Chapter 15
RYKER
I propped my boots on the corner of the table and sliced off a bite of apple, the blade whispering through the skin. Crisp. Cold. The snap echoed a little too loud in the quiet, like the room was listening.
I liked that.
Silence made most people fidget. It made them confess. It made them imagine what I would do next. In my world, noise was a warning. Quiet was control.
It had been a long day followed by an exhilarating night. One of those rare stretches where the world felt almost … mine. For the first time in years, I could breathe without feeling trapped in my own skin. Free.
Maybe I’d caught a sliver of what Death chased when he did what he did—violence with purpose, the private satisfaction of being the last thing a monster ever understood. Saving lives at the same time. A clean line you could draw with a steady hand and call it righteousness.
I rolled the apple in my palm, weighing it. The knife rested against my finger, reminding me of what it could do.
My attention drifted to the phones on the table.
The soft light of my screensaver illuminated the image.
It hit like a dull ache I couldn’t stab or shoot my way out of.
A big smile, soft skin, the reason I’d stayed away when I started protecting Death.
We all had secrets, and I hadn’t ever shared this one.
That is why you’re alone. You’re a monster.
I flipped the cell over, then allowed my attention to focus on the groan across the room. I’d borrowed one of Death’s nearby empty warehouse bunkers for the next item on my to-do list.
Dark hair hid her face, and for a second I let myself enjoy the sight of her.
Then her voice cut through it. “Fuck.”
That single word told me everything I needed to know. She was conscious enough to understand, not clear enough to move fast. The drug did what it was supposed to, softened the edges and dulled the instincts. Kept her in that thin, ugly space between waking and fighting.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t have to.
I watched her like a problem I’d already solved, cataloging the small things—the way her shoulders shifted, the hesitation before her breath turned sharp, the moment she tried to orient herself by sound instead of sight. People always did that first. They listened for the rules.
I was the rule.
My mouth twisted into something that wasn’t a smile. She probably had a wicked headache from what I’d used to knock her out.
Pain made people honest. Pain made them still.
And for the first few minutes, the fog would keep her compliant—confused enough to hesitate, to reach for denial.
After that, panic would hit fast. Once it clicked, she would realize her ankles were chained, her hands restrained, and the concrete wall behind her offered nowhere to hide. She was lucky that was all she got.
Because the version of me that had carried her in here, the one still riding the adrenaline, had wanted to be thorough. The only reason she still had choices was because I’d forced myself to come down, to think, to put structure around the impulse.
After I’d handled Kyle, the stupid bastard who’d put his hands on her at the games, I’d done what I thought was necessary.
I’d planned for the next move. Quietly. Methodically. I’d planted the tracker on Sloane’s car while she was still in the building getting cleaned up. I’d told myself it was about her protection.
It was possession.
Then Mick happened. Feeling invincible after killing him, I’d cleaned up like it was routine. Like blood and consequences were another mess that needed to be wiped away. Then I’d climbed into my Audi and pulled up the app on my phone.
That’s when the high turned fucking sour.
The screen refreshed and my pulse kicked once, violent enough to feel like it was trying to break out of my chest. Sweat beaded across my forehead as I realized Sloane was only minutes away from where I was. Minutes. Not fucking hours.
Being a tech guru meant my paranoia came with perks. The tracker didn’t only show her location it logged her history. I scrolled. My stomach clenched so tight it felt like a fist closing around my spine. Her car had been on the property. Which meant she probably saw me kill someone.
The way Mick had dropped still rang in my ears, not loud, not dramatic, just final.
A body realizing the rules had changed. A man understanding, too late, that begging was a waste of breath.
If she’d been close enough to see the knife go in, she’d been close enough to see the others’ masks too.
If she’d seen them, she wasn’t only a complication, she was a goddamn liability I couldn’t afford to let walk away.
If it had only been me, I could have dealt with it.
But Kip and Death were with me. I’d offered them up.
Not intentionally, but intention didn’t matter.
Results did. And the result was a target painted on men who trusted me to keep them safe.
That was the part I couldn’t forgive. Not her curiosity. My stupidity.
People didn’t get to brush up against the edge of my life and walk away breathing like it was a minor inconvenience. Not when my people were the ones who paid the price.
So now she was mine to take care of. To close out.
First, I needed answers—why she’d followed me, and who the fuck she really was.
“You’re Not Who You Seem to Be” by Power-Hause, Tome-E, James McLean played in the background.
“What a fitting song, don’t you think?”
She lifted her head at the sound of my voice, grimacing. Sloane blinked several times, and I gave her a moment for her vision to catch up.
I stood, the apple in one hand, the knife in the other.
Her tongue darted over her lower lip. Thirsty. Disoriented.
Too damn bad. I stepped in close and slid the blade under her chin with just enough pressure to make her freeze.
Metal kissed skin, and her pulse jumped in her neck.
One hard flick of my wrist and the problem would be solved.
I didn’t want efficient, though. I wanted truth.
The kind you didn’t give until you understood there was no other option.
“You haven’t realized it yet,” I murmured, watching her pupils fight to focus, “but you’re tied to a chair.”
The smirk wasn’t for her. It was for the moment when the information landed.
Her eyes widened. She tugged on the restraints like panic could rewrite reality. The strap bit into her wrist as she fought; my own lit up with phantom pressure. Then, I crushed it and forced my focus where it belonged: Kip. Death. The target she’d dragged into my house.
“Shit. You? You fucking took me?” Confusion softened the edges of her voice.
Good. She still believed there was a version of this that ended with her walking away.
There wasn’t. Not if she’d seen what wasn’t meant to be seen. Not if that put a target on men who trusted me.
My brow rose with her question. “Were you expecting someone else?”
Her mouth clamped shut so fast her teeth clacked.
“We can do this your way or my way. Either choice, I’ll have fun torturing the information out of you.
” I sliced another bite of apple and popped it into my mouth.
“I really work up an appetite when I’m preparing to kill someone.
I’ve got a steak cooking right now.” I sniffed the air, my mouth watering. “It smells so damn good.”
She blanched, understanding exactly what my intentions were for her. Her stomach growled in response, and I barked out a laugh. If she thought she saw something in the woods, I needed her doubting it. Needed her unsure enough to stay quiet.
“You fucking bastard. Let me go, I’m not saying shit to anyone. Whatever you do in your spare time is none of my business.” Her gaze narrowed on me.
“I’m not stupid enough to let you go, Sloane. Honestly, that wasn’t even a good attempt at bargaining for your life.” I twirled the blade once before I wiped the knife on my jeans, then aimed and tossed the apple core into the trash can in the kitchen.
The space was small but intentional with a counter, sink, utensils, a fridge and freezer, and a table with scuffed chairs that didn’t match. A bathroom down the hall. Two bedrooms. Everything you needed to keep someone alive, and nothing you needed to make them comfortable.
It was buried in the middle of the forest where the trees swallowed sound, and the dark didn’t belong to anyone but us. Death had installed a generator, but it was also solar powered—because if you planned to disappear, you didn’t rely on a single tool.
We’d all spent time here at one point. Hiding from the cops when Death’s trail got too hot. Waiting out the next cleanup like it was a storm rolling through. To us, bodies and blood were simply logistics.
I sat at the table and faced her the way I did any problem; patient and already several steps ahead.
“Why were you following me tonight?” I cracked a bottle of water and drank in front of her, taking my time. The plastic crinkled in my hand. I didn’t offer her any.
Sloane shut her eyes as if she could change reality by refusing to look at it.
If she was smart, she’d talk. Smart wouldn’t save her, though. Not after she’d watched a murder happen.
Granted, the others were wearing masks—but I knew how the world worked. Masks came off. Patterns didn’t. We were together all the time. It would be too easy for her to connect dots.
A twinge of regret snapped through me, sharp enough to piss me off. I’d liked what I’d had with Sloane before she made herself a liability. She’d been a good chase. A great fuck. My new obsession. Now, she was a big goddamn problem, and problems got handled.
“Why did you do it?” she asked, ignoring my question.
Of course she did. If she wasn’t going to live long, talking about Mick was a waste of oxygen. A closed chapter. A body on a floor. Except something in me shifted anyway—small, inconvenient. A twitch in the dead place behind my ribs.