Chapter 14
Violet
I think he was trying to kill me.
My arms cinched tight around his waist as he tore through the streets like traffic laws didn’t exist. The bike leaned hard into every turn, tyres screeching in protest, and my pulse kept pace with the engine’s roar.
He’d been stiff at first, so rigid I didn’t know how he handled the bike so easily. But when he cut too sharply down a side road and I squealed, humiliatingly high-pitched and wholly involuntary, something changed. His posture loosened, just a fraction. As if my panic had amused him.
Another cry escaped my throat, and oh my God, I think he was laughing at me.
I’m pretty sure I felt a chuckle vibrating through his back. Or maybe it was just the wind screaming past the helmet as I pressed my head between his shoulder blades, my eyes squeezed shut as I prayed for the ride to end before I either lost my nerve, or my grip.
I couldn’t tell you how long I was forced to press myself undignified against his back, or even where we were considering I’d had my eyes closed for the majority of the ride.
The bike finally rolled to a stop, my heart still hammering hard enough to ache against my ribs.
“You can let go of me now,” he chuckled, and I realised, completely horrified, that my fingers were still locked against his stomach. “Unless you want to make this ride more interesting?”
I shoved myself away so violently I nearly toppled off the bloody thing.
Swinging my legs down, I fumbled at the strap beneath my chin, yanked the helmet free, and shoved it into his chest with more force than strictly necessary.
“Stop being so dramatic. I wasn’t even going that fast.” He tucked the black helmet under one arm, smirking like the devil himself.
“You were trying to scare me.” My voice was sharper than I’d intended.
“Me? Scare you?” With a snort he leaned against his motorbike, the black and chrome monstrosity glistening.
I’d never ridden a bike before, and after tonight, I knew I never would again if I could help it.
“Why would I ever want that? Unless…” He straightened, closing the space between us so fast I had to tilt my chin to keep his gaze.
“You’re having second thoughts? Well, don’t let me stop you.
Come on, blondie, tell me where to find the USB drive and I’ll take you back safe and sound. No questions asked.”
“What? No, not until you help me!”
“Come on, you can’t be serious!” The harsh overhead lights carved shadows across his face, making his cheekbones appear sharper.
“You’re not built for this,” he went on, voice deceptively gentle.
“The safest thing for you is to give me what I want, then go back to your art, and somewhat unhinged mother.”
“No,” I said evenly, “and she’s not unhinged you ignorant arsehole.”
There was a glint in his eyes, subtle, but sharp enough to chill the air around me. Ryder was dangerous, no matter how easily he masked it behind charm and careless smirks.
I was an idiot for demanding his help, but backing down wasn’t an option. I was desperate, at least until I figured out what the hell was going on. So I had to push, because someone was after mum. Someone darker. Possibly worse.
Oh God, what was I doing?
“It’s your funeral.” Shaking his head, Ryder headed for the lift, waiting for me with a touch of impatience.
I quickly followed, wary as the silver doors closed us both inside.
Shit. Please, let this be the right decision. That I haven’t just offered myself gift-wrapped to a serial killer.
The only thing keeping me safe was the stupid lie about a USB drive I knew nothing about.
The lift opened, and I waited a beat before following said possible serial killer down the neat and tidy hallway. Eyeing me over his shoulder, Ryder stopped at a door at the end. “Don’t touch my shit,” he warned.
Swallowing my nerves, I stepped inside, taking in the bachelor pad he called home.
The front door opened straight into a sprawling living room with an attached kitchen.
Sleek and modern, the counters and appliances were high-end and gleaming.
A woven rug decorated the dark wooden floor, its tones matching the understated, masculine decor.
Against the back wall, the largest TV I’d ever seen dominated the space, flanked by a lineup of consoles and an array of controllers.
Through the door on the left I could make out the bedroom; the main focus was the large bed with dark blue silk sheets spilling across the mattress and echoing the moody palette of the rest of the flat.
“My guests don’t usually stay,” he said from behind me, making me jump. “If you catch my drift.”
I didn’t until he glanced at the messy sheets.
Ew.
“Good to know you don’t last long,” I shot back before my brain could stop my mouth.
With a click of his tongue, he backed away, turning towards a door opposite. This one was thicker, the handle heavier with a strange device.
He eyed me as he pressed his thumb to the metal, the door beeping before unlocking.
I froze at the threshold, taking in the space which he’d turned into a stalker’s paradise.
It was an office in the sense that it had a desk, as well as computer monitors.
But even more screens dominated the room, showing footage of the surrounding building, outside his front door as well as the underground garage.
I could even see his motorbike, which was perfectly parked in his space.
“What is all this?” I asked, my voice low as I turned. I’d expected clutter, maybe chaos. Not a case board worthy of a murder mystery thriller.
Photographs, newspaper clippings, and scribbled notes were pinned to the wall, bound together by frantic knots of string. The lines crisscrossed until they looked like veins, pulsing out from a single photograph in the middle.
I reached for it, not caring that the strings fell when I pulled it free.
It was of mum, holding what must be my hand at no older than two, maybe three. The picture was blurry, old, but I could see the fear in mum’s eyes.
It looked like she was running from something. Or someone.
Underneath lay a newer photo, and unlike the first, it showed only her.
“How long were you watching her?” I asked, looking up to find Ryder seated at his desk, a lit cigarette between his lips.
“Yeah, you’re not going to like the answer.” Grabbing one of the cables attached to his computer, he plugged in Cedric’s phone.
Placing the photos down, I leaned over Ryder’s shoulder. Smoke shrouded him, causing me to cough. “Those will kill you, you know,” I muttered.
The chair gave a small squeak as Ryder shifted, turning towards me. His legs spread lazily as he leaned forward, his gaze cool and taunting. He took a long drag, the cigarette tip glowing like an ember, then exhaled a plume of smoke straight into my face.
“Will they?” His voice was low, amused as I coughed. “Guess I’ll have to add that to the list of things trying to finish me off. Now back off and let me work.”
I scowled. “You’re an arsehole.”
“So you’ve said.” Ryder chuckled in response, returning his attention to one of the multiple screens.
I stood there, unsure what to do. I kept finding myself drawn back to his spiderweb of photographs and notes. Ryder had tracked mum up to around the time she’d lost her job and moved in with me.
The idea that we’d been so easily found…
Mum had always been strict about our privacy, drawing firm lines when it came to the internet. While friends when I was a teen were busy posting selfies, I wasn’t even allowed to create an account.
At the time, it felt suffocating. Like being cut off from the world.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I finally made a profile of my own, but even then old habits lingered.
I kept my face hidden in most pictures, choosing instead to showcase my art rather than myself.
As though mum’s warnings about privacy still whispered at the back of my mind.
So how did Ryder find us so easily?
“Who’s your boss?” I demanded. “What do they want with mum?”
Ryder let out a sound of frustration. “First off, I don’t have a boss. I work for myself. Second…” His jaw tightened. “I’ve got no fucking clue. All I know is they’re insistent about the USB drive.”
“She doesn’t…” The words slipped before I bit them back, almost giving away the lie.
“I just… I don’t understand what any of this means.
” And I couldn’t even ask mum about it. There was a time I would’ve gone straight to her, asked for her advice, and let her steady me the way she always used to.
But in the last few years I’ve had to learn how to carry everything on my own, because I can’t afford to say the wrong thing.
I can’t risk feeding a delusion that isn’t real.
“Don’t look at me, I’m just the guy they hired to retrieve it.” He gestured to the backpack he’d tossed towards his bed. “Take a look for yourself.”
The book was inside, as were all the newspaper clippings and photographs. Feeling like I needed to do something, I carefully arranged them on the floor.
Picking up the closest photograph, I studied the girl closer.
“What’s that on the back?”
I looked up to find Ryder lounging in his chair, the screen behind him pulsing with a loading bar.
My fingers toyed with the photo, and when I flipped it over, a crude pencil sketch stared back at me.
A flower, the lines eerily similar in style as my necklace.
But rather than a violet, it was a rose.
A chill slid through my core.
Heart thudding, I turned the others over, one by one, until every photo lay face-down on the carpet. Each one was marked with similar drawings, each one a different flower.
“Can I use your phone?” I asked shakily.
Ryder eyed me with suspicion. “Why?”
I forced myself to hold his stare, even as a cold weight settled in my stomach. “Because I left mine when… Does it even matter?”
“Well, yeah. Depends on who you’re calling.”
“Please… I need—”