell him when he’s close enough. “I do feel better.” I feel stronger and more empowered, knowing that if I end up in a situation like I did with Ben, I’ll be able to get myself out of it—or at the very least fight back.
“You did well today, Riley,” Xander says, joining us with a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips and sympathy warming his pale blue eyes. His attention slides to Royce, and he jerks his head toward the back of The Depot. “Dax is here. Wants to talk to you.”
My hand squeezes Royce’s, who glances down at me before nodding to Xander. Placing his palm at the base of my spine, he escorts me across the room and down the hallway to Xander’s office.
I step into the cramped space with my heart lodged in my throat, barely registering the paperwork piled atop the desk or the two seats wedged between the desk and wall that occupy most of the space.
My entire focus is on Dax, sitting behind Xander’s desk with a laptop open in front of him. He’s impeccably dressed in a suit. His jacket is neatly hanging over the back of his chair, allowing an unobstructed view of his crisp, white shirt as it stretches across his chest, the top two buttons undone and offering a glimpse at the tattoos visible beneath. More of the artwork inked into his skin can be seen along his muscular forearms, where his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He shifts in the chair, stretching, and I swear I hear the seams of his shirt tear as they’re pulled to their limit.
There’s the same ruthless edge about him that I recall from the time I briefly met him at Rogue. A savagery oozes from his pores, a brutality that makes your palms instantly sweat and urges you to flee.
This room is far too small for a man like him, who sucks all the oxygen from the air. Even sitting behind the desk, he dwarfs it, practically spilling out of the chair, which creaks beneath his weight.
“Have you been back here all morning?” Royce grunts. “Why didn’t you join us for the self-defense class?”
Xander snorts from the doorway. “Idiot is scared of a certain five-foot-six, black-haired woman with psychotic tendencies who I have the misfortune of calling my sister.”
Royce arches a brow as Dax glares at Xander. “You’re one to talk—scared of your own sister,” he drawls in that deep voice edged with menace. Honestly, everything about Dax is honed into a deadly weapon intended to cut you out at the knees on the first swing.
“She can be terrifying,” Xander defends. “But I go out of my way to ingratiate myself to her.” He pierces Dax with a meaningful look.
Dax merely grunts. “It was years ago. We were children.”
I’m unable to participate in this conversation. Can barely even follow it, knowing he might have information that could help us find my daughter.
“Well, I’ll leave ya’s to talk,” Xander says, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe before pushing off it. “Let me know if you need anything.”
With that, he disappears, and Dax slides his penetrating gaze my way. “Riley,” he greets, standing and flattening a hand down the front of his shirt before holding it out for me. “It’s nice to see you again. I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”
It’s with a numb awareness that I shake his hand, searching his face for clues as to why he wants to speak to us before I finally just blurt it out. “Did you find anything?” I know Royce gave him a phone he and Logan found amongst Lydia’s belongings at Bertram’s new house, but that was only a few days ago, so it seems quick that he’d have something from that so soon.
Unless it gave up nothing.
He shakes his head, and something fundamental inside me shatters.
I’m distantly aware of Royce stepping up behind me as though fearful I might collapse. His heat engulfs my back as his hand moves to rest on my hip in a reassuring move.
“My guy is still working on the phone,” Dax explains. “Other than that one message, it was clean. So far, he’s traced the text to another burner phone, which has since been disconnected, but he’s doing some tech mumbo-jumbo to trace where it was sent from. If we have a location, we might be able to narrow it down—check traffic cams for the area, that sort of thing.”
Swallowing around the suffocating lump in my throat, I drop my gaze and nod in understanding.
“What did you want then?” Royce directs.
“I have to head back to New York. I put off my last fight, but I can’t delay it any longer. However, I just wanted to let you know I’m still working on this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Understand, man,” Royce answers, holding his hand out to shake Dax’s. “Appreciate it.”
With a curt nod, Dax gathers his laptop and moves to leave the office.
“Thank you,” I blurt, my voice strangled with emotion. He stops at the threshold, turning to look at me. “For everything you’ve done. For what you’re doing. I—I can never repay you, but thank you for helping me find my little girl.”
Dax’s hard, shuttered gaze bores into mine for a long moment. He merely nods before striding away.
“You’re home!” Logan pounces on us as soon as we step into the house. “How was self-defense class?”
“Surprisingly cathartic,” I tell him, although any adrenaline I had during class has waned, and I’m left exhausted—my permanent state of being these days. Even looking at Logan and his golden retriever energy is giving me a headache. “I think I need to lie down, though.”
He nods enthusiastically, a sparkle in his eyes. “I’ve got the perfect place,” he says cryptically, snatching my hand and hauling me up the stairs before I can protest. Glancing over my shoulder, I arch an eyebrow at Royce, who simply shrugs as he follows us at a more leisurely pace.
I’m assuming Logan means his bed, although I hope he realizes I really meant sleep when I mentioned going to bed. However, when we reach the top of the stairs, instead of moving toward his bedroom, Logan drags me toward the one I was held captive in all those months ago. The door has been closed ever since, and I make a firm point of darting past the room without casting it a glance any time I’m walking past.
“Logan,” I hedge, pulling on his hand as he reaches for the door handle.
He doesn’t pay heed to my warning as he swings the door open, and before I slam my eyes shut to avoid looking at that stupid stripper pole that I hate with my guts, I catch glimpses of pale pink and soft gray.
A gasp tumbles from my lips, and my feet are rooted on the floor. Gone are the stripper pole, the sofa, and the heavy drapes that covered the windows. Instead, a comfy-looking double bed takes up most of the room. Its pale pink covers, the white fluffy blanket spread across the end of the bed, and the multitude of cushions make it look warm and inviting. Wooden side tables frame it, and my gaze catches on a photo set on top.
My feet are moving before I realize it, taking me across the room until I’m looking down at the photo, a lump in my throat. It’s one from my apartment—of me and Aurora. Aurora is grinning at the camera, blue frosting covering her mouth, and I’m smiling at her, a light dancing in my eyes that is distinctly missing these days.
My breath catches in my lungs, and my voice wobbles as, unable to take my eyes off the picture, I say, “I-I don’t understand…” When no one responds, I rip my gaze away, turning to find Logan and Royce standing in the doorway. “You did this?”
Logan’s gaze slides away, “Uh, no. It wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t me either, James,” Royce states when I look his way.
“Then who?” They both give me a look. That who the hell do you think look that only confuses me further. “Grayson?” Brow furrowed, I do another sweep of the simple yet carefully thought out room, catching sight of other knick knacks from my apartment. It’s so… me. There’s no way Grayson did this. Not for me.
“He wanted you to have someplace that’s yours,” Logan says softly, likely reading the skepticism written all over my face. “Somewhere you can go when you want to be alone. A room in this house that’s entirely yours.”
A room that’s mine.
A room that has personal items from my apartment. Photos of me and my daughter. My clothes hanging in the closet.
A room Grayson made for me.