3. Laina
3
LAINA
I step out of my apartment and onto the street, the crisp morning air nips at my cheeks. I tug my jacket tighter around me—a dark green leather bomber that Izzy insisted I take from her closet, claiming the color made my eyes pop. Underneath, I’m wearing a simple black sweater, fitted but soft, paired with high-waisted jeans that hug my hips.
My hair is loose, falling over my shoulders in soft waves, and I’ve swiped on just enough makeup to look like I tried without overdoing it.
I wanted to look put together, like I have my life under control, even if it’s a lie. The truth is, every step toward the café feels heavier than the last. Like I’m dragging the weight of my nightmares with me, no matter how hard I try to put it behind me.
My fingers toy with the strap of my bag as I glance at my reflection in a shop window. The outfit is good, I’ll give Izzy that. She knows how to make me look like someone who belongs in a crowd instead of someone who wants to disappear into it. But the shadows under my eyes and my stiff posture betray me.
Anyone looking closely would see it.
Still, I keep walking, the promise of caffeine and a few moments of normalcy urges me forward. At least for now.
The warm smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries greets me as I push open the café door.
For once, I’m just another person grabbing a coffee—I’m not a victim, or someone everyone is worried about. I’m not someone trying to claw her way back to normalcy.
I join the short line and pull my wallet out of my bag as I wait. The barista, a young guy with shaggy brown hair and a friendly smile, greets me as I step up to the counter.
“What can I get for you?” he asks me pleasantly.
“A large caramel latte, triple shot of espresso.”
He chuckles. “Long night?”
“Something like that.”
I step to the side, watching as he works quickly, his movements efficient but relaxed. A minute later, he sets the steaming cup on the counter.
“Here you go. Hope it helps.”
“Thanks,” I say, wrapping my hands around the warm cup. I turn, intending to make a beeline for the corner table by the window, but instead, I slam straight into someone—a solid wall of muscle disguised as a man.
The cup tips over, and hot coffee splashes over his chest and down the front of his dark shirt.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim in dismay, my heart leaping into my throat. “I’m so sorry! Shit! Are you okay?”
The man steps back, his brows furrowing for a moment before his face softens. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice low and calm. “I’ve survived worse.”
I look up at him, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. He’s tall, probably six-three, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. His dark jeans and black t-shirt cling to him in a way that hints at strength without screaming it. His face is rugged, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, softened by the faint scruff of a beard. But it’s his eyes that get me—deep, warm brown, with a quiet intensity that makes me feel like he’s seeing straight through me.
“Really,” he says, his lips turning into a faint, reassuring smile. “It’s just coffee. No harm done.”
“Still,” I stammer, digging through my bag for a napkin. “Let me—God, I’m such an idiot.”
He waves me off and pulls out a folded handkerchief from his back pocket to dab at his shirt. “You’re not an idiot. Maybe a little distracted.”
I wince. “That obvious?”
He shrugs, still smiling. “You’re holding up the line.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I glance behind me. A couple of people are waiting, watching our exchange with mild curiosity. “Sorry!” I call out to them before turning back to the man. “I’ll buy you a coffee. It’s the least I can do.”
He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll buy you another one. Looks like you lost most of yours.”
“What? No. That’s ridiculous. This was my fault.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He steps past me to the counter and nods at the barista, who seems amused by the whole thing. “Another caramel latte for her, same as before. With buckets of espresso.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I insist.” He looks at me, one brow raised. “Unless you want to argue about this all day?”
That shuts me right the hell up.
He chuckles, leaning casually against the counter as we wait. “What’s your name?”
“Laina,” I say hesitantly, holding out my hand. His slightly calloused one swallows mine completely.
“Dagger.”
“Dagger?” I blink, certain I misheard. “Like... the weapon?”
He grins, a flash of mischief lighting up his features. “Exactly like the weapon.”
“Are you messing with me?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all.”
“Well, Dagger, thanks for the coffee. And sorry again for ruining your shirt.”
“Trust me, I’ve ruined worse for less,” he says, his tone is light but his gaze lingers on me a little longer than necessary. “Besides, I like the shirt better this way.”
The barista sets the new cup on the counter, and Dagger hands it to me, his fingers brushing against mine for a brief second. It’s enough to make me feel strangely unsettled, like I’ve just stepped into something I don’t fully understand yet.
I take a steadying breath and look around, trying to shake off the strange, electric charge in the air. The coffee shop hums with normalcy—people chatting, laptops glowing, and the barista working efficiently at the espresso machine. I pull myself together and turn toward the corner table I’d been eyeing, determined to sink into the warmth of my latte and enjoy a moment of peace.
But before I can take a step, the door swings open, and a man steps inside, shaking out raindrops from his leather jacket. My stomach twists into a knot. He’s tall, probably six-two, with a rough, chiseled face that looks like it’s seen its fair share of trouble. His dark hair is cropped short, his jaw is shadowed with stubble. His piercing green eyes scan the room like he’s looking for something—or someone .
He strides to the counter, his boots heavy against the wood floor, and stops just a little too close to where I’m standing.
“Large black coffee,” he says, his voice is deep and gravelly, like the scrape of asphalt under a motorcycle tire.
Both he and Dagger look ridiculously out of place here.
The barista nods, and the man leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His jacket pulls tight at the shoulders, and I notice the patch on his sleeve—a skull surrounded by flames. A shiver runs down my spine.
I try to turn to walk toward my seat while lifting the cup to my lips for a sip of the fresh coffee. But before I can, he turns to me, his gaze locking onto mine.
“Nice morning for coffee accidents,” he says, nodding toward my cup.
“Excuse me?” I ask, caught off guard.
“You’ve got it all over your jacket,” he points out with a smirk as his eyes flick to the faint brown stain on my fingers.
I quickly set the cup down and grab a napkin, feeling my face heat. Fuck. I hadn’t realized I’d spilled it all over my jacket.
“Rough start, okay?” I mutter.
“Looks like it.” His smirk deepens, but there’s something playful—almost teasing in his tone that makes my cheeks burn even hotter.
I open my mouth to fire back, but the barista calls out his name. “Ryder?”
He grabs his coffee, pays without so much as a glance at the barista, then turns back to me, taking a slow sip of his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world. I shift awkwardly, gripping my cup tighter and pretending to focus on the frothy caramel design swirling on top of my latte.
“So,” Ryder says, his voice cutting through my attempts at avoidance. “You come here often, or are you just here to spill coffee on strangers?”
“I’ve got a talent for it, apparently. You want to be next?”
Ryder chuckles; a low, gravelly sound. “Tempting offer. But I think I’ll pass. Dagger looks like he’s already got his hands full with you.”
Dagger, who’s been quietly watching the exchange with an amused smile, finally speaks up, “You’re lucky she only spilled coffee. With that attitude, you’re begging for trouble.”
Ryder raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Trouble’s where I thrive, man. You know that.”
“You two know each other?” I ask, glancing between them.
Dagger nods, leaning casually against the counter. “We’ve crossed paths. Let’s just say Ryder has a reputation.”
“Good or bad?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Ryder grins, sharp and confident. “Depends who you ask.”
“Bad,” Dagger answers flatly at the same time, shooting Ryder a look that’s half exasperation, half warning.
“Hey, you wound me,” Ryder says, clutching his chest dramatically. “What’s life without a little chaos?”
Dagger shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about “Typical Ryder,” but I see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Tell me,” Ryder continues, turning his full attention back on me. “What’s your story? Or is spilling coffee on guys your full-time gig?”
I narrow my eyes at him and ask a question of my own. “What’s your story? Or is being a smartass yours?”
“Ouch,” Ryder says with a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But seriously, what brings you here?”
“Coffee,” I deadpan, lifting my cup for emphasis. I rack my brain trying to figure out what they’re doing here. This is Hellfire Rider territory. At least…I think it is.
“And?” he presses. His gaze is a little too knowing; like he’s trying to read between the lines of my sarcasm.
“And none of your business,” I reply, taking a step toward the door. “Thanks for the coffee, Dagger. Nice meeting you.”
Ryder blocks my path with a playful step sideways, his grin widening. “Hey, don’t be like that. We’re just getting to know each other. I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Laina.”
Dagger sighs, stepping between us, and gives Ryder a firm nudge toward the door. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Leave her alone, Ryder.”
“What?” Ryder says, raising his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just being friendly.”
“You’re being you,” Dagger replies dryly.
I stifle a laugh, grateful for his intervention. Ryder holds up his hands in surrender, backing toward the exit with his signature smirk firmly in place.
“Fine, fine. I’ll go.” He nods his head at me. “Well, try not to spill that one, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best,” I shoot back, feeling more flustered than I’d like to admit.
Ryder tips his coffee cup at me in a mock toast before disappearing through the door, leaving the café and my nerves humming with energy. Dagger watches him go, then turns to me with an apologetic shrug.
“Don’t mind him. He’s… a lot.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I say, shaking my head but unable to hide my grin. “You seem more tolerable, though.”
“I try,” Dagger says, his smile softening. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice a little steadier now. “Thanks for the coffee. And for, you know, running interference.”
“Anytime,” he says, his tone genuine. “Take care, Laina.”
As he heads out, I’m left standing in the café with my mind racing and my heart still pounding.
I glance out the window one last time, half expecting to see Ryder and Dagger lingering nearby. But the street is empty, save for a few passersby bundled in coats against the early morning chill. The connection I felt with them had to have been a fluke right? A momentary lapse in judgment brought on by lack of sleep and too many nightmares.
Yeah, that’s it. Just a fluke.
As day fades into evening, shadows stretch long across the walls of my small apartment, their shapes twisting and shifting in the dim light. It’s been hours since I left the café, but my mind hasn’t stopped racing. My fingers tighten around the deadbolt as I lock the front door, testing it twice before stepping back.
The sharp click of the lock is oddly satisfying. I glance at the security camera mounted above the door, its tiny red light blinking steadily. A quick check on my phone shows the feed is clear—just an empty porch and the faint rustle of trees in the background.
I move through the apartment, my footsteps are soft and light against the hardwood floor. Every window is latched, every curtain drawn tight. I check each one meticulously, pulling at the locks to make sure they’re secure. Still, my pulse quickens with each passing minute, the silence of the house pressing down on me like a heavy blanket.
Once I’m in my bedroom, I set my phone on the nightstand and pick up the gun resting beside it. The familiar weight of it in my hands is steadying, grounding. I eject the magazine and check the rounds before sliding it back in with a quiet click. Chambering a round, I place it carefully back on the nightstand, its position deliberate and within reach.
The faint hum of the security system fills the room as I glance at the monitor on the wall. All the cameras are live, showing clear feeds of the front of the building, the back, and the side. Everything looks quiet, normal even. But I know better than to trust appearances.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.
The nightmare from the other morning still lingers, Reynolds’ voice echoing in my mind, his hands on my body, his breath in my ear. No matter how secure I make my apartment, no matter how many cameras or locks or weapons I surround myself with, the truth remains; if he wants to get to me, he’ll find a way.
Even in my sleep, he invades my dreams.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I force myself to breathe deeply, to focus. I won’t let fear control me. Not anymore.
“You are safe, Laina,” I tell myself out loud, letting the words echo in my room.
I reach for the journal tucked in the drawer of my nightstand. Inside are pages of notes and questions, every detail I’ve gathered about Reynolds and his network, no matter how small. Flipping through it now, I search for connections, patterns, anything I might’ve missed.
I flip through the pages until my eyes grow heavy, and I’m finally ready to fall asleep.
I drift into a deep sleep, my mind finally still and quiet after the long day. At first, my dreams are hazy and indistinct; fleeting images and sensations that fade in and out like ripples on dark water. Then they shift, solidifying into something more tangible, more vivid.
But this time, it isn’t a nightmare.
I’m in a dimly lit room, the air thick with a heady mix of leather, whiskey, and something distinctly masculine.
Shadows dance along the walls, cast by the flicker of candlelight.
I’m sitting on a velvet red couch, wearing a sheer blouse and jeans. There is no fear racing through my heart, only a burning lust that is building. A dark, twisted yearning to be touched and kissed.
Immediately, I recognize Dagger next to me.
“Hey there,” he whispers as though he’s materialized out of the thin air.
He curves a hand around my nape, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he brings me closer to his lips, which are soft yet demanding.
His kiss is like fireworks and his tongue swirls and teases mine, while his hands skim over my body, unbuttoning my blouse one agonizingly slow button at a time. He breaks the kiss, leaving me gasping for air, and wordlessly guides me to stand up in front of him.
I notice then we’re not alone.
Ryder is there too. He kneels before me, his heated gaze locking with mine as he undoes my jeans and slides them down my legs. Dressed in nothing but my lacy bra and underwear now, I feel vulnerable yet empowered by their ravenous stares. Ryder's hands glide up my thighs, slipping beneath the fabric to find the moisture that had already started to pool between my thighs.
His fingers dance over my sensitized skin, sending shivers down my spine. Dagger's hands reach around me, caressing my breasts through the thin fabric of my bra, twisting my nipples until they harden against the lace. His lips trail a path down my neck, his hot breath whispering across my collarbone as Ryder's skilled fingers continue their ministrations below. I moan softly, arching my back and leaning into their touches. I throw my head back, lost in the dueling sensations.
“That’s it, baby,” Ryder says. “We just want to please you.”
In this hazy dreamscape, two more figures materialize in the dimly lit corners of the room. They are shrouded in shadows, their faces obscured but their bodies rippling with muscle and lust. They seem to be just as entranced by the scene playing out in front of them as I am by their obscured forms.
Dagger unhooks my bra, his deft fingers freeing my breasts from their confinement.
“God, you’re perfect,” he moans as he cups one heavy mound in his hand while his mouth latches onto the other, sucking and teasing the sensitive bud. At the same time, Ryder's fingers are relentless between my thighs, coaxing forth another moan from my parted lips. They take turns lavishing attention on every inch of my body, alternating between sweet kisses and a touch that sets fire to every nerve ending.
The mysterious men make themselves known as one approaches Dagger and another Ryder. Their energy is palpable but purposeful.
My breath catches in my throat as I realize they, too, are undressed, their arousal on full display. My mind reels with anticipation and a delicious thrill courses through me.
The newcomer beside Dagger presses the engorged length of his cock against the small of my back, teasing me with his size while his hands roam over my hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Breathe,” he commands. He runs his thumbs over the straps of my panties, caressing the sensitive skin just before he lets them fall to the floor. His erection nudges between my trembling thighs, seeking entrance as Dagger's skilled tongue and lips travel lower, finding the source of my growing wetness.
Ryder's hand slips away from my aching core, only to be replaced by something firm and cool against my heated flesh; the newcomer's impressive girth. My mind reels with a mix of desire and anticipation as I feel both men positioning themselves at my entrance; one at each end.
"You ready for this, Laina?" Ryder whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. I give a shaky nod of consent, unable to form any coherent words as pleasure begins to take over.
Inch by slow inch, they begin to push inside me.
Pleasure I haven’t known in a long time rips through me, nearly bending me in half.
“Oh, God!” I cry out. And that's when my eyes shoot open. My heart is pounding in my chest and my breathing is ragged as if I'd just run a marathon. The room is dark, except for the muted glow of the security monitors casting their shadows on the walls. The dream lingers, my skin ever so slightly damp, my body still tingling with desire.
I sit up in bed, anger, and arousal warring within me. Damn them, invading me even in my sleep! I throw back the covers, my body still humming with the aftermath of the erotic fantasy. Dream or not, it's clear that they've left their mark on me in more ways than one.
With shaking hands, I grab a robe and tie it around my waist, desperate to distance myself from these tormenting thoughts. If only my waking life was as easy to escape from as a dream.
In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my flushed cheeks, willing away any traces of lingering desire. "Get it together," I hiss at my reflection in the mirror before heading back to my bedroom.
I take a deep breath and sink back into bed.
At least, it wasn’t a nightmare about Reynolds again.