55. Ryker
RYKER
He stepped fully into the light as if he owned the air in the room. Black dress shoes. Black slacks. White shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms like he was about to wash his hands after this. His short dark hair was peppered with grey, and it matched his well-trimmed beard.
He looked at me the way a man looks at a project that finally stopped squirming.
“You probably don’t remember our time together,” he said, voice even, almost warm, “so let me reintroduce myself.”
I pulled once against the ropes just to feel them bite.
My wrists burned. Good. Pain meant I was still here.
Thoughts of Sloane flashed through my mind, her mouth on mine, her searching for the tattoo and her brother, standing by me as we fell down a deep, dark hole, the way she’d stared at me like she was trying to keep me anchored and would be there no matter the cost.
He smiled, slowly. “They call me the Pied Piper.”
The name landed and the room flipped on its side. Every story I’d heard from Death came rushing back. Memories of every clipped detail Kip struggled to tell us after his meeting with the Pied Piper. Every time I’d watched what this man left behind without ever seeing his face.
There he was. Close enough to kill. The most evil and twisted of all serial killers.
My mouth split into something that wasn’t a smile. “I always pictured you uglier.”
His eyes didn’t narrow. He didn’t bristle. He appeared amused as if I’d handed him exactly what he expected.
“Most people do,” he replied. “I’m glad you survived, Ryker. Truly. It was a pleasant and … unexpected surprise.”
A laugh tried to break out of me. “Surprise.” I tested the rope again, slow this time, letting him see I wasn’t done. “Funny word for a man who sent several men to make sure I didn’t live.”
He held my gaze. Unbothered. Interested.
“You don’t take failure well, so let’s not pretend this is a reunion. You remember me. You clearly remember enough to try to fucking kill me.”
He took a step closer, close enough that I could smell clean soap and something expensive under it. “And yet, here you are.”
My teeth ground together. “I’m here because I traded myself.”
“For the girl,” he said lightly, as if naming her was nothing.
The word girl made something vicious spark behind my ribs.
“Say her name right,” I growled. “Or don’t say it at all.”
His smile deepened by a fraction, pleased in a way that made my skin crawl.
“Sloane. I know. I was the one that had her plant herself in your life. When she started to drift, one of my men broke into her house, left a head in her refrigerator, another time painted blood on her wall with a sedative, texted her after she saw you kill Mick. It turned out the way I wanted. She delivered you to me even without realizing it. Even after your attack, with your emotional gaps, I figured you’d fall for her.
Then, it was simply a matter of time before I told Hamilton to make the trade. You for Nate.”
Of course he did.
He tilted his head, studying me as if I was data. “Tell me, Ryker, do you want to know why you were beaten almost to death?”
I stared back through the burn in my wrists and the ache in my shoulders, forcing the rage into something colder. Anger made you reckless. Cold kept you alive.
“I already know.”
His brows lifted a fraction. “Do you? Or is it what you told yourself to try to make sense of what happened?”
I sneered at him. “I got too close. I put my hands on something I shouldn’t have. I started pulling threads you didn’t want anyone to see.”
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t confirm it either. He just watched me, and that was worse. Hamilton watched like a man waiting for a reaction. The Pied Piper watched like he was studying you to see what kind of monster he could turn you into.
“You’re not wrong but you’re also not right.”
I gritted my teeth. “Spare me the riddle.”
He smiled again, as if this was a Sunday brunch between two friends
“You keep saying you know,” I said. “You keep saying my name like you’ve earned the right to say it.”
He took another step, then another. Not rushed. Not cautious. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who didn’t live with consequences.
“Do you want the truth?”
My laugh came out harsh. “Do I look like I’m here for small talk?”
“You were beaten because you were noisy.”
I went still.
“Noisy,” he repeated, as if it was the most normal word in the world. “You were moving around the edges. Asking the wrong questions. Saying the wrong things to the wrong people. You made yourself visible.”
I pulled against the rope again. “So, you tried to erase me.”
“I tried to silence you,” he corrected. “Erasure is messy.”
Clean. Clinical. Controlled. Everything about him had that shape, even his voice.
“And Nate?” If I didn’t ask, I was going to choke on it. “Was he noisy too?”
His expression didn’t change. No sympathy. No remorse. Not even satisfaction.
“Your girlfriend’s brother was … unfortunate.” The way he said unfortunate made it sound like the weather. “He stood too close to the fire.”
“You took him,” I growled.
He didn’t blink. “People like you and Nate don’t get taken. You’re guided.”
Sloane’s voice cut through the noise in my head, Chuck and Elaina Hall. Minnesota. A hunch that the foster house wasn’t random. My blood went hot. “By Chuck Hall? Was he one of yours? Is that how Nate got pulled into this?”
The corners of his mouth barely moved. “I always knew you were smart. It wasn’t coincidence that Sloane and Nate were placed with them. I’d already been watching Nate.”
“Don’t dress it up,” I snapped. “Don’t pin a medal on it and call it guidance. You beat him, and there’s no telling what else you did.”
He held my gaze. “Pain is informative.”
For a second my mind tried to fracture, split into the version of me that could take this and the version that couldn’t.
Sloane’s face flashed through my mind again. Her eyes on mine, that look when she was holding herself together. Anchor, I told myself. Just hold on to her.
I took a slow and steady breath.
“Do you want to know the real reason? Not the surface reason. Not the narrative you built to fill in the blanks.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
He leaned in slightly, like we were co-conspirators. “You were beaten because you made the mistake of believing the world responds to truth.”
My nostrils flared. “And what does it respond to?”
“Control.”
My wrists strained against the rope. “Then show me. Since you dragged me down here.”
He smiled wider, pleased. “I already am.” He took his time turning, walking toward the projector cart. The room felt smaller. The Pied Piper didn’t need chains to dominate a space. He existed, and the air rearranged itself around him.
He tapped the projector with two fingers. “You saw the film.”
My spine went rigid.
“You saw yourself in the chair,” he continued, casual. “You saw the tape. The blood draw. The compliance.”
I forced the words out past the bile in my throat. “I saw a kid who didn’t have a choice.”
His head angled slightly. “Choice is a story people tell themselves.”
The projector light died, and the wall went blank.
He faced me again. “Do you remember anything from that time?” he asked.
“No.” A pause. Then, “No, because you, Hamilton, and Markham made sure I didn’t.”
He tipped his chin, as if I’d answered correctly. “Memory is a pattern. Patterns can be disrupted.”
My pulse hammered. “You mean drugged. You mean you fried my goddamn brain.”
He didn’t react to the language. “I mean I removed the dangerous parts.”
“The parts that made you nervous.” I barked out a sarcastic laugh.
“The parts that made you unpredictable,” he corrected.
The rope bit deeper as I shifted, the chair creaking under the tension of my body. “I’m unpredictable right now. You should be fucking nervous.”
“You’re angry. Angry men are useful. Angry men are easy to steer.”
I bared my teeth. “You don’t steer me.”
He didn’t flinch. “Do you really think that meeting Sloane and finding Nate was an accident? Every detail was orchestrated by my hand. I don’t make plans, Ryker. I make outcomes. If Sloane walked you to me, fine. If she didn’t, she was my leverage. Now do you think you’re here by choice?”
The question hit hard since it wasn’t simple. “I’m here because I made a deal.”
He nodded, granting me a point. “Yes. You did. Just as I expected.”
His attention slid over me again, clinical, taking inventory. “The question is whether you understand the terms.”
My jaw locked. “I assume you’re going to tell me.”
“I am.” The warmth in his voice was a blade. “But first, I want you to understand something about the world you’ve been clawing at.”
He walked back to me, his hands relaxed at his sides.
“I don’t hide,” he explained. “I don’t have to. I operate in plain sight. I just don’t operate where you think I do.”
I stared at him, every nerve screaming for me to lunge.
He stopped a few feet away. “Tell me, Ryker. How did you find Hamilton’s name?”
My stomach tightened. I didn’t answer.
He smiled. “You don’t need to answer. Hamilton is careless when he’s proud.”
A flicker of anger sharpened. “What is he to you?”
“He’s useful,” the Pied Piper said, as if that was the only category that mattered. “And he’s predictable.”
My voice came out low. “So are the men you sent to beat me.”
His eyes finally narrowed a fraction. Not anger. Focus. “That beating wasn’t about killing you.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“It was about teaching you. When that didn’t stick, it became about testing how much pressure you can take before you break.”
I pulled against the rope again, wanting the burn to keep me grounded.
“You want to talk about pressure? Let’s talk about what you did to Death. Let’s talk about Kip. You’ve been circling them for years.”
His expression didn’t shift. “I circle what belongs to me.”
My blood ran cold. “They don’t belong to you.”
He shrugged lightly. “Think what you want. The results speak for themselves.”
I forced my breathing to slow. “You’re going to keep pretending this is an academic lecture?”
His mouth twitched. “No.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. Black. Clean. No case.
He held it up. “I want you to see how simple it is.”
I cocked a brow at him. “What is that?”
“A door,” he replied.
He didn’t wait for my permission. His thumb moved with purpose.
A soft chime sounded.
Then another.
The overhead lights didn’t change. Nothing in the room physically shifted, but I felt it anyway. That subtle sense of being watched, not by one man, but by something larger, as if a switch had flipped somewhere far away and I was suddenly in the spotlight.
“You’re feeling it,” he said.
“Feeling what?”
“Attention,” he said.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket like he’d just shown me a party trick.
“You’ve been sniffing around places you shouldn’t,” he continued. “Dark web forums. Encrypted boards. Old libraries of information that people think are buried. They aren’t buried. They’re cataloged.”
My body went rigid with fury. He was talking about Sloane. About what I’d found on the dark web. About what we’d pulled together. About every time we thought we were the hunters.
“How?” I demanded. “How do you see it?”
He smiled. “Tripwires.”
The word landed.
He watched my face closely, like my expression was the real entertainment.
“A tripwire isn’t magic. It’s not a hacker in a hoodie smashing keys in a basement.
It’s dull. It’s systematic.” He held up a finger.
“Certain words. Certain phrases. Certain combinations. Typed in certain places.” He held up a second finger.
“They ping a listener.” He held up a third. “That listener opens a door.”
My stomach turned. “A door to what?”
“To you. You think you’re moving in shadows,” he continued. “But when you type the right words, you turn on a light. You announce yourself.”
My teeth ground together. “Like a rabbit tattoo.”
His smile deepened. “You’ve always been a smart young man.”
The room tightened around my ribs. I thought of Sloane’s hands on the laptop, her brows drawn together, her determination, her fear.
I kept my voice steady with effort. “So, you’ve been watching her along with me.”
“I’ve been aware of her,” he corrected.
His words weren’t comfort. It was worse. It meant she was on his radar, and he didn’t think that was remarkable.
I leaned forward as far as the rope allowed. “If you go near her—”
“Then what?” He chuckled.
My chest heaved. “Then I’ll fucking kill you.”
He seemed almost amused again. “You can’t kill what you can’t reach.”
My rage flared. “I’m reaching you right now.”
He stepped closer until he was just outside the arc of my legs.
“You’re still thinking in fists,” he said. “It’s juvenile. You’re better than that.”
The word juvenile made my vision sharpen with violence.
He tilted his head. “Are you interested in proof?”
He turned, walked to the door, and knocked twice. Not hard. Not urgent. Like he was ordering tea. It opened. One of the men who’d tied me down earlier stepped in. His eyes were eerily flat.
The Pied Piper didn’t even glance at him. “Bring it.”
The man left without a word.
I stared at the monster in front of me. “What are you doing?”