Chapter 4
4
RYKER
I stared at my phone, the screen still lit with the call history.
Isabel.
Her name looked wrong there, out of place among the numbers that usually filled my recent calls—brothers, business partners, people who owed me money or favors. Calling her had been a mistake. A moment of weakness I couldn’t afford.
I exhaled sharply, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat as I gripped the steering wheel. My pulse was still uneven, my jaw tight with frustration. What the fuck had I been thinking? I didn’t make calls like that. Didn’t check in. Didn’t concern myself with anything that wasn’t essential. And Isabel—she wasn’t essential. She was Will’s sister. She was soft where I was steel, light where I was darkness. She had no business in my thoughts, let alone my fucking call log.
But something about her had crawled under my skin tonight. The way she looked up at me in the dim light of Dominion Hall’s patio, challenging me with those sharp green eyes, unaware of just how vulnerable she really was. She thought she could handle herself. Thought she was just another girl at a party, walking away untouched.
She had no idea how wrong she was.
I flexed my fingers, shaking off the tension creeping up my spine, and shifted the car into drive. Gigi was waiting. That was what I needed—something easy. Something I could control. A night that ended with my head clear and my body spent, instead of tangled in thoughts of a woman I had no business wanting.
By the time I pulled up outside Gigi’s apartment, the city had settled into its usual late-night hush. Charleston was always restless—heat curling in from the harbor, the slow hum of tires on wet pavement, distant laughter spilling from bars. I stepped out of the car, my boots solid against the asphalt, and made my way inside without knocking. Gigi knew better than to lock the door when I said I was coming.
She was exactly where I expected her to be—waiting in the dim glow of the living room, stretched out on her couch like she was posing for a fucking painting. Long legs crossed, golden skin bare, her body only half-covered by a silk robe she hadn’t bothered to tie. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, her lips curling when she saw me.
“About time,” she murmured, lifting a glass of bourbon from the coffee table and taking a slow sip. “I was starting to think you changed your mind.”
I said nothing, just shut the door behind me and walked toward her. She handed me the second glass, her fingers trailing over mine as I took it. The bourbon was smooth, smoky, cutting through the lingering heat in my chest .
She tilted her head, watching me with knowing eyes. “You’re wound tight tonight.”
I drained half the glass in one swallow. “Long day.”
“Hmm.” She set her drink down and stretched, the robe slipping lower, baring more of her. An invitation. A reminder of why I was here. “You should let me fix that.”
I should have wanted that. Should have let her pull me down onto that couch, drown in the familiar press of her body, in the easy heat she offered. That was the deal—no attachments, no expectations, just relief in its simplest form.
But as she leaned in, her fingers skimming over my forearm, my mind flashed back to something else.
Isabel.
Her lips parting on a sharp breath, the way she squared her shoulders when she was nervous, the slight hitch in her voice when she threw my own words back at me.
Fuck.
I set my glass down with more force than necessary and exhaled slowly. Gigi gave me a look, amusement flickering across her face. She might not have known the details, but she saw it—saw that something had shifted in me. She wasn’t stupid.
But she also wasn’t the type to ask questions she didn’t want the answers to.
She only smirked and leaned in, pressing her lips just beneath my jaw, her voice smooth as sin. “Let’s get you out of that head of yours.”
I let her. Let her drag me under, let her pull me into the night the way she always did.
But even as my hands moved over her body, as her nails bit into my skin, something sat heavy in my chest .
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t know if I was trying to chase something down—or run from it.
The shower was quick, efficient. I let the steaming water sluice over my skin, washing away the sweat, the scent of sex, the faint traces of perfume that didn’t belong to me. When I stepped out, the room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of sheets as Gigi stretched lazily on the bed, watching me with half-lidded eyes.
I didn’t linger. Didn’t speak. Just moved to the bedside table, pulling a neat stack of bills from my wallet and setting them down. A familiar routine. Clean. Simple.
Gigi’s voice cut through the quiet. “You don’t have to pay me.”
I didn’t look at her. “Everyone else does.”
She exhaled softly, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t push. She just rolled onto her side, tucking the sheets around her like she was suddenly cold.
I grabbed the nearly empty bottle of bourbon from the dresser, slipping it into my coat pocket before heading for the door. The night air hit me like a slap as I stepped outside, the city stretching out before me in shadowed silence.
I drove without thinking, letting instinct guide me, the bottle heavy against my ribs as I took one hand off the wheel and twisted the cap loose. The burn of liquor hit the back of my throat as the streets blurred past. Not toward home. Not toward anything familiar.
Toward the water. Toward the old house on Sullivan’s Island that still stood, weather-worn and waiting.
Toward the past I never stopped wanting to relive.