Chapter 20
20
RYKER
I sabel kept asking about the Bentley. About the wreck. About Ralston. About whether we should call the authorities.
Marcus drove, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the streets back to Dominion Hall. I sat in the passenger seat, flexing my fingers against my thigh, trying to temper the storm still raging inside me. My ribs ached. My face stung from the cut above my eye. But none of that mattered.
“It’ll be taken care of,” I said simply.
Isabel turned in her seat, staring at me like I was missing the point. “Taken care of?” she repeated, breathless, her hands tightening in her lap. “What does that even mean?”
I didn’t answer. Because Isabel had no idea how much power the Dane fortune wielded. Dominion Defense Corporation wasn’t just a private military empire; we had our hands in everything—defense contracts, cyber security, global logistics. And locally? We owned half the law enforcement agencies in Charleston. Not in the corrupt sense, not in the way politicians lined pockets and bought influence. No, this was our own kind of justice.
We believed in the law. And we believed in the occasional favor, too. When precincts were underfunded, when officers needed better gear, when SWAT teams needed cutting-edge tech that government budgets couldn’t provide, Dominion stepped in. We made sure they had everything they needed. And in return, well—let’s just say things got taken care of.
Like tonight. Like a certain jacked-up pickup truck and the six rich-boy assholes who thought they could pull some wannabe cartel stunt in the middle of my city.
“Ryker,” Isabel said, her voice quieter now.
I glanced at her. She was chewing her bottom lip, her brows pulled together in that way that told me she was overthinking, trying to fit pieces together that didn’t belong.
“I think Ralston was behind Will’s kidnapping.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “No, you don’t.”
She bristled. “I do. He?—”
“He’s an arrogant, entitled prick, but he’s not that savvy. And he sure as hell doesn’t have the resources to pull off something like this.”
Her jaw clenched, but I kept going. “They got lucky tonight. That’s all. They saw an opening and they took it. If they’d planned this? If they’d actually known what they were doing?” I shot her a hard look. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
She swallowed hard and turned away, staring out the window. There was a bigger threat. A deeper, darker one. I could feel it. And I knew, knew that whatever had happened to Will—it wasn’t about some rich-kid rivalry or bruised egos. It was something else entirely.
We pulled up to Dominion Hall in silence.
The doctor was already waiting, old school black bag in hand. Marcus killed the engine and turned to Isabel. “Take a shower. Then get examined.”
She opened her mouth like she was going to argue, but one look at my face must have told her not to push it. Good. I wasn’t in the fucking mood.
She disappeared into the bathroom while I stood in the doorway, watching as the private doctor laid out his tools. Twenty minutes later, she stepped out—hair damp, skin scrubbed clean, wearing a fresh t-shirt and shorts I hadn’t seen before. The exam was thorough. I didn’t move, didn’t leave, didn’t let her out of my sight.
I watched as the doctor checked every inch of her—her pulse, her bruises, the way she winced when he pressed too hard against her ribs. I stood there, arms crossed, my face unreadable, but inside, I was fucking seething.
When it was done, I pulled out a stack of cash, handed it to the doctor without a word. He took it and left. No thanks. No acknowledgment. Just dismissal.
I turned to Isabel. “Go to bed.”
She didn’t argue this time. She slipped past me, quiet, stepping into the dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
I exhaled slowly, then made my way to the bathroom, stripping down, glancing at my cut face in the mirror, at the bruises forming along my ribs. What was my next move? What was the enemy thinking? And most importantly—where the fuck was Will?
I turned the water on, stepping under the hot stream, the sting against my split skin the least of my problems. I closed my eyes, exhaling as the heat seeped into my muscles, letting my mind work through the tangled mess of threats, possibilities, and?—
The shower door opened.
I turned, already knowing.
Isabel.
She stepped inside, her eyes dark, her body bare, water beading against her skin.
And just like that?—
All was forgotten.
There was no war. No threats. No missing brother.
Just her.
Her.
She was mine.
The moment she stepped into the shower, everything else ceased to exist.
Her dark hair clung to her wet skin, droplets trailing down the curves of her body, catching in the valley between her breasts, sliding over her stomach. She wasn’t shy. Wasn’t hesitating. She just looked at me, her green eyes dark with something raw and unspoken.
My restraint snapped.
I grabbed her, yanking her into me, my mouth over hers as the hot water poured down our bodies. She gasped against my lips, her fingers curling into my shoulders, but she didn’t push me away—she pulled me closer.
I turned her, pressing her back against the cool tile, my mouth rough against hers, my hands dragging over slick, warm skin. She arched into my touch, moaning softly when I palmed her breasts, rolling her hardened nipples between my fingers before sliding my hand lower, over the curve of her hip, down between her thighs.
She was soaked—hot, wet, ready .
I groaned, biting her bottom lip as I slipped two fingers inside her, stroking deep, spreading her open. Her hips jerked, her breath hitching, and then?—
She tilted her chin up, eyes meeting mine as she murmured, “More.”
Fuck.
A growl tore from my throat as I pulled my fingers out, gripping the back of her thigh and yanking it over my hip, lining myself up against her slick entrance. I didn’t tease. Didn’t hold back.
I drove inside her in one punishing thrust.
She cried out, fingers clawing into my back, her nails sharp against my skin. I pulled back and thrust again, harder, rougher, until I was buried so deep she had no choice but to feel me everywhere.
“Fuck, Isabel,” I groaned, pressing my forehead against hers, our bodies colliding over and over again. “You’re so goddamn tight.”
Her nails dragged down my back, her body clenching around me, milking my cock with every desperate roll of her hips. She wasn’t passive. Wasn’t just taking what I gave her—she was fighting for it, meeting every thrust, demanding more.
I lifted her higher, her back hitting the tile, and she gasped, her lips parting, her head tipping back. The moans spilling from her throat were fucking sinful, soft and breathless, so fucking sweet it made my chest ache.
Then—
She did something I didn’t expect.
She gripped my jaw, forcing my gaze to hers, her nails digging into my skin.
“Harder,” she whispered.
Jesus fuck.
Something dark unfurled in my chest, a primal, aching need to ruin her, to make her feel so wrecked she’d never even look at another man again. I slammed into her harder, the sounds of wet skin colliding filling the shower, her moans growing louder, sharper.
I could feel her tightening around me, her thighs trembling, her entire body going taut. “Ryker—oh, God?—”
I swallowed her moan, crushing my mouth to hers as I fucked her through it, driving her higher, making her come so hard she nearly sobbed.
I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
I turned her, pressing her against the glass, one hand tangling in her hair as I took her from behind, thrusting deep, rolling my hips, forcing her to take every inch of me.
She gasped, hands pressed against the glass, her breath fogging up the surface. “Ryker?—”
“You feel that?” I growled against her ear, my teeth scraping her skin. “That’s me, Isabel. Inside you. Owning you.”
She whimpered, pushing back against me, nails squeaking against the fogged glass.
I lost it then.
I gripped her hips hard, snapping into her with sharp, punishing thrusts until my vision blurred, until I felt her squeeze around me again, her entire body shaking as she came one more time—harder this time, louder.
I followed, my body going rigid as I spilled inside her, a guttural moan tearing from my throat.
We stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, bodies tangled, the sound of water filling the heavy silence .
I turned her in my arms, her body limp, spent, perfect.
I should have been satisfied. Should have been able to let her go, put distance between us, regain control.
But when I looked down at her, really looked at her—flushed skin, swollen lips, those dark green eyes staring back at me like she already knew?—
I fucking realized the truth.
I was fucked.