Chapter 8
Ryker
What the fuck were they going to do with her? There was no telling how long the road would be blocked. They should’ve taken her somewhere closer than Henderson. They were cornered up here.
They shuffled their captive into the cabin.
The cold wind bit at his face until he put his mask back on.
With their identities guarded, he removed the bag from her head.
She blinked hard as her eyes adjusted to the light and took in the surroundings: a small living area with a couch and a dining table with four chairs connected to what could barely be described as a kitchen.
There was a woodstove in the center of it all, which he was eager to get lit.
The place was pretty chilly, and Willow was shivering.
Wait, why do I care?
Ryker marched her over to the spare room while Ezra grabbed a chair. They urged her to sit and readjusted the bindings around her wrists to tie her to the seat.
She made a pitiful noise as they did it. “Please move my hands in front.”
Ezra replied quickly, “No.” Then he stalked out of the room. Ryker lingered for a moment. There was obviously a reason she kept asking. Maybe she was trying to trick them. The grimace on her pretty face didn’t look fake, though.
Well, chances were that they would readjust her eventually. They couldn’t expect her to stay like that for however long they were stuck.
Ryker turned to follow his companion out of the room and closed the door behind him. He briefly caught those pained eyes as he did and felt a stab of guilt in his chest.
In the living area, Ezra flopped onto the couch and groaned while pulling his mask off. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What a fuckin’ nightmare.”
“Think she’s cold in there?” Ryker asked, pulling off his own mask. They had only worn the coverings when it was possible for Willow to see them, but it was a relief all the same.
His friend laughed. “She’s fine.” He glanced at the woodstove. “I’ll check out the woodpile. Fuck. I always hated chopping wood. Especially in the wind.”
“Does the water work?”
“Yeah. I de-winterized it last month and have been keeping the heat low. It isn’t freezing up here anymore, though.”
Ryker snorted while rubbing his hands together. “Yeah. ‘Not freezing’.”
“Hey, it gets way colder in December. You babies would never make it out here.”
He nodded. It wasn’t untrue. Ryker wasn’t a cold-weather guy.
There was a scraping sound coming from the other room, followed by a hard thud. With it came Willow’s pitiful swear.
That must have hurt.
Ezra groaned. “Make sure she didn’t kill herself.” He stood and made his way toward the door. “I’ll be back with some more wood. Get what’s there started.”
“Okay,” he replied. That shouldn’t be hard. He had a lighter on him and there was some paper in a pile.
Ryker made his way to the room Willow was in.
She was on her side, still tied to the chair and breathing heavily.
He righted her, noting how hard the lines in her face were with every little movement.
She was clearly in pain, but was trying to hide it.
If she was trying to play them, why would she be holding it in?
She made a strange noise as her teeth chattered. It was freezing in there, and she wasn’t dressed as warmly as they were. It would take a long time for the room to heat up.
Fuck Ezra. He was going to take her out to the living room.
He grabbed the back of the chair and tipped it back, dragging her out to sit next to the woodstove.
Ryker got to work lighting the fire. It was easy; he’d gone camping and shit when he was a kid. The flame took over the paper, curling and consuming everything it could touch. He fed it some kindling and lifted the bottom of his mask to blow on it, puffing up some leftover ash.
Willow’s breaths were ragged. “Please. Tie me down flat or something if you want. Just move my fucking arms.”
Her voice wavered with the plea, like she was trying not to cry.
Ah, shit.
He fed some smaller bits of wood into the fire before closing the front. If Ezra got pissed, he would just deal with it. Ryker might have been an asshole, but something about her made him feel like an even bigger piece of shit by making her suffer.
He rose to his feet and approached. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of freedom. He released the bindings, watching her struggle to pull her arms forward. One side was definitely hurting her more than the other. The same side as the scar on her face.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” he asked, carefully moving her hands to the front of her body and redoing the bindings. He didn’t tie her to the chair again. It wouldn’t be hard to catch her if she tried to bolt.
“You were going to shoot me in the head earlier,” she said between clenched teeth. “Now you care about my fucked up shoulder?”
“Maybe I don’t like hurting pretty girls.”
She snorted. “Only ugly ones?”
His brows came together. He didn’t really like hurting anyone, but it was a job he was forced to do. It was easy for him to flip the switch to “mean bastard”, but the guilt always had a way of sneaking in.
“No,” he replied finally.
Ryker turned to check the status of the fire.
Her voice softened. “Um, could you help work out that shoulder? Or untie my hands so I can do it?”
He looked her over, wanting more than anything to take her up on the offer to do it himself. There was no sign of his friend around. What harm could it do?
Ryker stood behind her, looking down at this girl they had taken off the street. The wrong one. He had really fucked up. She tensed in anticipation, shuffling her black hair.
He owed it to her. She wasn’t their witness. There wasn’t any reason to punish her.
He reached out and took hold of her small frame. The contact made her flinch, but within moments she relaxed into his touch.
Heat radiated through his body. Why was he getting so worked up over this? It was just a favor. He was only trying to help whatever was wrong. That was it.
Willow’s head rolled to the side and she let out the tiniest groan of approval. His dick swelled, straining against the zipper.
Don’t do that, pretty girl.
His thumbs dug into the tight knot of muscle, but all he could think about was how her skin would feel under his hands if he removed his gloves and slid under the neckline of her coat.
Sweat was gathering at the nape of his neck. Fuck’s sake—was the woodstove already working?
The sound of footsteps came from outside. He yanked his hands away and rushed over to the door. He needed to tell Ezra to put his mask back on. Hopefully, his friend wouldn’t notice the massive bulge in the front of his pants.
There was only so much trouble he could get them into. And he had a sinking feeling she was going to drag him into every bit of it.