23. 23 Ryder
“ I think I'm having too much fun.” The thought penetrates my mind as the swing of my metal bats recoils from the man's kneecap. There's a small sting at my side with every swing—the only reminder of my gunshot—but I don't let it phase me.
“I'm sorry, what was that?” I cup my ear as if straining it to hear his grunts of pain. “You were going to do what to my mother?”
This fucker has no idea. No clue. I was going to just let him walk away with some bruises and a wounded ego, but then he had to go and act like some macho asshole. Don't act like a macho asshole when you can't back it up.
It's beyond ridiculous, and clearly lacking maturity on my part, but when someone brings my mother into shit, well, all I see is white fury. It's blinding and all consuming, until I'm tearing away at flesh, seeing blood run, hearing bones break .
The man gurgles a groan as I lean down to hear him better. “What's that?” I feign interest, resting the head of my bat against the wet asphalt. “You want me to stop?”
He tries to crawl away, slow, pained, almost to the point of breaking inside. A crooked grin graces my expression as I stand, watching him try to escape with futility. I drag my weapon of convenience along the asphalt as I casually walk toward him, knowing the sound will haunt him for the rest of his life.
It's not just the physical retaliation that brings me joy, it's the mental anguish as well. It's seeing the fear in their eyes before I ever even strike. And strike I do. When his eyes meet mine, the metal is held above my head, both hands around the handle swinging down on his side with as much force as I can muster. For a moment, I think my wound opens again, the stinging pain turning to a burn, but it's all in my head.
He folds in on himself, air instantly knocked out in a quick grunt. The act leaves him squirming, gasping, rolling, coughing—everything I love to hear. The demon inside me has been itching to be released, coiling its head from its confines the moment I was shot.
I've been wanting to get back at Nico for not only putting my woman in danger— our woman— but for getting me shot. He owes me more than his blood, and I'm going to collect. This distraction is more to appease my demon, to bide my time until I can exact revenge on evil incarnate himself.
“We need to keep going, Ryder.” Thorne pulls at the crook of my elbow, dragging me away from my bliss. My eyes never leave the man writhing on the floor, enjoying his misery for a second longer.
“Fine,” I huff, leaning the bat against the alley wall where I'd found it. “But I'm coming back later and knocking a tooth out of his mouth when we're done. ”
“Whatever you say,” Thorne rolls his eyes, never fully enjoying this side of me, but accepting it anyways, because that's the kind of man he is.
He's always been the kind to accept the people he cares about fully, no reservations about it. The first time Thorne saw me lose my shit was in eighth grade when Lennox Berk decided to try and make a name for himself at school by coming after me, claiming I had a mommy fetish. He had to have plastic surgery to reconstruct his face when I was done with him.
Thorne was beside me the entire time, not trying to pull me off, but standing guard, watching for Lennox's friends who would undoubtedly jump me like cowards. It was then that I decided Thorne was worth keeping around for longer than just middle school days. That day, I brought him into my inner circle.
“We have two more stops. I think that should be plenty of time and distractions. Don't you?” I ask, pulling my helmet over my face and straddling my bike as Thorne does the same.
“I'm sure,” he nods, but his voice sounds distant, like something isn't adding up in his head. I watch him closely for a moment, wondering what has the cogs in his mind spinning, but I lose interest twenty seconds later, peeling out of the alley and onto the street.
Thorne is ten seconds behind me, following suit to the next location. Miles gave me the corners for all of Nico's drug spots. Soon these fuckers will be calling their boss, who'll call theirs, and so on until it reaches Nico's ears.
If you knock enough pegs off, the whole structure collapses. So here I am, knocking them down, because at this point, I'd be willing to have the whole thing collapse on top of me if it'd help Tori.
We don't deserve her, not after the things we've done .
It's the same routine at the next two stops—me pounding away, Thorne standing guard, watching without judging. Still, I feel his sense of unease rising, and it isn't because of my love for blood. He's used to that.
“Okay, man. If you don't spit it out already, I'm going to lose it. What's up your ass?” I turn to him with weary eyes, fed up with the buzzkill his overthinking brain is bringing me.
“I don't know. Something feels off.” His brows are well acquainted over his eyes as he scans the area again, as if he can find whatever piece he's missing to figure out what is off about this.
“What're you talking about? Everything is going according to plan. Stop being paranoid,” I roll my eyes, but in the back of my mind, I start to question how easy this has been so far.
In all honesty, there should have been more people at this spot by now, considering we've hit other areas. Any good boss would have beefed it up, or called them all back, not wanting to lose more product. Instead, business has continued as usual. It's as if we haven't been attacking at all, or these fuckers haven't made phone calls. But let's get real, they definitely have.
“No, man. This is too easy.” Thorne shakes his head again as he grabs his helmet, sitting back on his bike, taking in the full scene. His eyes narrow into slits as his gaze wanders back to the man I just pummeled. “Come on. I have an idea.”
Thorne leads the way this time, driving three blocks down, turning right, driving three more blocks, and so on, until eventually we're right back where we started. He just killed time when we don't have any to kill.
“What the fuck, man?!” I yell, kicking the stand to my Suzuki. He presses his finger to the tip of his helmet over his mouth, quieting me as he points to the alley we just left the man in .
The streets are rather empty, aside from the occasional car that skirts by, knowing better than to stop in this neighborhood at this time of night. Thorne positioned us in a way we can see the edges of the alley, but not be spotted ourselves. Turning our lights off, I peel my eyes away from him, annoyed, and stare at the opening to see what he thinks he's figured out.
We watch as a black van rolls up, sleek and new, headlights illuminating my latest victim. A man steps out, walking toward the guy I just handed his ass to. They pick him up and toss him in the back with three other familiar faces. My other stops. One of the goons presses his finger to his ear, nodding his head before speaking.
It's hard to hear, but I make out the words, “They're staying busy over here.”
My head immediately darts to Thorne, realizing just how right he was. Nico knows. This isn't buying Blaze and Tori time, it's buying him time.
The startling realization has my heart racing faster than the bullet that hit me a couple of weeks ago. We have to get back. Thorne comes to the same conclusion, not having to be told a thing as he turns his engine on and peels away with me.
We ride like the wind, zooming through traffic, wedging between cars when needed. All the while, my mind keeps darting back to her, imagining all the things that could be happening right now. I try not to envision them, but it's hard not to when I know how dangerous of a place she's in, when I know how dangerous of a man Nico is.
I imagine her bleeding, shot and dying while Blaze fights. An image of her naked and scared invades my brain next, thinking of worse things than death for her.
I swear, if he touches her, I'll kill him, agonizingly slowly—because there's no fucking way Nico isn't dying after tonight.
The demon inside me has lodged its claws in my throat, refusing to be swallowed back down as it tries to climb its way out. Every second it takes me to get back to the casino is another centimeter it travels up, threatening to never be put away again.
I don't know what we'll find when we get there, but I'm certain we'll have one a hell of a fight on our hands. I have a few guns stored away in the seat of this bike, and I plan to use every one of them to get to her. Tori belongs to us, safe and sound, by our side. If Nico does something…
I can't finish the thought, doing my best to keep my head. It's not my thing, though; it's Blaze's. I'm more the one you let loose on your enemies—the one with fury, passion, unhinged thoughts. It's me you want when you need things to get physical or maniacal.
There are many things I expect to find when we arrive, but one of them is not an empty parking lot. The place looks like a ghost town—eerily silent—despite its always crowded atmosphere. My heart wrenches knowing something is terribly wrong; something worse than what I'd been imagining.
Thorne and I race to the unguarded door, blood running cold as we pry it open. The silence is deafening, ringing in my ear with the thrum of my speeding heart. I will myself to move forward, taking hurried, heavy steps toward the floor.
Don't be dead.
Don't be hurt.
Don't be broken.
I'm screaming inside, but I keep my face as cold and neutral as possible, not wanting to give away my internal panic. There's no way I'll let Tori see it when I'm meant to be nothing but strong for her.
My hands open and close at my sides, doing my best to expel this dread that's seeped into my stomach like lead. The floor is empty, freezing me in place as my eyes scan the area for any signs of life and seeing none.
“She's not here,” I whisper, finding—despite my best efforts—a sliver of hope crawling over me. Maybe they did it. Maybe they got Alicia and made it out before anything happened.
Yeah, and they just forgot to give you a call and let you know.
Give me a break.
“Fuck,” is Thorne's only word before he's racing to the side wall, eyes fixed on something on the floor. It isn't until I'm done berating myself internally that I realize it's Blaze.
My feet are taking me there before my mind can even fully catch up. It's as if my body is going through the motions, watching as Thorne turns Blaze, seeing a deep, gaping wound run along his abdomen. Immediately, without hesitation, I take my shirt off and apply pressure, noting the amount of blood staining the floor around him.
He's been bleeding too long.
Fuck me. How long has he been like this?
Blaze hardly stirs back to life at the pain of me pushing harder against his wound, willing it to stop bleeding. The only sign of life I get from him are from his brows pinching together as his thin lips curve down in a wince. Internally, I'm having a fucking meltdown. Blaze is dying on us, and we have no idea where Tori is.
She's not sitting by his side, sobbing, holding his hand like she did with me, which tells me only one thing— she's not here . Thorne and I exchange a look of understanding, coming to the same God-awful conclusion.
“We need to get him help.”
He's compartmentalizing, pushing away the emotional side of himself so he can take this step by step. It's something he's learned from Blaze, something I am absolute shit at, because right now, I can't wrap my head around a damn thing, let alone plan ahead.
It feels like my brain has exploded, unable to process anything that's happening, or maybe just refusing to; because I know if it does, then I'll have to come to terms with the fact that Tori is missing. We just got her back in our lives, the way we want, the way we should have had her from the beginning. There's no fucking way I'm letting that go, letting her go.
I'm going to tear this world apart looking for her, and there won't be a shred of mercy for anyone that gets in my way. When I get my hands on Nico, he'll regret ever laying eyes on our girl. I'll make sure of it.
The demon inside me snaps into place, taking over every part of my body, every thought. My head whirls at the sudden change, my body numb to the panic now. Carefully, I carry Blaze, not bothering to curse myself for deciding on using motorcycles instead of a car.
Without thinking twice, I turn and hand our bleeding friend to Thorne, who can read me like a fucking book. His eyes go wide for just a second, registering what's happening to me internally. He doesn't say a word, doesn't caution me against it. That's how you know shit is really fucked up, when our damn moral compass is willing to let me run free like this.
I race through the streets until my eyes find what I'm looking for—a vehicle parked along the road. Without fear or worry, I punch the window, breaking the glass and littering the seat with millions of sharp shards. Crouching, I think back to my joyride days—slipping into the habit of hot wiring a car so easily, it's almost like riding a bike.
The engine comes to life and I sit behind the wheel, racing back to Thorne and Blaze. Nothing is said as he places our friend in the back seat, taking his spot beside him. Disregarding the speed limit, I get us to the closest place I think of.
Once upon a time, we ruled these streets, owned every corner like the fucking thugs we were. Now, our center of business sits abandoned, but it's still ours, still has what we need. Thorne's already making the call, cashing in old favors we never collected.
“Meet us there,” is the only thing I bother to hear from that conversation, knowing full well who he called—Dr. Payne. Even if he's out of the game, we're bringing him back in. Someone's got to fix Blaze, and it can't be the hospital. Thorne meets my gaze in the rearview mirror, a dark look in his eyes. It's something I've only seen once since meeting this guy.
He has morals, things that keep him from going too far, that make him believe he isn't as bad. But I know the truth, he's the worst of us all. If he let himself, he could fall into the depths of hell with me, revel in its chaos, in its blood. Instead, he stays rigid, fighting against his nature.
This look in his eyes, though, says he's not fighting this as hard as he normally would. If it's anything like last time, Nico just signed his death warrant, with the stipulation of it being painful and slow. I want to savor every minute of his pain when we catch him. Hell, maybe I'll give Tori a knife and let her go to town.
She wouldn't. She's just like Thorne—morals and high ground.
Our old building looms like a ghost from another life. It’s rough around the edges now—windows cracked, paint weathered, and vines starting to claw up the brick like they’re claiming what’s left. Even with the decay, it’s still got that look; the kind of place that makes you stand up straighter just stepping inside.
Those thick doors? They’re rusted, yeah, but they still look ready to eat you alive. I park in my old spot, a sense of familiarity creeping its way through as I slip back into my old skin, finding myself more comfortable in it. I help Thorne carry Blaze, pushing those rusted, thick doors aside. I can almost hear our footsteps echoing down the hallways, like the place remembers who ran it, like it still has something to prove.
The exam room is still here, worn, but somehow intact. It’s small, the faint smell of old antiseptic lingering like a ghost. A single cot rests against the wall, its metal frame rusted at the edges, with the same faded, blood-stained sheet covering the thin mattress from when we’d last used it. A metal tray stands nearby, empty now, but once loaded with every ragtag medical supply we could grab.
The walls are peeling, revealing patches of concrete beneath the faded, off-white paint. There’s a cracked mirror above the sink where you’d catch your own battered reflection while the doc stitched you up, half the time without enough anesthesia.
This place had seen its share of wounds, but even with the grit and grime, it was ours—a rough sanctuary when things got bloody. And things are fucking bloody.
We lay him on the cot, counting the seconds until Dr. Payne arrives, his footsteps echoing relief with each stride. It's hard and against our nature, but we step aside and allow the old man to work.
The years have been rough on him—that’s clear. He looks a good decade older since we last called him in. His hair has gone more gray than black, thinning in patches, and new lines have carved their way across his face, cutting deeper around his eyes, which have lost some of that sharpness they once held.
He takes one look at Blaze, brow furrowing as he lets out a quiet sigh, setting his medical bag on the edge of the cot. “Same crew, same mess,” he mutters, pulling out gloves with a slow, methodical precision. His hands are still as steady as I remember, but there’s a faint tremor in his fingers now, barely noticeable, as he reaches for his tools.
He glances at me, his gaze catching on something unreadable, maybe even a little weary. “Good to see you’re all still alive. Though, I’ve gotta say, it’s a bit unnerving to walk into this room and find the same damn routine.” His mouth pulls into a thin, knowing smile, like he's seen too much to be fazed, but still can't quite shake the feeling that one day, he might walk in and find one of us didn’t make it.
“You're telling us,” I run my fingers through my hair, uncaring of the fact that I'm staining my blond hair with Blaze's crimson blood. “Can you fix him, old man?”
“Leave him to me,” is his whispered response before he leans forward and gets to work.
Thorne and I exit the room, needing to plan, needing to decide what the fuck we're going to do to find Tori. The longer we wait, the further she gets from us. We both know it, but we don't know what to do next.
“This was stupid!” I snap, not at Thorne—not really, anyway. I know it's not his fault, but he's the only one here. “We should have let that bitch rot.”
Tori would have never forgiven us if we did.
“You know as well as I do that she would have done this without us. At least this way we were—” he stops himself, unable to say the last five words… there to keep her safe.
“A lot of good we did.” My arms fly out as always, crazed, furious. I'm boiling inside; I need to release this heat before it burns me to a crisp.
“We're going to find her.” Thorne’s voice is an octave lower than usual, a dark promise held in them. I'll kill everyone until we do .
The monster he keeps buried deep inside is making its way out, only surfacing because of his love for Tori. The last time he released it still haunts me, and that's fucking saying something. I enjoy a good blood show, but Thorne's demon likes to bathe in it.
“How?”
“It's time to call in some favors. It's time to show this world that the Iron Triad never died. Fuck no! We got stronger.” There's a fire in those dark eyes, shining with malice, hate, and the scariest thing of all—excitement.
We’re coming for you, Tori. Once we have you back, we’re never letting go.