8. RYDER
RYDER
Isit outside the main office, arms crossed over my chest, my boot tapping against the wooden floorboards.
Inside, CJ is going off on Hawk. His voice cuts through the walls like a damn razor blade. “Are you out of your mind, bringing her in like this? What the fuck are you thinking?”
Hawk’s voice is lower, steadier, but still tense. “It’s my call. You don’t have to like it.”
CJ scoffs. “Like it? I don’t fucking like it, Hawk, because it’s a bad fucking idea.”
I exhale slowly, shaking my head. They’ll be in there for a while.
I glance to my right, where Marcy sits in a metal chair outside the office, arms wrapped around herself. She’s trying to act unfazed, but I can see the way her fingers grip the fabric of her jeans, how her shoulders tense every time CJ’s voice rises.
She winces as another sharp sentence cuts through the door. Yeah, this isn’t exactly the warmest welcome.
She shifts in her seat, then mutters under her breath, “Maybe I should go. This wasn’t a good idea.”
Fuck that.
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. CJ will come around.”
She lets out a soft, doubtful huff, like she’s not buying it.
And I don’t blame her. CJ isn’t the forgiving type, especially when it comes to her last name.
But that doesn’t mean he’s right.
I stand, stretching, then glance down at her. “Would you like a coffee?”
She looks up, startled for a second, like she wasn’t expecting kindness from me. Then, after a beat, she nods.
“Yeah… yeah, that’d be nice.”
Good.
Because as much as I act like I don’t give a shit about most things, I’d hate it if she walked away now.
I nod toward the hallway, and Marcy stands, following me toward the break room. The office doors remain closed behind us, CJ still probably chewing Hawk out inside.
The break room isn’t much—just a small kitchen with a coffee maker that’s seen better days, a fridge filled with mostly beer, and a couple of old wooden cabinets that squeak when you open them. But it does the job.
I grab two mugs from the shelf, pouring us both a cup. Black—no sugar, no cream. I don’t ask how she takes it, because in this place? You take what you get.
I hand her a mug, and she blows lightly on it before taking a sip. A second passes before she exhales, shifting her weight against the counter.
“CJ really hates me, doesn’t he?”
I glance at her, then shake my head. “No. He doesn’t know you.”
She huffs out a short laugh. “That’s almost worse.”
I don’t argue. Because yeah. Maybe it is.
She tilts her head, watching me over the rim of her mug. “So, it’s about my dad?”
I don’t answer right away, just take a slow sip of my coffee. I could tell her the truth—that her father is a power-hungry, selfish bastard who has been making life hell for us, that CJ probably sees Jake every time he looks at her.
Instead, I go for something vague but honest. “He’s causing some trouble for the club.”
Marcy chews on her cheek, processing. Then she mutters, “So CJ hates me because of my dad.”
It’s not a question. I don’t respond, because I don’t have to.
She exhales, staring into her coffee like it holds the answers. Then she lifts her gaze back to me, head tilting slightly.
“What about you?”
I arch a brow. “What about me?”
“Do you hate me because of my dad?”
There’s no hesitation when I answer. “I don’t judge people because of their parents’ sins.”
She studies me for a beat, something flickering in her expression. Like she’s surprised to hear that. Like maybe, for the first time, someone isn’t treating her like she’s just an extension of her father.
She doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at me, her fingers curled around the mug. I watch her as she waits for my answer, maybe expecting me to say something different. Maybe expecting me to confirm what she already knows—that people see her father before they see her.
But I won’t do that.
I refuse to do that.
I exhale, voice steady but firm. “You aren’t your dad, Marcy.”
She doesn’t react right away. Just blinks at me, like she doesn’t quite believe it.
I tighten my grip around my coffee mug, trying to keep my voice even, keep the grit out of it, but the mere mention of the man makes my jaw clench. I draw in a sharp breath, forcing my shoulders to relax.
Because I know too fucking well about bad fathers.
I let out a slow exhale as I stare down at the dark liquid in my cup. “My old man was a piece of shit,” I say, voice rougher now, quieter. “Mean. Drunk. Took his problems out on anyone smaller than him, which usually meant my mom. Or me.”
Marcy shifts beside me, but I don’t look at her.
I roll my shoulders. “I used to think… if I got big enough, strong enough, he wouldn’t be able to touch me anymore.” I huff a humorless laugh. “Turns out, when you’re a kid, no matter how strong you try to be, you’re still small.”
A silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. I glance at her, and her brows are pulled together, her lips pressed tight. She’s listening. Not pitying, not saying sorry—just hearing me.
I shift, gripping the edge of the counter. “I work every goddamn day to be nothing like him,” I mutter. “To make sure I don’t carry even an ounce of the shit he put into me.”
Another beat of silence. Then, softly, Marcy says, “Sounds exhausting.”
I let out a short, surprised laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah. Some days more than others.”
She tilts her head, eyes still locked onto mine. “You ever think you managed to do it?”
I frown slightly. “What?”
“Became nothing like him.”
The words hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I don’t like to look too closely at.
I don’t answer right away, because I don’t know how. I’ve never said that out loud before. Not like this.
Not to my brothers. Not to CJ. Not even to Hawk.
And yet, here I am, spilling my past to a woman I barely know. A woman who, by all accounts, I should be keeping at arm’s length.
What the hell is she doing to me?
Marcy doesn’t push for more. She doesn’t offer some empty, bullshit apology or try to tell me how sorry she is.
She just lets the silence sit.
Then she shifts, rubbing a hand over her knee, exhaling softly. “I should have distanced myself from my dad a long time ago.”
I raise a brow. “Yeah?”
She nods, gaze dropping to her coffee. “I mean… I always knew he was controlling. That he had plans for me that didn’t involve what I wanted.
But it was easier to just go along with it.
Be the perfect daughter, follow the script.
” She huffs a short laugh, shaking her head. “Guess I finally ripped up the script.”
I smirk, leaning against the counter. “Better late than never, princess.”
She lifts her gaze, lips quirking. “You think so?”
I nod. “Trust me. I know a thing or two about breaking the cycle.”
Her smile is small, but it’s real.
Marcy swirls the last bit of coffee in her cup, watching the liquid move like she’s chasing her next thought.
“It’s weird,” she muses, tilting her head.
“For so long, I didn’t even question it.
The way my dad controlled everything. What I wore, what I said in public, who I spent time with. It was just… life.”
I nod, arms crossed as I lean against the counter. “When someone builds the walls around you early enough, you don’t even realize you’re in a cage.”
She exhales a short laugh, shaking her head. “Exactly.”
I watch her for a moment, the way her lips press together in thought. “What changed?”
She looks up, her expression shifting slightly. “I think… I changed. I started wanting things that weren’t in his plan. And when I pushed back, even a little, he pushed harder.”
I grunt. “Control freaks don’t like losing control.”
She huffs. “That’s an understatement.”
I nod slowly, knowing exactly what she means.
She studies me, tapping her fingers against her mug. “What about you?”
I arch a brow. “What about me?”
“You ever think about what life would’ve been like if your dad had been different?”
I open my mouth to answer?—
“UNCLE RYDER!”
A sudden weight collides with my side, knocking me forward slightly. I grunt as Sam jumps on me, climbing me like I’m some damn jungle gym.
I reach back instinctively, gripping the little gremlin by the waist before he can slip off. “Jesus, kid. Where’s the warning?”
Sam giggling uncontrollably isn’t an answer.
I sigh, adjusting my grip as I haul him forward so he’s dangling upside-down in my arms, his little legs flailing.
Marcy watches with pure amusement, brows raised as Sam howls with laughter.
“Who let you in here, huh?” I grumble, flipping him right-side up and plopping him on the counter.
“CJ said you were here,” Sam says, all breathless excitement. Then his eyes lock on my head, and I immediately know what’s coming next.
Shit.
Before I can move, Sam’s tiny hands are all over my scalp, rubbing at my bald head like it’s a magic lamp.
“Ryder, why is your head so smooth?” he asks, completely serious, as if he’s never noticed it before.
Marcy bursts out laughing.
I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. “Kid, we’ve been over this.”
“Did it fall off?” he continues, now poking at it like he’s trying to figure out how it works.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, Sam. That’s exactly what happened. Woke up one day, and poof, my hair was gone.”
Sam gasps dramatically. “Did it hurt?”
Marcy snorts, covering her mouth.
I sigh, lifting the little menace off the counter and setting him on the ground. “Go bother CJ.”
“Nah, he’s grumpy.”
Marcy giggles. “And Ryder’s not?”
Sam shakes his head, dead serious. “Ryder lets me mess with him.”
I scoff, but before I can say anything, Sam pokes me before darting toward the door. “I’ll let you know if it grows back!” he calls as he runs out.
Marcy loses it. She’s full-on laughing, her shoulders shaking.
And fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone more in my life.
CJ’s voice carries down the hall, sharp and commanding. “Ryder.”
I glance at Marcy, who’s still smirking from Sam’s antics, before pushing off the counter with a sigh. “Guess I’m up.”
I make my way toward CJ’s office, stepping inside to find him leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest. Hawk is already there, standing near the window, looking like he’s expecting a fight.
I frown. “What’s this about?”
CJ exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’ve decided to let Marcy stay.”
I blink, caught off guard. For all the bitching he’s done about her, I figured he’d have her kicked out by now. “Seriously?”
CJ nods, but his expression is unreadable. “Yeah. But not because I’ve suddenly decided she belongs here.” He straightens. “She’s useful.”
My stomach twists. “Useful how?”
CJ’s gaze locks onto mine. “We use this to our advantage. Keep her close, see if she knows anything about her old man. Anything that might help us.”
I stiffen.
There it is. The real reason he’s letting her stay. Not because she deserves a fresh start. Not because she’s proving she can handle herself.
But because she’s Jake Hollingbow’s daughter and CJ wants to dig for intel.
“No,” I say immediately, crossing my arms. “That’s not why she’s here. She’s got nothing to do with Jake’s bullshit.”
CJ’s eyes harden. “You don’t know that.”
“She walked out on him,” I snap. “She’s cut off, CJ. He took her fucking car. You think she’s still feeding him intel?”
CJ narrows his eyes. “And you know she isn’t?”
I clench my jaw. “I trust her.”
CJ scoffs. “That’s your first mistake.”
I step forward, ready to argue, but then Hawk moves. Not much. Just a slight shake of his head. A silent warning.
I grind my teeth, frustration clawing at my chest.
Hawk gets it. He knows this is bullshit. But he also knows this is the only way CJ is going to let her stay.
I shift my gaze back to CJ, who’s still watching me like he’s waiting for me to push back. I exhale sharply. “You really think she’s gonna hand over her father on a silver platter?”
CJ shrugs. “If she’s really done with him, then maybe she’ll want to help.”
I look to Hawk one more time, but he’s already leaning back, arms crossed, letting CJ have this one.
Because this is the compromise.
This is the only way to keep her here.
I rub a hand over my jaw, my stomach still twisting with unease.
CJ nods, reading my silence as agreement. “Good. Keep her close, make sure she knows she’s welcome. But if she starts asking too many questions, if she steps out of line—” he meets my gaze. “—we shut it down.”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t like this.
And I sure as fuck don’t plan on using Marcy the way he wants me to.
But for now? I keep my mouth shut.
Because at least she’s staying.