Chapter 4
Chapter Four
RYDER
Her feet are torn to hell. That’s what stays with me.
Not the dress, the bruises, the way she shook against my back like fear had teeth in her bones.
Her feet. Bare. Bleeding. Cut open because she ran anyway.
That tells me everything I need to know about Elena Delmont. She’s terrified. But she’s not weak.
I stand by the window while she sleeps curled under two blankets on the couch because she quietly admitted she couldn’t handle being behind a closed bedroom door.
So I gave her the couch. Then I sat in the chair opposite and kept watch.
Rain taps against the roof. Soft. Steady.
Too peaceful for the kind of night this is.
My phone vibrates. Unknown number. I answer without speaking. A male voice comes through, polished and pissed.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
My grip tightens. Grant Holloway. I don’t need confirmation. Men like him always sound the same. Like money made them untouchable. I glance at Elena. Still asleep.
“She isn’t property,” I say.
Silence. Then a soft laugh.
“You have no idea what you’re involved in.”
“Got a pretty good idea.”
“She’s unstable. Dramatic. She ran from our wedding after attacking me. I’m willing to overlook this if you bring her back.”
I look at the bruise on her cheek. My blood goes cold.
“You touch her again, I’ll take your hands.”
The line goes quiet. When Grant speaks again, the charm is gone.
“You don’t know who I am.”
“No,” I say. “But you’re about to learn who I am.”
I end the call. Then I take apart Elena’s phone.
Tracker in the case. Basic. Sloppy. I crush it under my boot.
Next, I check the cabin perimeter again.
No movement. No lights. No engine noise.
For now. But he found my number fast. Means he has money, reach, and people scared enough to obey him. I’ve dealt with worse.
Warlords. Traffickers. Men who smiled while ordering graves dug. Grant Holloway doesn’t scare me. But Elena’s fear does. Because it’s bone deep. The kind that was trained into her. Around dawn, she wakes with a gasp. Her eyes fly open. Wild. Panicked. I stay still.
“Cabin,” I say. “Tennessee. Ryder. You’re safe.”
She blinks at me. Then her body sags.
“You stayed awake?”
“Yeah.”
“All night?”
I shrug. “Don’t sleep much.”
She pulls the blanket tighter around herself. “You should.”
“Probably.”
A small, broken smile touches her mouth. It hits me harder than it should. I stand because sitting across from her suddenly feels too intimate.
“You hungry?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know.”
That answer tells me more than yes would have. I make coffee and toast because it’s all the cabin has. She eats slowly, like she expects someone to snatch the plate away. I pretend not to notice. After breakfast, she hands me the envelope from her backpack.
“You should know why he wants me.”
I take it. Inside are legal documents, trust papers, copies of emails, bank drafts, forged signatures. I read fast. By the time I’m done, my jaw aches from clenching.
“Your grandparents left you a lot.”
“A ranch. Money. Shares in their company. Land.” She swallows. “But I only get full control once I’m married before thirty.”
“And Grant knew.”
“He found out before I did.” Her voice cracks. “I thought he loved me.”
I set the papers down carefully. If I don’t, I’ll tear them in half.
“He planned to marry you, get access, then bleed you dry.”
She looks at the floor. “Yes.”
“And the bruises?”
Her silence answers. I turn toward the window because the violence crawling through me needs somewhere to go.
I spent years learning control. How to breathe through gunfire, wait for the shot and become still while everything inside me turned lethal.
Grant Holloway makes me want to forget every lesson.
“Ryder?”
I look back. She’s watching me like she expects anger to land on her. I soften my voice.
“What?”
“Are you going to make me go to the police?”
“No.”
Surprise flickers across her face. “You should.”
“Maybe. But it’s your choice.”
Her lips part. There it is again. That stunned reaction to having control over her own damn life. It carves something ugly out of my chest.
“He has friends in law enforcement,” she whispers. “Judges. Lawyers. Everyone loves him.”
“Then we don’t play on his field.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I make a call.”
I take my phone and step onto the porch. Bishop answers on the second ring.
“Ryder.”
“Need help.”
No questions.No hesitation. That’s MC brotherhood.
“What kind?” Bishop asks.
I look through the window at Elena Delmont, swallowed by my clothes, bruised and barefoot, still sitting like she expects the world to hurt her.
“The kind that comes with guns and lawyers.”
Bishop goes quiet. Then he says, “Send the location.”
I do. When I go back inside, Elena is standing by the table, holding the papers to her chest.
“Who did you call?”
“Family.”
Her eyes drop to my cut. “Your club?”
“Yeah.”
“Will they help me?”
I think of Bishop, Beast and the rest of the club, men who’ve done terrible things for good reasons.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” I say. “They’ll help.”
The endearment slips out before I can stop it. Her cheeks colour faintly. My chest tightens. Dangerous. I’m not a man built for soft things. And Elena Delmont is all bruised softness wrapped around a spine of steel. That combination could ruin me.
Outside, an engine sounds in the distance. Not bikes. SUV. Elena hears it too. Her face drains. I reach for the gun tucked at my back.
“Bathroom,” I order.
She doesn’t move. “I’m tired of hiding.”
Pride and fear hit me at the same time. Another engine joins the first. Then another. Grant’s men. I step toward Elena and hold out my hand.
“You’re not hiding,” I say. “You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”
She stares at my hand. Then places hers in it. Trust. Fragile as glass. I lead her to the bathroom, put a gun on the counter, and meet her eyes.
“Point. Pull. Don’t hesitate.”
Her hand shakes as she takes it. “What about you?”
I smile without humour. “I’m what they should be scared of.”
Then I shut the door and go hunting.