Chapter 15 Fire and Fury
Ryker
Bastian, Ethan, and I are sitting around the coffee table, discussing logistics for an upcoming job, our voices low and focused. The usual hum of the server room in the background is a familiar white noise, Bastian’s pen tapping a quiet rhythm against his notepad, Ethan idly spinning a stress ball. Normal. Until it isn't.
The conversation cuts off the second my phone lights up, ringing loudly. Lila’s name flashes across the screen. She never calls. Not unless something is wrong. Or maybe—just maybe—she’s missing me.
I answer before the second ring, putting her on loudspeaker so Bastian and Ethan can hear. "Lila?"
Her breath comes in short, uneven gasps, like she’s struggling for air. Panic. Pure, unfiltered terror. My grip on the phone tightens so hard the cheap plastic creaks, a visceral clench in my gut mirroring the sudden ice shooting through my veins. Ethan’s head snaps up, the stress ball dropping from his hand and rolling unnoticed across the floor, his easy-going expression wiped clean, replaced by sharp, immediate concern. Bastian goes utterly still, his pen freezing mid-tap, his gaze locking onto the phone with an intensity that could cut glass, his mind already shifting gears from logistics to threat assessment.
"I—I need you to come get me."
My pulse spikes, a hard kick against my ribs. "Where are you? What happened?"
"Blooming Nook. Now, please."
Her voice is barely a whisper, but the raw fear in it slices through me like a knife.
Bastian and Ethan are no longer just listening—they’re reacting. The focused calm of our earlier discussion shatters, the air in the room instantly crackling with a different energy. Adrenaline. Ethan is already pushing to his feet; his movements are swift. Bastian is a blur of controlled motion, his chair scraping back as he rises, all smooth command, plucking the keys from my grip before I can even process the need to move.
"I’m driving," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument, already pointing towards the door with his chin.
Ethan grabs his jacket. "I’m riding shotgun." He’s already halfway to the door, his earlier casualness replaced by a focused urgency.
I clench my jaw but don’t argue. There isn't time. My own body is thrumming, a low growl building in my chest, that primal, protective fury Lila alone seems to ignite in me. I climb into the backseat as Bastian slides into the driver’s seat, Ethan beside him. The engine roars to life, and we’re gone.
"Lila. Talk to me. What the hell is going on?" My voice is tight, tension coiling low in my gut.
"A package. Someone sent me a package. I... I can’t—"
My blood turns to ice, a deep chill stealing my breath, then instantly ignites to boiling pitch. My vision whites out at the edges for a split second before snapping into razor focus. That red haze descends—not just anger, it’s kill mode. A package. What the fuck kind of package?
"Stay put. Don’t open it. Don’t move. I’m coming."
"Ryker—" she whispers something I can't make out, the line going dead before I can catch it.
I clench my teeth, my pulse hammering. "Step on it, Bastian. Now."
Bastian drives like the devil is breathing down his neck. The big SUV eats up the road, engine screaming, gears grinding with aggressive shifts that slam me back against the seat. He takes corners sharp enough I smell burning rubber, tires protesting with a high-pitched screech.
Luckily, Blooming Nook is only short drive away, but every second feels like an eternity. I sit rigid in the back, knuckles bone-white against my thighs, jaw clenched so tight it fucking aches. My pulse hammers a frantic rhythm against my eardrums.
I barely notice any of it beyond the consuming fire in my gut. I lean forward, gripping the back of his seat. "Faster, Bastian." Only one thing matters—get to her. Now.
If this is him ... taunting her... I'll fucking end him.
Blooming Nook swims into view through the windshield. My eyes snag on her instantly. She stands huddled just outside the cheerful green door like a wraith, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, clutching a small, innocuous-looking box like it’s wired to blow.
Her face is chalk white, the faint scar on her temple a stark, angry line. Even from the car, I see the tremor ripping through her frame, shaking her hands, her shoulders.
She looks so fucking small. So fragile. A gut-wrenching echo of the broken woman I'd first found crumpled near the driveway, before she started to mend, to trust, to live again. Seeing her like this now, sucked back into that abyss, folding in on herself, lost in that raw terror, it hits me like a fist to the gut, knocking the air right out of me. After everything, after how hard she'd fought… she’s back there. And that fucking kills me.
Bastian slams the SUV to a halt at the curb, the tires letting out a final screech. Before the car even stops, I kick the back door open and launch myself out.
"Lila." My voice cuts sharply through the charged air.
Her head snaps towards the sound. Her body visibly jolts, tensing like a cornered animal. Her eyes—God, her eyes— are wide, pupils blown huge and dark, glassy, unfocused, darting wildly for a split second before locking onto me with desperate intensity, as if I am the only solid thing in a world tilting sideways.
I move toward her with purpose, my gaze flicking across the street, the shop windows, the passing cars. Scanning every shadow, every movement. Making damn sure no one is lurking, watching. If anyone did this—I will find them.
She hesitates, just for a second, before stepping toward me.
I open my mouth to ask about the box, but she cuts me off, shaking her head slightly. "Don’t—don’t ask. I can’t—"
I swallow the question, forcing myself to let it go. Instead, I reach for her hand, grounding her the only way I know how.
The heat in my chest flares hotter with anger. I force myself to soften my approach, reaching for her. "Come on, Baby Girl. Let’s go home." She doesn't answer, only nods, her fingers twitching against the box.
I don't ask—I just take it from her. My large hand closes around her arm, guiding her to the SUV. In my other hand, I carry the small package. I help her into the car, making sure she’s settled before slamming the door shut. Turning to Bastian, my voice is a low growl. "Get us home. Now."
Back at the house, everyone settles into the lounge room, but the tension thickens the air like an oncoming storm.
Ethan hovers near Lila, his expression tight with worry. "Angel, what the hell happened?"
She looks down, shaking her head, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
Bastian exhales sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Lila, we need to know who sent it."
When she remains silent, visibly trembling, he reaches for the package I placed on the coffee table. He rips it open without ceremony. Inside, nestled beside a small, velvet box, is a folded piece of expensive-looking cardstock.
His brows furrow as he first flips open the velvet box, revealing the delicate silver bracelet shaped like an infinity symbol. His jaw tightens. "What the fuck is this?"
Silence. Lila flinches at his harsh tone.
Bastian sets the box down and picks up the note, unfolding it. His eyes scan the elegant script, his expression darkening with every word. He reads it aloud, his voice dangerously low and clipped:
My Pet,
Did you think slipping away in the dead of night would be enough? That I wouldn’t notice? or that I wouldn’t follow?
You left something behind. I thought you might want it back. A reminder of where you belong and who you belong to.
Did you truly believe I wouldn’t find you? That you wouldn’t feel me breathing down your neck, watching, waiting?
You know better.
You always have.
See you soon, wife.
Kolya.
The name hangs heavy in the air, thick and suffocating.
Ethan’s blood seems to run cold. "Kolya?" he repeats, his voice dangerously quiet, sharp eyes flicking from the note in Bastian’s hand to Lila's terrified face. He knows that name— Mikhailov's moniker. The pieces slam together with horrifying speed and sickening clarity. "He signed it Kolya ?" His gaze zeros in on Lila, the word forced out like a shard of glass. " Wife? "
Lila recoils as if struck, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. A choked sound escapes her lips, and she shakes her head violently, eyes squeezed shut. Pure terror radiates off her in waves, amplified now, raw and exposed under Ethan's horrified question.
Seeing her reaction, seeing the word 'wife' hanging poisonously in the air, seeing his name, the one Nikolai Mikhailov clearly preferred when he was being Kolya , on paper, confirming he’s still reaching for her.... something snaps inside me.
Fuck this. I can’t watch her like this—scared, small, like she’s still trapped under some bastard’s thumb.
Impulse takes over.
I cross the room in three strides, scoop her up, and carry her toward my bedroom. Four walls. One door. Contained. She gasps, gripping my shoulders. "Ryker!"
"You’re shaking," I growl, kicking the door shut behind us with my heel. The lock clicks into place. Solid. Secure. No way out unless I want it. I set her down gently, turning her to face me. Just as I do, there’s a sharp rap on the door.
"Ryker?" Bastian’s voice is low but firm through the wood. "Keep your head. We need answers."
My jaw clenches. I turn to face the door and lean my forehead against it for a split second, gathering my frayed composure.
"She’s falling apart, Bas. Give me a minute." My voice is rough, strained. "We'll talk. Alone."
There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps receding. He understands. Right now, Lila needs grounding more than an interrogation.
I turn back to her. The brief interruption hasn't lessened the fear in her eyes. If anything, Ethan mentioning Kolya's name has made it worse. "Look at me," I repeat, softer this time, but no less firm.
She refuses; eyes fixed on the floor.
I gently grip her chin, tilting her face up. "Look at me, Baby Girl."
A tremble runs through her, but she obeys. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted.
I soften my hold, my thumb brushing her cheek. "You’re safe. Do you hear me? No one touches you. No one takes you. Never again."
Tears burn at the edges of her lashes. "He won’t stop."
"Then neither will we."
Her breath hitches. Something cracks in her expression—raw, desperate. It resonates deep in my bones. The need to protect, to shield, to erase that look from her face consumes everything else. I need her to know she isn't alone.
I kiss her.
Not soft. Not careful.
Possessive. Claiming.
She gasps against my lips, fingers twisting into my shirt. I tilt her back, deepening the kiss, my grip firm but steady.
She responds with a broken, breathless sound, pressing closer, as if she needs this as much as I do. This heat. This demand. Something solid to hold onto in the storm.
I pull back just enough to whisper against her lips. "You're ours to protect. Ours. He doesn't get to fucking win."
Her breath shudders, and for the first time since that phone call, I see it flicker in her eyes—fire. Not fear.
My grip tightens on her waist. "Say it."
She swallows. "I’m safe."
"Who keeps you safe?"
"You. All of you."
A measure of calm settles inside me, a temporary dam against the fury, but only just. I press my forehead against hers, exhaling shakily.
"That’s right, Baby Girl. And I’m never letting you go."
I don't let go. Can't. My grip stays firm on her waist as I pull her closer, our breaths mingling. The need between us burns too hot to ignore, crackling like a wildfire.
She trembles in my arms, chest rising and falling unevenly, her lips parted as if she wants to speak but can't find the words. Her hands clutch at my shirt, but I feel the hesitation in her muscles—the war between fear and need.
Good. I am not in the mood to talk anymore.
Still holding her, I loosen my grip just enough to pull back and let her see me, feel the tension crackling between us. Then, I take a slow, deliberate step backward, creating space between us, a silent question hanging in the air. It’s her choice. Her move. Even though every fucking cell in my body screams to pull her back against me, I want her to feel the pent-up aggression humming under my skin, to know what she's choosing. My fingers twitch, desperate to touch, to claim, to burn myself into her until she forgets everything but me.
Her eyes track my movements, pupils wide, a war of need and hesitation flickering across her face before settling into that delicious mixture of anticipation and submission. She wants this—wants me to take control, to anchor her, to remind her nothing can touch her while she is in my arms. And fuck, she’s going to step forward. I know she is.
“Come here, Baby Girl.” My voice is a low growl, raw and demanding.
She hesitates, just for a second—long enough for my heart to hammer against my ribs—before stepping toward me, closing the distance I created. Relief crashes through me, hot and fierce. The second her body presses against mine, I wrap a hand around the back of her neck, tilting her chin up.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur, my thumb brushing over her racing pulse.
She swallows hard.
I smirk. “Use your words.”
“I want you,” she whispers, voice shaky, breathless.
“Damn right, you do.”
My lips crash down on hers, claiming her in a kiss that is all teeth and heat. She gasps into my mouth, and I swallow the sound, pulling her impossibly closer. My hands roam down her back, gripping her hips, molding her against me.
She fucking melts, like she was made for this, made for me.
I back her toward the bed, my grip firm, making sure she feels my control. The backs of her knees hit the mattress, and I press her down, crawling over her, caging her in.
“You like this,” I murmur against her lips, dragging my mouth down her jaw, to her throat. “I'm not gentle like Ethan. I take what’s mine. You like giving yourself to me, don't you?”
“Yes,” she breathes, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging lightly.
I reward her with a slow drag of my teeth along her pulse point, my tongue soothing the sting. She shivers beneath me, arching into my touch.
I fist the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head in one swift motion, tossing it aside. My gaze roams over her, drinking in every inch of bare skin, the soft curves, the way her chest rises and falls as she waits for my next move.
“Perfect,” I mutter, my hands skating over her ribs, down to her waist.
“Mine.”
Her breath hitches at the possessiveness in my voice, and fuck if that doesn't make me even harder.
I take my time stripping her, every inch of exposed skin claimed by my mouth, my hands, my teeth. By the time she is bare beneath me, she is squirming, desperate, a needy whimper escaping her lips.
“Please,” she gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders.
“Please, what?” I tease, brushing my lips along her collarbone.
“Ryker…”
I grin against her skin. “That’s right, Baby Girl. Beg me when you want something.”
She whimpers, and I can’t hold back any longer.
I strip off my own clothes in record time, then settle between her thighs, pinning her. She trembles beneath me, anticipation thick in the air.
I kiss her again, slower this time, letting her feel the weight of my control, my need.
“You’re safe,” I murmur against her lips. “You’re mine.”
I press her into the mattress, my weight anchoring her as I trail my hands down her body, mapping every inch. But I am barely hanging on, the need to be inside her clawing at my control. I need to make damn sure she is ready, shaking, desperate, drenched for me.
Her nails rake down my back as I kiss my way lower, teasing her, dragging my tongue along her skin just to hear her gasp. Her thighs tremble as I spread them wider, my fingers tracing the slick heat between her legs. My cock throbs at the way she clenches around nothing, she's so desperate for me.
"Ryker," she breathes, arching her hips, silently begging. "Please."
I groan, sucking a bruise onto her inner thigh. "So, fucking wet for me, Baby Girl. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?"
She nods frantically, fingers twisting into the sheets. "Yes. Please."
She lifts her hips, offering herself, and fuck if that doesn't make my control snap.
“That’s it,” I mutter, dragging the head of my cock against her slick folds. “Need me to take you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Take me, Ryker.”
I line myself up, running the thick head through her wetness, coating myself. "No condom," I warn, my voice rough, guttural. "I’m not stopping."
Her breath catches, but she doesn't hesitate. "I don’t care. I want to feel you."
That’s all I need.
With one brutal thrust, I bury myself inside her, stretching her, feeling her walls squeeze me like a vice. She gasps, nails biting into my skin, her body arching, trying to take all of me. I am too big, too thick, and she is so fucking tight it nearly ends me right there.
“Shit, Baby Girl,” I groan, my forehead pressed against her chest as I struggle to breathe. “Feels like heaven wrapped in sin.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, her breathy moan making my cock throb inside her.
"More."
I give her more.
I fuck her like I am claiming her, every stroke deep, rough, desperate. She meets every thrust, her body opening for me, taking me, hands gripping my shoulders, nails biting as she loses herself.
"You're made for this," I growl against her ear, biting down on her neck as I pound into her. "Made for me."
She sobs my name, her entire body arching off the bed as I slam into that spot inside her that makes her tremble. "Ryker—fuck, I—"
"Come for me," I order, my hand sliding between us, pressing against her swollen clit. "Now."
Her body seizes, a cry breaking from her throat as she shatters around me, her walls pulsing, squeezing my cock like she never wants to let go.
I lose it.
I drive into her harder, chasing my own release, the thought of my cum filling her, taking root inside her, making my vision blur. "You’d look so fucking perfect carrying my baby," I snarl, slamming deep one last time as I come, spilling inside her, marking her as mine.
She gasps, her body shuddering with aftershocks, and I kiss her hard, breathing her in. "Mine," I mutter against her lips, still pulsing inside her. "Forever."
I stay buried inside her, unwilling to break the connection. My grip on her tightens as I lean in, pressing a kiss to her damp temple. "Tell me his full name, Lila."
I feel her body tense beneath me. Her fingers clench against my back, her breath catching. "Ryker..."
I run my palm down her side, soothing but firm. "You’re safe. We’ll protect you. He won’t touch you again. Ever."
A long silence stretches between us before she exhales shakily, voice barely above a whisper. "Nikolai Mikhailov. People call him Kolya. He’s, my husband."
Nikolai Mikhailov . Mikhailov. The name slams into me, instantly familiar. Not just any Russian name. LA Bratva. Whispers in the community. Bloodshed. That Mikhailov. A major player. Fuck.
The blood in my veins turns to ice, then ignites with white-hot fury. Married . To him . A fucking high-level Russian mob boss. My jaw clenches so hard it aches, darkness twisting inside me—jealousy, possessiveness, and the raw, overwhelming need to obliterate his existence and erase every trace of his touch on her.
The thought of another man touching her, claiming her, calling her his wife—it makes me see red. Especially this man. But he lost that right the second he hurt her. Now, she’s ours.
Fuck!
I should care that she’s married to anyone, let alone him . But all I feel is rage. Possessive, burning rage targeted squarely at Nikolai Mikhailov. Her hands fly up, fingers desperately clutching at my face, framing my jaw as if trying to hold me, to read my reaction, bracing for impact. Like she expects me to push her away. As if I ever fucking would.
"That bastard doesn’t own you," I growl, tightening my hold, my hands covering hers where they grip my face before sliding down to pull her closer. "You belong to us now. Me. Bastian. Ethan. And he’ll find out just how fucking bad it is to try to take something that isn't his anymore."
I roll us over so I'm on my back, bringing her with me, keeping her pressed against me, still buried deep inside her. She settles onto my hips, straddling me, her breath hitching as she adjusts to the new angle. She doesn't pull away, doesn't try to move further. Instead, she leans forward, curling into me, her head resting on my chest, fingers resting over my heart.
The sheer vulnerability of the position, the soft weight of her against me, the memory of her trembling confession—it stokes the embers inside me all over again. I feel myself harden inside her tight heat, a slow, heavy pulse against her slick walls.
She gasps softly, eyes fluttering open to meet mine from above. There’s surprise there, but no fear. Only a dawning awareness, a mirrored need.
I brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead, my voice low. "Still want me, Baby Girl?"
Her answer is a breathless nod, her hips giving the slightest downward tilt against mine, an invitation.
This time, there is no frenzy, no harsh claiming. Supporting her hips with my hands, I guide the movement, pulling back slowly before thrusting gently upward, sinking back into her, stretching her, filling her inch by inch. Each thrust is measured, controlled, a silent promise. My gaze holds hers, watching the flicker of pleasure mixed with relief cross her features as she looks down at me. My hands roam her back, her sides, tracing the lines of her body as if memorizing them.
"Stay with me," I murmur, pressing kisses to her brow, her temple, the corner of her eye.
She clings to me, legs wrapping tighter around my waist, lowering herself onto my slow, deep rhythm. Her breath comes in soft pants, mixing with mine. It isn’t about desperation now; it’s about connection, about erasing the lingering shadows of fear with deliberate, loving friction. We move together, a slow dance of possession and surrender, until the tension builds again, coiling low and tight in both of us.
Her back arches, her head falling back as a soft moan escapes her lips. "Ryker..."
"That's it," I whisper, my own control fraying. I cup her face, pulling her down to kiss her deeply as I pick up the pace just slightly, driving up into her heat. "Come with me, Baby Girl."
Her answering cry is muffled against my mouth as her climax hits her, waves of release pulsing around me, milking me. Seeing her shatter, feeling her body clench around mine, tips me over the edge. With a final, deep upward thrust, I follow her, groaning her name as my release floods her, hot and heavy.
We lie panting, tangled together, her collapsing onto my chest, slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and mingled relief. I don't pull out, unwilling to break the fragile peace we've found.
Her fingers trace absent patterns over my chest, her breath warm against my skin. “Do you mean it?” she whispers after a long moment, her voice heavy with spent emotion.
I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Mean what?”
“That I belong to you. That I’m safe.”
My jaw tightens. “Every fucking word.”
A soft, genuine smile ghosts her lips, the first real one I’ve seen from her in days. It hits me harder than her climax did.
"Sleep, Baby Girl," I murmur, stroking her back, pulling the covers up around us. "I’ve got you."
Her breath evens out almost immediately, her body relaxing fully against mine, boneless and trusting, like she finally believes it. That she’s safe. That she’s ours.
Her weight on my chest is grounding, her soft breaths a quiet rhythm against my skin. After a few minutes, when her breathing is deep and even, confirming she's truly asleep, I carefully, slowly reach over to the nightstand. My movements are slow, making sure not to jostle her. My fingers close around my phone.
Keeping her tucked securely against me with one arm, I use my free hand to quickly type out a message to the group chat with Bastian and Ethan.
Got a name…
I pause, then add:
She's asleep now. Finally calm. Give me a few hours. Then we talk.
I send it, silence the phone, and place it back on the nightstand without looking away from the woman sleeping peacefully on my chest. Relief washes over me, sharp and fierce, seeing her finally at rest.
And just like that, cocooned together, her sprawled trustingly on top of me, my cock still nestled loosely inside her, my own exhaustion finally claims me.
Protecting her takes precedence, but the knowledge that Bastian and Ethan are waiting, ready to strategize, settles something deep inside. We drift off—finding oblivion in the aftermath of the storm, the real fight only just beginning.