Chapter 22 Ryker #2
“Nah. Just the type to trap someone.” Liam squeezes my hand. “Does this mean you like me?”
“I like you more than anyone else I currently know,” I answer. “Do with that what you will.”
Liam beams up at me. “I’ll take it,” he says. He pauses and pulls me in for a kiss.
I lean down to kiss him back. It’s easier now, and I really don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.
My tongue teases the seam of his lips, and they part for me. His moan is muffled against my mouth, and he presses his body flush against mine as his arms come up around me. “Too bad we’re in public,” he murmurs. “I want you so bad.”
“If this were real nature, I could take you up against that tree,” I whisper. “Then the only voyeurs would be the vultures.”
“Mmm.” He laughs softly. “You might sell me on this whole nature crap after all.”
A few people jog past us, reminding us that we aren’t, in fact, out in nature. Privacy is hard to come by in New Bristol.
I sigh and pull back again. “What were your plans before I interrupted them?”
Another strangulation of a high-profile person?
“Didn’t have any,” Liam says, shrugging. “I was thinking of going out, but Maggie’s being a pain, and it’s not like I could fuck around with anyone. It’s boring being celibate.”
“Boring? I’ve never been bored,” I say. I reach up to squeeze the back of his neck. “But I work for a living. You should try that.”
He scoffs at me as we start walking again. “I’d be horrible at it,” he says. “And I’d have to work for my fucking father.”
“Why?” I ask. “My father wanted me to work in the coal mines with him. I applied for college instead.”
“Can you really imagine me holding down a ‘real’ job?” he asks. “Anyway, he’d rather me fuck around than work for the competition because that’s all I know how to do.” He smiles again, but it’s brittle. “I’m already enough of an embarrassment.”
A flash of anger strikes through me.
“What’s embarrassing?” I growl. “It’s not anyone else’s business what you do with your life.”
Liam glances up at me, surprise briefly flickering across his expression. “Oh, come on. I fuck around, I party all the time, I barely show up to the fundraisers I’m supposed to go to, and when I do, I just make them look bad. I don’t even know why they want me to bother.”
“Who cares what they think?” I pause and lean against the railing by the river. “The only one whose opinion should matter is your own.” I mull over that, then smirk. “And mine, of course.”
“Of course,” Liam replies, his voice dry. But he rests against my side. “I used to try to please them, when I was younger.” He shrugs. “I don’t really bother anymore. But I know what I need to do to keep my trust fund.”
Money does always complicate things. That’s why I’d leaped at the first opportunity to become independent from my family.
“If you cared what people thought, you wouldn’t have taken up your hobby,” I point out. “That’s not going to get you approval and adoration.”
Some of the darkness recedes from Liam’s expression, and he smiles at me. “Good thing the only two people whose opinions matter are me and you.”
I laugh, ruffling his hair. “Cheeky brat.”
Something catches my attention from the corner of my eye, and I tighten my grip on Liam’s hair. He shivers and tries to lean in for a kiss, but I force his head to tilt toward what I’d spotted on the small, off-limits dock a few feet below us.
“Look,” I hiss.
It’s a tourist with a selfie stick, talking to himself and flexing his muscles. From this angle, he must have the setting sun behind him, and I wonder if he can actually see anything on his phone.
He definitely isn’t noticing how close he is to the edge of the dock.
Liam looks with interest at the man. “Oh, that’s stupid,” he says. “Some guy died doing that a few years ago.”
“We could call out to him and warn him,” I suggest in a low voice.
“Or I could throw a rock at him and distract him.” Liam grins at me. “Maybe he’d fall.”
No, he’d definitely never earn approval and adoration from the public for what he truly is.
“Don’t do anything that would attract attention, you little idiot,” I say, but I pull him closer to me too.
The tourist continues yapping at his phone, probably recording video for some internet thing. He takes another step back, and now he’s right at the edge.
“Want to make a bet?” I ask. “If he falls in the next two minutes, I’ll take you back to your condo and cut up your skin.”
Liam hums. “And I can’t interfere at all? How long has he been down there?”
“If you interfere, one of the good, kind-hearted citizens might notice and swoop in to save him,” I point out. “He must have been there for at least ten minutes. I didn’t notice him going down.”
“Five minutes,” he decides. “He should be almost done if he’s been down there that long, but who knows? Maybe he’s one of the ones who takes their sweet time.”
We watch, and some of the words from the guy filter up to us: “dramatic sunset” and “New Bristol sights.” A travel blogger or influencer, maybe? One of those that goes to meadows of endangered flowers and tramples all over them for a good photo.
“Ugh, could he hurry up and fall,” Liam mutters under his breath.
“Maybe he knows exactly where his feet are,” I say, though I admit I’m disappointed.
Do travel bloggers hitchhike? I wonder if I could pick this guy up as he’s leaving the city and give him something to really blog about.
That would be very careless of me. If he’s got enough followers, his absence would be noticed. I’m only supposed to pick random targets, not specific ones.
The brat is rubbing off on me, I guess.
“I don’t think he’s doing it,” Liam says with a disappointed sigh. “He’s that lucky.”
I’m about to agree that we should keep moving when something beautiful happens.
A seagull swoops in to land on the post on that mini dock. Its movement surprises the blogger, and he yelps.
He takes a step back.
And falls straight into the river.
Before Liam can shout with triumph, I slap my hand over his mouth.
Liam squirms against me, but we’ve both got our eyes on the guy.
He struggles and reaches for the dock to haul himself out of the water, but the current must be stronger than it looks because he’s swept away, making the dock out of reach.
“We should call for help,” I suggest quietly. I trail my hand from Liam’s mouth down to his neck. “If they reach him in time, they could still save him.”
Liam lets out a low laugh. “Now why would we do that? What are we, good Samaritans now?” He shrugs. “Besides, by the time we got help, it would still be too late. Then we’d get questioned, and that sounds exhausting.”
“It’s not that hard to dial 9-1-1,” I point out.
The tourist starts shouting, but it’s garbled, and with the water flowing as it is it’s hard to hear him.
I squeeze Liam’s neck, and his breath catches.
We watch in silence for several moments before I say, “His lungs must be burning by now.”
“Mhm,” Liam murmurs, never looking away from where we can still see the tourist fighting the current of the river. “Only a matter of time until he goes under forever. And I didn’t even need to do anything.”
“I think this is what they call criminal neglect,” I say.
The tourist keeps struggling, but he isn’t a strong enough swimmer to compete with the current.
A woman farther down the path shouts, and I glance in her direction to see her pointing down. Then she pulls out her phone, probably calling 9-1-1.
More people gather around her, all of them observing the spectacle below.
“This is our cue to leave,” I tell Liam. “We definitely don’t want to be around if law enforcement shows up.”
“Nope,” Liam says, pulling slowly away from me. “Let’s get out of here.”
I wasn’t timing how long it took for the man to fall, but either way, I want to take my knife to Liam’s skin.
We’ll just say it was two minutes or less.
It’s not like Liam’s going to argue.