Chapter 40 Ryder
RYDER
The email hits like a sucker punch to the gut.
“License revocation effective immediately... regulatory concerns... failure to comply with updated standards...”
“Bullshit,” I mutter, scrolling through the official notice from the Gaming Commission. Every line reeks of Pike’s influence—standards that didn’t exist last week, violations that never happened, and a review board stacked with his political donors.
I toss my phone onto Dom’s kitchen counter and pace, running calculations in my head. The private games I host for Blackwood bring in serious cash. Without a license, I’m screwed.
Unless...
Manny Devlin has been trying to get me to run games at his underground club for years. It’s not exactly legal, but with proper security and the right clientele, the risk is minimal. One call and I could be back in business by tomorrow night.
My fingers hover over his contact. Just as I’m about to press dial, Dom walks in, Liam and Cora trailing behind him.
“You got it too,” Dom says, not a question. His expression is grim.
“What?” I look between them, confused.
Liam holds up his phone. “Pike’s people reached out to every client I have with gambling interests. He’s warning them about associating with me or anyone connected to you.”
“That fucking—” I start, but Cora’s worried expression stops me as she peers down at my phone.
“Why are you looking at Manny’s number?” she asks.
I feel my face flush. “It’s nothing.”
“We know you, Ryder. And we know what Pike taking your license means,” Dom states.
“It’s my livelihood,” I argue. “What am I supposed to do? Just roll over while he destroys everything I’ve built?”
Liam steps forward. “We’re not asking you to roll over. We’re asking you not to give him exactly what he wants.”
“Which is?”
“Evidence,” Cora says, taking my hand. “He’s baiting you, Ryder. The moment you start running illegal games, he’ll have cause to bring charges against you.”
Dom’s hand settles on my shoulder. “We’ll fight this the right way. I’ve already called my attorney.”
The tension in my shoulders doesn’t fully release, but something inside me unclenches at their united front. They’re not here to judge—they’re here to protect me from myself.
“I was just looking,” I admit. “Hadn’t decided yet.”
Dom’s grip tightens slightly. “That’s why we’re here. So, you don’t have to decide alone.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, running my hands through my hair. “This is what I do, you know? When things get hard, I double down. Higher stakes, bigger risks. It’s like something in my brain won’t let me walk away.”
The kitchen falls silent. Cora squeezes my hand.
“It’s an addiction,” I finally admit. “Not just gambling. Risk itself. The rush when everything’s on the line...”
“I know something about addiction,” Liam says quietly. “The way it whispers that the solution is just one more hit of whatever’s destroying you.”
Dom moves to the refrigerator, pulls out four water bottles, and passes them around. His movements are deliberate, giving me space to process.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I say, surprising myself with how broken my voice sounds. “Running illegal games would feel good for a minute, but it’s just another fix. And this time, it could hurt all of you.”
“Would you consider getting help?” Cora asks, her voice gentle but direct. “There are programs specifically for gambling addiction.”
The old me would have laughed it off, made some joke about group therapy being for losers. Instead, I nod. “Yeah. I think I need to.”
“In the meantime,” Dom says, leaning against the counter, “we need to find you something that gives you that rush without the self-destruction.”
Liam tilts his head. “Rock climbing? Skydiving? Something with physical risk but regulatory oversight?”
I can’t help but smile. “Maybe. But I’d still need actual work.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dom says. “My company needs someone who understands risk assessment. Someone who can look at development opportunities and tell us which ones are worth taking.”
“You’re offering me a job?” I stare at him.
“I’m offering you a partnership position.” Dom holds my gaze. “Your ability to analyze risk isn’t the problem, Ryder. It’s where you’ve been applying it. Use it to build something instead.”
I mull over Dom’s words, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and unworthiness. These people believe in me more than I believe in myself.
“Plus,” Liam adds with a subtle smirk, “if you need that thrill, that rush of adrenaline—” he exchanges a meaningful glance with Dom and Cora, “we can certainly handle that in the bedroom. Whenever you want it.”
A welcome heat flushes through my body, momentarily pushing away thoughts of Pike and my professional disaster.
“Is that right, counselor?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. “You think you can match what I get from putting everything on the line?”
Dom’s eyes darken. “We could make you beg within minutes if we wanted to.”
Cora slides closer, her fingers tracing up my arm. “There are plenty of ways to feel that edge without destroying yourself.”
“Actually...” I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “There is something I’ve thought about. A fantasy, I guess.”
“Tell us,” Cora encourages, curiosity lighting her eyes.
I take a deep breath. “If this thing with Pike ever blows over, I want to be hunted.”
“Hunted?” Dom repeats, his attention fully captured.
“Like the Hunt but reversed. Me alone in a forest, the three of you tracking me down.” I can feel my pulse quickening just describing it. “No maze, no rules—just wilderness and the knowledge that you’re out there somewhere, closing in.”
Liam’s expression shifts from surprise to intrigue. “And when we catch you?”
A shiver runs through me. “Whatever you want. That’s part of the thrill.”
“Jesus, Ryder,” Dom breathes, and I can tell by the slight flush on his neck that the idea turns him on.
“You’d give up that kind of control?” Cora asks, her voice soft but intense. “Be completely at our mercy?”
I nod, meeting each of their eyes. “With you three? In a heartbeat.”
The atmosphere in the kitchen shifts instantly, heat building between us. Cora’s eyes light up with mischief.
“Can I wear a mask when we hunt you down?” she asks, an unexpected thrill in her voice. “Like in the Hunt? I want to see the look on your face.”
“Tie him up, too,” Dom adds with a smirk. “Once we catch him.”
“Fuck yes, princess.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. My cock hardens instantly at the image—Cora stalking me through the woods, mask obscuring her features, rope in hand. “You’d be so fucking sexy doing that.”
Liam leans against the counter, watching with obvious interest. “I think our gambler likes the idea of being prey.”
“I really do,” I admit, not bothering to hide my growing arousal. “The anticipation of being caught, not knowing when or how...”
Cora moves closer, her fingers trailing lazily up my chest. “And after we catch you? When you’re all tied up with nowhere to go?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I could lower you right onto Dom’s cock while you’re completely helpless.”
My breath catches. “Jesus, Cora.”
“Then I could straddle you,” she continues, eyes never leaving mine, “and Liam could slide into me at the same time. You’d have no control over your arms, just taking whatever we give you.”
Dom’s eyes darken as he watches us, and I can tell he’s picturing it too—me bound and impaled on him, Cora riding me, Liam completing our circuit.
“Three of us connected through you,” Liam murmurs, moving behind Cora. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Ryder? Being the center of everything?”
I swallow hard, nodding. My heart hammers against my ribs, body responding viscerally to the fantasy they’re spinning.
“I think we’ve found something better than gambling,” Cora says with a wicked smile.
The sharp beeping of the oven timer cuts through our heated exchange, making me jump.
“Shit, the chicken!” I break away from Cora’s touch and dash to the oven, grabbing mitts from the drawer. The others laugh as I fumble with the door handle.
“Saved by the bell,” Liam remarks dryly, leaning against the counter.
pull out the roasting pan, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the kitchen. "Not saved—interrupted. We're definitely revisiting that conversation later."
Dom moves beside me, peering over my shoulder. "Not bad, Caldwell. You've outdone yourself again."
"Don't sound so surprised." I set the pan on the cooling rack. "Some of us have skills beyond boardrooms and courtrooms."
Cora opens the refrigerator, grabbing the bottle of white wine we'd started last night. "He's being modest. Ryder's an amazing cook." She refills glasses, passing them around with practiced ease.
"Remember the carbonara last week?" Liam says, already moving to set the table. "That was restaurant quality."
"And the risotto," Dom adds, looking impressed. "Where'd you learn to cook like that?"
"My mom," I say, feeling the familiar warmth in my chest when I think of her. "She made sure I could take care of myself."
Cora hops onto the counter, legs swinging as she watches me plate the chicken. "Best decision we ever made, letting you take over the kitchen."
"Damn right," I agree, checking the vegetables roasting on the lower rack. "You three would be living on takeout and protein shakes without me."
Liam snorts. "He's not wrong."
"Semantics, counselor." I wink at him, pulling the vegetables out with a flourish.
Cora clears her throat and gets to her feet. “I’ll make the salad. Liam, you’re on table duty.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liam says, collecting place mats from the drawer.
Dom reaches past me to grab the pepper grinder. It strikes me how seamlessly we’ve fallen into these routines—cooking together, dividing tasks without discussion, knowing each other’s preferences and habits.
“What?” Dom catches me watching him.
“Nothing.” I smile. “Just thinking about how much better my kitchen runs with the three of you in it.”
Dom arches an eyebrow, amusement playing across his features. “Your kitchen? Last I checked, this penthouse has my name on the deed.”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” I shoot back, waving a wooden spoon at him. “I cook ninety percent of the meals in here. Ergo, my kitchen.”
Liam snorts as he arranges silverware. “That’s not how property law works. Don’t quit your day job to become an attorney.”
“Too soon,” I wince, though I’m smiling. “What day job?”
“The one Dom just offered you,” Cora reminds me, squeezing lemon over the salad.
I turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce to hide the sudden tears in my eyes.
Truth is, I can’t remember the last time anyone believed in me the way these three do.
My entire adult life, I’ve been the charming fuckup—good for a laugh, good in bed, good at cards, but never someone you build a future with.
Yet here they are, picking up the pieces after Pike shatters my career, offering solutions rather than judgment. Dom is creating a position for me. Liam is strategizing legal countermoves. Cora sees straight through my bullshit to the scared kid underneath who just wants to feel safe.
I’m falling for them. Not just Cora, which would be simple enough to understand. Not just the occasional fun with Liam or the unexpected heat with Dom. All three of them, together and separately, in ways that terrify and exhilarate me in equal measure.
I’ve spent my life chasing the next thrill, the next bet, the next win. Now I’m standing in Dom’s kitchen—fine, I’ll give him that one—making dinner with these people who’ve somehow become my home, and I’ve never felt a higher stake in my life.