Chapter 48 Ryder
Ryder
I don’t even know what the fuck I was doing. For the first time in my life, someone else actually came first. Maybe that’s why, despite knowing exactly where she was hiding, I hadn’t kicked down the door and demanded answers.
Bloody hell, it’s like I’d suddenly grown a conscience. At least when it came to her.
“You should let her go,” Elena had said. “She isn’t a toy for you to play with and then discard when you’re bored.”
Fuck that.
Violet wasn’t some toy.
Okay, she was. But one I wanted to keep.
And no… it wasn’t withdrawal. I didn’t get addicted. Not to anyone.
So maybe I’d officially became the creepy stalker I swore I wasn’t. But it wasn’t like I had a choice. It felt like I couldn’t breathe knowing Violet was out there, scraping by in some rundown bungalow with a landlord who looked like he belonged on a watchlist.
So I hung around, watching from the shadows, making sure she was safe.
Nothing overly disturbing; it wasn’t like I was staring into her window every night touching myself. But this entire situation was growing tiresome.
She’d been hotel-hopping for almost two months before finally settling in this shithole, probably because she’d found a cash-in-hand job at that sleazy club. The kind of place where the lighting’s dim for a reason, and the customers think a smile is an invitation.
I may or may not have introduced a couple of them to my fists.
Violet’s tantrum:
You’re supposed to forget me.
She really shouldn’t have texted me back. Because now that I knew she still thought of me, I was done waiting.
“I’m bringing her home,” I said, the handlebars of my motorbike squeaking from how tight I held them.
“Is that what she wants?” Roman replied through my headset. “She might just tell you to fuck off.”
“Does it sound like I give a shit?” I looked up at the bungalow through the visor of my helmet. With its broken fences, shattered windows, and general condemned aesthetic, the place looked like it was one strong breeze away from collapsing. Fitting, really. “She has to forgive me eventually.”
Tugging off the helmet, I dragged a hand through my hair as I redirected the call to my phone.
“Depends on how stubborn she is,” Roman drawled.
I paused, considering that. Very, my brain supplied helpfully. Very fucking stubborn.
“Shit.” I shifted the topic before I could dwell on Violet’s particular talent for wilfulness. “You heard from Aeris yet?”
“No.”
“She’s taking her sweet fucking time,” I muttered, swinging my leg over.
The night air was bitter cold, but my irritation burned hotter. The day Violet vanished, I’d called Aeris. I’d been bleeding money ever since, paying her obscene fee to dig up anything she could on the bastards hunting Violet and her mum.
“What about Jürgen?”
“Still no sightings.”
“Fuck. You literally have some of the most dangerous men alive working for you, and you can’t track down one cunting German?”
“Easy for you to say,” Roman shot back. “You’re up in bum-fuck nowhere playing babysitter while the rest of us are cleaning up your mess.”
“It’s not my mess.” Which was technically true.
“This,” Roman said flatly, “is exactly why I’m never settling down.”
“Marriage is settling down, you prick.”
“Ot’yebis’,” he growled, and I couldn’t help the low laugh that slipped out.
Отъебись, essentially meaning ‘fuck off,’ was definitely the first Russian phrase I’d bothered to memorise, mostly because Roman said it every other sentence. After a few more sharp exchanges, which was our version of affection, I shut off the bike and approached the bungalow.
I’d given Violet long enough.
Patience was one of my many virtues, and yet every second apart scraped at me like sandpaper. I took the steps up to her front door and pulled out my lock-picking kit. I could’ve knocked, sure, but this way, she couldn’t choose not to let me in. I’d deal with her fury about the break-in after.
The door opened with barely any effort on my part, and I released a sound of disapproval. It shouldn’t be this easy to open, especially considering people were literally hunting them.
Annoyed, I pushed harder, only to hit something solid.
Then that something moved.
Shit.
Greta’s dark eyes narrowed on mine, her expression pinched into a scowl as she glared at me through the gap. I expected her to scream or even hit out. Instead, she stepped back, gesturing for me to follow.
Well… okay then.
The inside was just as depressing as the outside, with mould growing on the walls and the general stench of damp. The house was quiet other than the distant sound of running water, so after a moment I followed through the dark hall, finding Greta in the kitchen doing some washing up.
She still hadn’t said a word, and I was worried if I broke the silence, it may set her off. The kitchen was a mess of pots and pans, and it smelled faintly of something burnt.
“I don’t understand why you’re here,” she said quietly, not turning as she continued to wash whatever was in the sink.
“Because of Violet,” I replied, keeping my tone the same level as hers.
Greta paused, shoulders tight. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.” A knife gleamed in her dripping hand when she turned, water trailing down the blade like blood.
I glanced at the knife before returning my attention to her.
“I’m not trying to take her away from you.” I’d already accepted that if I wanted Violet, I’d have to accept her crazy mother.
“Then why are you here?” she asked with a frown.
“It’s… complicated.”
She pressed her lips together, taking a single step forward, the knife held out like a challenge. “You’re not a good man.”
“No,” I agreed, holding my ground. “I’m not.”
Greta blinked, confused. “You admit it?”
“I’ve never denied it.” I met her stare. “Good men are tied to rules. They have boundaries they refuse to cross because of some twisted sense of morality. I don’t have that problem, especially when it comes to your daughter.”
Greta’s arm held strong, our eyes locked in some strange, silent battle. I was worried that if I looked away, she’d stab me.
“Mum, what are you doing!?”
I didn’t move, not willing to lose the stare-off.
“Not again!” Violet cried out. “Put the knife down!”
Again? What the fuck had I missed?
Greta exhaled sharply, the sound closer to defeat than anger. Looking away, she dropped the knife into the sink before walking out. The slam of the door echoed through the bungalow a moment later.
When I looked back, Violet was standing there, her hair damp, cheeks flushed, and a towel clutched tight around her body. I’d been watching her from afar, but up close it was like a punch to the gut.
There was a faint mark on her cheek, and when I went to brush my thumb over it, she flinched. “What happened?” I asked, the words sharp with barely contained anger. “Who hurt you?”
She straightened, tilting her chin up in that stubborn way of hers. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
The defiance in her tone didn’t quite mask the tremor beneath it. I studied her face, the tension in her jaw, and reluctantly nodded.
You grovel.
It must be hell, because there was no other explanation for the fact that I was actually taking relationship advice from Roman–fucking–Antonov.
“What are you doing here, Ryder?” Violet demanded, those familiar green eyes making it very clear that she was pissed with me. She even kept a careful space between us, but fuck that.
I stepped forward, and she stepped back, repeating this dance until she hit the kitchen counter.
Her hands came up like she might push me away, like she believed I’d stop.
But not this time. This time, I closed the distance until her palms pressed against my chest, my arms bracketing her hips so she was trapped, unable to run away.
“We fucked,” I said, voice dangerously low, “and then you disappeared.”
She looked up at me, unflinching even as her fingers curled against my T-shirt. “You should be used to that, considering you’re an expert.”
I waited for the familiar rush of panic to kick in at the barest touch, but instead, a slow grin tugged at my mouth. “Jealousy suits you, blondie.”
“Ridiculous,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’ll ask again. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you,” I said simply. As if it was obvious.
Her laugh was short, forced. “What if that’s not what I want?”
My hands gripped the counter behind her, the sharp edge biting into my palms just to keep me grounded. “Then tell me,” I said quietly. “What do you want, Violet? What do I need to do for you to forgive me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “You can leave me alone.”
The words hit harder than I expected, cracking something deep in my chest. I should’ve backed off, walked away like any sane man would. Instead, I leaned closer, close enough that I could see the pulse jumping at her throat.
“Anything but that,” I murmured, my voice rough around the edges. “Three months, Violet. Three fucking months of pretending I could do it. I can’t.”
Her eyes flashed, emotion flickering like lightning.
Fear, anger, and something dangerously close to need.
“You don’t get to just show up and decide that.
You don’t get to ruin my life and then pretend you’re the fucking hero,” she said, the words snapping out like bullets.
“This is all your fault! Everything was fine until you turned up.”
“I’m not going to apologise for finding you,” I said, my tone calm only because I was forcing it to be.
Her hands clenched tighter against my shirt, knuckles white, bare shoulders trembling.
“But I am sorry,” I said after a beat, softer this time. “I’m sorry for everything that came after. I’m sorry that you’re involved in whatever the fuck this is. I’m sorry for taking the money. For lying. For every choice that made you look at me like I’m a monster.”
Her breath hitched, and her eyes flicked to mine, hurt and fury colliding in a twisted storm. “I can’t forgive you.”
I nodded slowly, the ache behind my ribs sharp and familiar. “Then I’ll keep trying.”
Releasing my shirt, she leaned back against the counter, the sound of paper rustling as her hands brushed over the mess of sketches she’d left there.
Some were of flowers, the drawings starting rough before they became great sweeps of imagination that echoed her distinctive style. Then there were others, eyes—mine, obviously—as well as silhouettes, and even a snake that was almost identical to the one inked on my skin.
“Well, look at that,” I murmured, holding one up between us. “Seems you missed me after all.”
Her hand shot out, snatching the drawing from my grip. Her cheeks flushed, highlighting those pretty freckles. “Why couldn’t you let me go?”
What kind of question was that?
Pushing myself away, I gave her the space she wanted, if only to calm myself down.
She didn’t move aside from pressing herself tighter against the counter. “I don’t get why you’re here. What makes me different than all those other women you’ve fucked and then discarded?”
“They were just bodies,” I growled. “They never meant anything.”
“And I do?”
My jaw clenched, frustrated that I was being made to say it out loud. “You mean everything.”
She swallowed, a delicate roll of her throat. “Why?” Her voice cracked. “You don’t even know me.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, forcing myself to breathe before I said something I couldn’t take back. “I don’t know,” I admitted, voice rough. “I can’t explain it, and yet, here I am, Violet. Standing here, against every bit of logic I’ve ever lived by. For you.”
She didn’t say anything, trembling slightly as she clutched her sketches against her chest while I felt her everywhere. In my head. Under my skin. An obsession bleeding too close to an addiction.
I tried to let her walk away. To forget her.
I just couldn’t. Not when she stood there wrapped in that fragile mix of vulnerability and stubborn determination. She’d lit this fire inside me, and I had no idea how to extinguish it.
“Let me help you, please,” I said, and I heard the rawness in my own voice.
I don’t beg. I never fucking beg. And yet, for her, it was easy.
“You don’t know me!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “This is insane!”
“I know you can’t sit still for more than a minute,” I fired back, stepping closer despite the warning in her eyes. “I know you braid your hair when you’re thinking, because it drives you crazy when it gets in your face.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned, shaking her head in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re literally listing off reasons why you’re a stalker.”
I ignored her bite, my voice dropping. “I know you hum when you draw, like you’re trying to drown out your own thoughts.
You want people to think your favourite colour is pink,” I continued, “but it’s not.
You wear purple when you’re happy, and yellow when you’re sad.
Like you’re trying to convince yourself the world isn’t cruel by wrapping yourself in sunshine.
“I noticed you choose blue when you’re angry, and I know that when you’re angry, like really angry, your hands shake. But you never back down.”
She froze, the fight flickering in her expression.
“And I know,” I said quietly, “that you’re so fucking hopeful it drives me mad. You believe everything will work out, even when it shouldn’t. And because you believe it,”—I exhaled, the admission dragging out of me like a confession—“I almost believe it too.”
“Ryder…” she whispered.
“Don’t push me away, Violet,” I murmured, stepping close enough that she had to tip her head back. “You can hate me, you can scream at me, but don’t make me walk away.”
She looked up at me, eyes wet when she finally replied. “I… I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I can’t let them hurt mum.”
“They won’t,” I promised. “But you can’t stay here. I’ve been watching this place for a while, and it isn’t safe.”
“How long have you known where I was?” she asked warily.
I hesitated, swallowing the lie that almost came out. “A while.”
She frowned, suspicion tightening her features. “Why ask where I was if you already knew?”
“Because I wanted it to be your choice to tell me.”
“But I didn’t tell you.”
“No, but you texted me back.” I dipped my head, my lips hovering over hers. Waiting once more for her to push me away. To make a choice. “Which means, deep down, you wanted me to find you.”
I waited a second longer for her to jerk back or shove me away like I deserved. But she didn’t. Instead, her breath hitched against my skin, soft and unsteady.
“You’re delusional,” she whispered.
I leaned in, brushing my lips over hers with the barest touch. Drinking her in like she was my oxygen.
“Only for you.”