Ryker

Chapter Eleven

Years ago, I thought setting shallow roots in Queens, my father’s territory, would be a good idea. I thought he had some sort of compassion for me. We never got along when I was a kid, and yes, he did hand me over to Manzo for whatever reason, but I knew him. At least, I thought I did. But seeing him there today, knowing he helped them find me, told me everything I needed to know.

I wander around Hawkins territory for a while, waiting for the sun to set, hiding in the shadows. For some reason, I don’t get the distinct feeling I’m being watched or followed. I figure Ryker will try and tail me or maybe he’s overconfident and believes he will be able to find me. But I’ve been doing this for more than half my life. He has one hell of an awakening coming if he thinks this will be easy.

I make my way back to the subway to see trains are running this time of night…. or morning. Trying to keep up with time these days has become difficult. I decide to head back to Manhattan while I think of a plan. I’ll use the number of people as a shield.

It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault. I repeat that in my head over and over, lightly hitting my head on the brick wall behind me. If Jeremy were still here, I could still check in with him every so often to hear his laugh. I could hear about how the Academy was coming along. But because of me, he will never laugh again, and he will never achieve his dream.

I check the time using the clock on the wall, groaning when I read its nearly four in the morning. As the train pulls up, I close my eyes to stop the intrusive thoughts. I take a moment to gather myself, then stand and step inside the somewhat empty passenger car, aside from a single woman on the opposite end. I find a long seat and lie down, using my bag as a pillow.

The ride is about an hour long, and my stomach growls louder and louder with each passing minute. I don’t think I’ve eaten since the burger and fries Jeremy bought me before work the day before. Food hasn’t been on my mind since the hell I’ve gone through.

I stand as we pull up to Rockefeller Court. Pulling up my hoody and putting the duffle back on my shoulder, I climb the steps and head towards McDonald’s in Times Square. I get overwhelmed by the smells hitting me all at once. The sweetness, the grease, the coffee… everything makes my stomach churn.

It’s early enough, so nobody is here yet. The woman behind the register eyes me as I order my coffee and pancakes. Maybe it’s the bruises, the cuts, or the raccoon eyes, but at this point, you get used to getting looks.

I’ve always hated this place because, for a while, it was all I could afford, but when you’re starving, the three-dollar pancakes become the best ones you’ve ever eaten. After throwing away my trash, I walk around Times Square until the crowds start filling in, making it nearly impossible to move.

Nearly an hour later, I find myself in front of a nice hotel. I stare at the revolving doors. If I stay here, I’ll run out of money pretty quickly, but I don’t think Manzo would look for me in a place like this. The past six years have been nothing but cheap motels and subways.

I enter, seeing a water fountain off the entrance. I make eye contact with a woman in a nice dress. Her brown hair is nicely styled, and she talks to an older gentleman, giving me the same puzzled look I’m used to. Quickly looking away, I head to the front desk.

“How much for a night?” I ask the lady at the counter, who glares and scans me head to toe.

“$300 a night. ”

I do the simple math in my head and realize I could stay here for about a week and still have enough for food if I space out my eating. I wouldn’t even have to use the money from the briefcase. I’m glad I went back and got the money I had been saving from the Motel.

“I’d like seven nights, please.” I pull out my plastic bag of cash and start to count as the woman continues to eye me. I hand her the money, and she scoffs as she heads into the back. I lean on the counter and grab a pamphlet, scanning the restaurants, clubs, stores, and activities tourists might do while they are here. The woman returns and starts typing on the computer before pausing and glancing back at me.

“Can I have your name?”

I know if I use any of the names I’ve used in the past it would take Manzo a matter of minutes to be notified about my location.

“Um… Joey…” I pause to think of a last name, but nothing comes to mind. I scan the pamphlet and notice a bakery about a block away, so I just go with that. “Joey Baker.” I put the pamphlet into my bag and take the key card when she holds it out to me.

“Have a nice stay.” She mumbles, and I don’t thank her as I approach the elevators. I hit the button for the fourteenth floor after glancing at the key card holder.

When I open the door to room 1415, I gasp at the view. I haven’t seen a view like this since I was a child. My father would take trips all over the world, and once in a while, I would get to come along. My favorite place to go was Paris. The lights at night always made my heart flutter, and I have yet to experience something as beautiful as that.

I place the bag on the king-size bed and walk to the window. It’s big enough for me to perch on. I lean into it, and the coolness takes over my body. I watch as the sun continues to rise. From this height, I can see the people below scrambling to get to work, the tourists are excited about seeing the Big Apple and everyone else is just living. It’s so ordinary I can’t help but smile.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that I’m in Ryker’s territory, but I feel some sort of misplaced safety. He has no reason to hunt me other than to help Manzo. If he finds me again, maybe we can have a civil conversation. I saw the pained expressions on Ryker, Lincoln, and Hawkins’ faces when Manzo assaulted me in front of them. They may be ruthless but, in my eyes, they are still the boys I played in the yard with as a child.

I let out a heavy sigh as I close my eyes. I have a week to get somewhere nobody in the four families can find me. My eyes become heavy, and the bed calls to me. It’s so soft, the sheets are clean, and I moan at the smell of detergent.

I can’t remember the last time I slept somewhere that didn’t have springs jabbing me in the back and side. The room is quiet. I don't hear muffled moaning from the person next door, or people arguing over a drug deal, no police sirens or cars honking. Just silence.

◆◆◆

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing, and everything in me is telling me to run. I grab my chest, trying to calm my breathing, and let out a heavy sigh. I look at the clock on the nightstand beside me, noticing it is only six in the evening, but the date throws me off a bit.

How the fuck did I sleep an entire day? I know my body needed time to heal, and staying in the hospital would have been ideal, but I can’t even remember the last time I got more than five hours of sleep. I guess it takes me getting a beating to finally get some rest.

I lean my head back onto the soft pillow before I finally have the motivation to get into the shower and try to cool myself down. My entire body is still fighting me. Every muscle aches, my shoulder is still on fire from being dislocated, and every time I lift my arms to try to wash my hair, my right side burns from the hot water, but I don’t mind.

I haven’t had a shower this good in years . There is no grime stuck in the tiles; the water pressure is perfect, and I don’t smell copper as it runs. The water is hot, and I’ve never felt my body more relaxed, even if it screamed at me to lie back down.

Using the complimentary shampoo and conditioner, I wash away all the remaining blood stuck to my scalp. It’s white tea, ginger- scented, and the smell makes me moan. I smile when I find a plastic shaver on the tub’s edge covered in a plastic wrapper. This might be the most expensive shower I’ve ever taken. By far the best thing that has happened to me in years.

After finishing shaving, I hop out, and quickly dry off. Seeing lotion with the same scent as the shampoo, sitting on the shelf has me gasping in excitement. I lather my legs, smiling at how soft and clean my skin feels.

Tossing Jeremy’s T-shirt back on, I enjoy the last few hours his scent will remain on it. Not even bothering with pants, I put on some boy-short underwear and hop back onto the window ledge. I pull my knees up to my chest and look out at the city as the sun sets behind the buildings. The sky turns pink and purple, and I smile to myself, knowing that Jeremy would have loved this. Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the window, and stay there for a few minutes, letting my body enjoy the rare sense of peace.

The sun has set entirely by the time I hop off the ledge and grab the phone from the nightstand.

After ordering food, I pull out the folder placing the papers on the floor in piles to analyze. I can’t help but smirk at the image in my head of Ryker opening the briefcase and finding it empty .

I focus on anything that has Ryker’s name on it. A list of names takes up about three pages. The first name on the list is Lincoln’s and I smile at the name momentarily as flashes of memories flood my mind from when we were kids.

◆◆◆

Ryker’s mother had invited all the families for a large celebratory dinner to introduce Lincoln as their new son. I had begged my father to let me go, but it was my mother who caved.

She had let me wear the dress I was planning on wearing to my birthday because I refused to wear anything else. She put my hair in a perfect ballerina bun, and I wore flats in the same bright blue color as my dress.

I had never had a crush before, but everything changed when we entered the Domincio’s large stone manor. Standing between Ryker and Vivian was the most gorgeous boy I had ever seen. He was about two years older than me, I was ten and he was twelve. As a kid, that was a significant age difference, but I didn’t care. He had the most gorgeous hazel eyes, and thick brown hair, nearly as dark as milk chocolate. I could only look into them for a few seconds before my nerves got the better of me. I took my mother’s hand, and she led me to greet the family.

Ryker stuck his tongue out at me while the grown-ups talked, and I did my duty by hugging all the kids. “Play nice.” My father has drilled that into my head. So I did what I had to do. First, I gave Vivian a side hug and gave Lincoln the quickest hug in history. My face grew three shades of pink. When I went to hug Ryker, I stomped on his foot and covered his mouth with my palm so the adults couldn’t hear.

Of course, as we all sat down at the table to eat dinner, I was sitting between Ryker and Lincoln at the end of the table. There were about four chairs separating us from the parents. The adults chatted amongst themselves at the head of the table. During dinner, we all made small talk and got to know Lincoln a bit better, and every time he talked to me, the more I liked him. He actually listened to what I had to say and didn’t make fun of me like Ryker and Manzo did. Ryker seemed to notice and made fun of me more than usual.

Hours passed, and I went to the bathroom as dinner was wrapping up. When I returned, I was so distracted I didn’t notice that Ryker had placed the chocolate cake he hadn’t touched on my seat. The moment I sat down, embarrassment flooded through me. Ryker and Manzo laughed, and when I looked at Lincoln, he couldn’t meet my gaze. I stood and ran to the bathroom, hearing Ryker yelling, “She pooped herself!”

I stayed in the bathroom the rest of the night until a soft knock sounded at the door. I opened it, thinking it was my mother, but my embarrassment tripled when I found Lincoln standing there.

He spent the rest of the night with me in the bathroom, talking and comforting me. We devised a plan to get back at Ryker, and he promised we would one day.

◆◆◆

My smile drops as I emerge from the memory. I wish that boy who had sat with me in a moment of embarrassment would have saved me from Manzo on Sunday. While he did check on me at the hospital the same way, I have to remind myself that the sweet, innocent kid is gone, and in his place is a ruthless man.

The next name on the list is a man named Ace. I’m not sure who he is, but he works closely with Lincoln. Thinking back to the hospital, Lincoln was talking to a man in the hallway. That had to be him .

The rest of the information is irrelevant. How much money each family has, what business they own, and everything in between. I notice Ryker gets most of his income from the clubs he owns, most likely because they are easier to deal with. Customers come to you, and most of them are repeat consumers. Ryker seems to have his foot in everything. He runs the hospitals thanks to the generous donations he gives to them every year, the pharmacies, numerous restaurants, private airports, apartment buildings, clothing and accessories stores, and the hotels he has scattered around Manhattan.

I shift my attention to the more sketchy businesses he has. One of the bigger ones is named Dice. I scoff loudly when I notice it’s a Gentleman’s Club. I know those types of places. They sell women’s bodies for a high buck. I bet he owns it so he can take his pick on who to fuck.

When I go down the list, I see that he has seven docks used to “import goods.” When I get to the last dock, my eyes widen at how much money he’s made in the past six months on just this one dock. If he’s anything like my father or Manzo, this is where he imports his more illegal things, such as weapons, and drugs. If they are working with Manzo, this would be the perfect place to export any women they might be selling overseas.

I double-check what day it is on the clock and smile to myself when I notice he is having a delivery tonight. I jot down the address, and shove it into my bra. Surely Ryker knows about these papers. It has to be the reason why he was so adamant about getting them back. Leo had managed to dig up a lot of information on not only him, but the other bosses. If this got out… It would be like Christmas for the FBI.

After I neatly place the papers back in the folder, I hide it behind the dresser. If someone finds me, they would look first in the safe, under the bed, or in the drawers. I rummage through the duffle bag, pulling out a black sweatshirt, and black leggings.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but laugh a bit. I put my hair in a bald cap and put on a black wig to hide my blonde hair. I tie it into a ponytail and give myself one more once-over before putting on my black running shoes. I look at the soles and cringe. Blood is still splattered on the bottom from where I had tried to help Jeremy.

My eyes linger on the bruises on my face. I lightly trace my fingers over the one on my jaw before running my fingers over the black eye. I wince again and take a deep breath. I look at the makeup bag sitting on the dresser, debating whether to cover the bruises with concealer.

I decide against it. Instead of hiding them, I’m going to use them as motivation. If what I find at that warehouse proves that Ryker and Lincoln are selling women, I will burn everything they love and own to the ground. After all, all the older mob bosses are in the game, I can’t fully rule out Ryker and Lincoln yet.

I have the taxi drop me off about a mile from the dock’s entrance so I can’t be seen approaching by anyone watching.

Spying on Ryker is a death wish, but I have to know if he is involved with the same business as Manzo. I grew up with Ryker, Hawkins, and even Lincoln, so seeing them as the type to sell and trade women seems a bit far-fetched. Then again, I never thought my father would do it either. If I am going to go to Lincoln for help, I need to know if he or Ryker knows about the shit Manzo and their fathers are doing.

If they are disregarding all those women who are suffering at their father's hands, then I would rather go back into my prison than ask any of them for help taking down Manzo. All three of the men saw me stand and run at the Motel, so a part of me is hopeful, but I could be wrong, I have been in the past. Every time I think they might help me, I remember they did nothing to stop Manzo as he violated me.

I slowly walk up to one of the warehouses, making sure to stay quiet. There are about ten men here, all armed and ready to shoot first and ask questions later. I try to remain hidden in the bushes so none of them can see me, but I freeze when I notice a man on the rooftop of the warehouse closest to the water.

I can see a few cars parked in front of the building and the huddle of men talking to a man in a suit next to one of the crates by the shore. I glance back up and watch as the man on the roof turns and walks toward the other side of the building.

I use the opportunity to sprint to the wall, pressing my back against it. I take a few sidesteps and cringe with every step. The gravel under my feet will give me away if I’m not careful. I peer around the corner and see the men are still distracted by their conversations, so I take a few big strides to the door closest to me and slip inside.

At first glance, you would think it was abandoned. The windows are boarded, the lights are off, and the stench makes me gag. I can see a few doors upstairs, which must be offices, and there are boxes near one of the open doors.

I open the wooden box closest to me and peer inside. A plastic bag lines the inside, filling smaller bags with white powder. I run over to the next box but can’t open it because it’s bolted shut. I try a few more but find only one that I can open. I feel bile rush up my throat as I see the scene. A man’s head is sitting there, staring back at me. I quickly shut the crate and take a few steps back when a male’s voice calls out, making me stop.

“I’m guessing you’re here for another round? Guess you haven’t had enough of me.” The male’s voice is weak and muffled.

I see a door at the end of the hallway that is cracked open. I don’t let him see me as I peer in. The man is bruised and bloody, strapped to chains hanging from the roof. His torso is completely covered in deep cuts. I hear a door open behind me, and I quickly duck into the room.

The man looks up with hooded eyes, and confusion flashes across his face. I let my eyes quickly dart around the room, looking for a place to hide, when I see a few boxes stacked in the back right corner. I start to take a few steps when the man speaks.

“Who are you?” His voice is low and weak.

I open my mouth to answer when the voices in the hallway grow closer. I frantically turn my head towards the door and step closer to him. “I’m not supposed to be here. He will kill me if he finds me.” I whisper.

“Did Manzo send you?”

I widen my eyes. Does this man work for Manzo? Holy shit. How does he not recognize me? I come up with the only lie I know will get this man to keep quiet. “I was sent to get you. I need to get you out. He thought sending a bunch of men would tip Ryker off.”

The man nods and looks towards the door before turning back to me. “The mole sent you to get me?” He asks and I nod. “Which one?”

“Who do you think?” I try to put on an annoyed look to convey that I know what the hell I’m talking about.

The man laughs. “Jesus.” He shakes his head and winces. “Tell Tom he’s an idiot.” The man’s thick Italian accent makes it hard to understand what he’s saying as he slurs. He lets out another laugh, but my focus is on the footsteps that are growing louder as they approach the door. “Hide.”

I run past the man, barely making it in time as the door swings open. I hear a sinister laugh as I peek out from behind the box, noticing three men standing next to the now closed door. I don’t recognize two, but I stare with wide eyes when I recognize the third—Ryker.

The man in front punches the hanging man in the stomach, causing him to grunt. “Good Afternoon.” Ryker’s voice is deep and evil, sending chills up my spine. “I heard you were ready to talk. ”

The hanging man spits and looks up to Ryker. “You might as well kill me. I’m not talking.”

“I haven’t had the chance to have my fun yet.” Ryker takes off his blazer and rolls up his sleeves. He walks to the table beside the man and pulls out a ten-inch knife. “I’m a busy man these days.” He drawls as he walks back over to the man and yanks his head back, putting the knife against his neck. “But I must say, It’s been a long time since I got my hands dirty, so I think I’ll make time for you.”

He lowers the knife from the man’s neck to his stomach, and I duck further behind the boxes. My back hits something hard, and I slowly turn my head and cover my mouth with my hand to stop the gasp from escaping. There is a dead body of an older man. I guess that explains the smell of decay. I get pulled out of the staring contest with the corpse when I hear the man’s scream echo through the room, and I shiver.

I’ve been there. Manzo used to have “fun” with me. When I would disobey him, his punishments would vary from beatings to torture.

“Who is the rat?” Ryker hisses. The man doesn’t answer, then there’s another scream. I plug my ears, trying to drown out the sound, but nothing helps. Everything echoes in this room. I stay in position until the screaming stops and muffled voices start to speak.

I peer back over the boxes, and the first thing I see is the blood, now splattered over Ryker’s white button-up. I trail my eyes up to his face, which is calm and holds no emotion. There’s no guilt to the fact that he’s torturing a man.

“I-If I tell you, they will kill me. I’m a dead man either way.” The man hangs his head, and Ryker nods.

“You aren’t making it out of here alive, but you can go out knowing you will save many lives if you just talk.”

“I’ll go out as a traitor.” The man hisses, “Just kill me.” Ryker’s smile turns wicked as he stares the man down .

“And put you out of your misery? I think death would be a kindness. I don’t think you’ve earned that. Do you?”

The man’s jaw tightens.

“Last chance,” he says in a sing-song voice as he wanders over to the tools and picks up a tack. When the hanging man doesn’t answer, the glint in Ryker’s eyes sends a shiver down my spine. I grip my thighs and start to dig my nails as hard as I can into them to remind myself to stay quiet.

Ryker grips the man’s face and whispers in his ear. “I’m going to make sure it’s a slow one.” He releases his face and turns to the rest of the men standing behind him. “Why don’t you boys give us some privacy?”

The other two men exit, and as soon as the door shuts, Ryker whirls around and pushes the man’s head back, forcing him to look at the ceiling. Ryker lifts his eyelid and tacks his eye open before moving onto the other.

I want to look away, but it’s like looking at a car wreck. You know it’s wrong to stare, but you just can’t help but look. Ryker grabs a knife and plunges it into the man’s gut, then twists it, making the man let out an earth-shattering scream. He leaves the knife in the man and starts to unbutton his shirt.

Ryker has tattoos scattered around his whole torso and both arms, stopping before it reaches his neck and hands. His entire left forearm is covered, but the tattoo that stands out the most is his family crest. It’s a heart with a dagger going through it and a snake wrapping around them. The snake’s fangs are showing, and the only color on the tattoo is the blood dripping from them.

He tosses his shirt on the ground and picks up another knife. “The one useful thing my father taught me was how to kill a man, how to draw it out for days if I have to.” He thrusts another knife into the man and twists. “Tell me what I want to know, and this can stop.” He grits through his teeth. When Ryker doesn’t receive an answer, he takes the knife out and stabs the man again in the same spot.

Hours pass, and the sun has risen. He wasn’t lying. Ryker is completely covered in the man’s blood. He has stabbed, burned, cut, pulled out a couple of teeth, and pulled off every nail on the man’s right hand. The man now has three knives in his torso and another in his back. Ryker grabs the last knife on the tray and starts to cut off the man’s ear, getting about halfway through before the man finally breaks. “FINE!” He yells and spits blood as he talks.

“Who is he?”

The bloody man huffs out a breath and hangs his head. He peers at Ryker through swollen eyes. “I only know that he’s close to you. It’s not close enough to get any useful information. But close enough to learn about you.”

“What family does he report to?”

“Manzo’s. He kept getting mad that the rat wasn’t giving him any information. He wouldn’t tell me who he was.”

Ryker doesn’t say anything as he removes each knife from the man with slow, lethal hands. He whips out his gun, aiming it at his head.

“I told you what I know. Plea–” Before the man can finish begging, Ryker shoots him, and I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out in shock. Ryker puts his gun back into his back waistband, grabs his shirt, and then exits the room. I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes. I slowly stand as I scan the room, making sure there isn’t anyone else in here with me. I start for the door when I see the nob turn and quickly run back behind the boxes, sliding behind them and falling onto the dead body.

The man releases gas, escaping from his open mouth, and in the horror of it all, a maggot slowly crawls out from behind his teeth. I gag, but I don’t move any further, scared the sound of me rolling off of him will alert whoever entered I’m here. His lackluster eyes send a shiver down my spine; their dullness becomes more eerie the longer I stare into them.

I hear the heavy footsteps as they enter, and the chains jiggle. A man grunts, and then the door shuts behind him. I let out a shaky breath and roll off the body, wincing as I hit the floor and a shooting pain sears from my ribs. I crawl over to the edge of the boxes and look out, finding the room empty once again. I look back at the dead body, and I know the man will come back for this one as well, and I will be found if I don’t get out of here now.

I slowly stand and pull my lips together to stop me from crying out in pain as I limp towards the door, gripping my ribs. I bypass the blood-stained floor and try to keep my body as calm as I can. My fight-or-flight instincts have heightened, making my hands shake as the adrenaline takes over.

I’m not scared, as fear is an emotion I lost a long time ago. The one thing I have over Ryker right now is that I know the name of one of the moles. That one tidbit will keep me alive, even if I’d rather be met with death.

My shaky hands reach for the nob, but before I turn it, I pause, hearing Ryker’s voice come from behind the door. “Just do the same with these two and ship them to Manzo.”

“Yes, sir.” Another voice says in an excited tone.

I can’t help but cringe. Who gets enjoyment out of beheading men? I back away from the door, realizing I can’t get out that way because all the men are still out there, and one of them will come back in here any minute to get the second body. My attention goes straight to a window about six feet off the ground, and I quickly run over to it, stumbling in the blood as I do.

I reach one arm up and realize I’m too short to pull myself up. I run over to one of the lone boxes and huff out a breath when I try to move it. It’s too heavy. I scan the room for anything that would help and realize there is nothing here. My attention goes towards the body, and I cringe.

I walk over to the man, close my eyes, and lean down so we are face to face and whisper. “I’m so sorry.” I reach out with shaky hands and close his eyes. I take a deep breath before I grab the man by the arm, drag him so he’s under the window, and prop him up against the wall.

I take a deep breath and curse to myself as I take a step towards the body. I lift one foot onto his shoulder, and his body slides down the wall when my extra weight is pressed onto him. I let out a low grunt as I almost fall off the man’s shoulder. I hear the voices outside the door come to a halt, so I quickly set him back up and examine the scene.

I have about two seconds before his body slides. He has been dead long enough that his body has become stiff, but trying to close the extra distance to reach the window’s ledge and avoid injuring my shoulder further is nearly impossible.

I pull in another deep breath as I place my right foot on his shoulder, using him as a step as I grab onto the window’s ledge. His body slides out from under me and I use all the strength I have left in my body to pull myself up the rest of the way, feeling the burn course down my arm.

Only one of my ass cheeks can fit onto the window’s ledge, so I try and hold onto the edge of it with one hand and use the other to try and pry the window open, but I can tell it’s been years since it’s been opened. I jiggle it the best I can, and a loud creak echoes through the room. I quickly turn my head toward the door.

I hear rushing footsteps, and I quickly turn onto my stomach. I’m able to get the lower half of my body out the window by the time the door flings open. Before I can lower myself, I make eye contact with Ryker. I pause for just the briefest moment, and I can’t help but smile at his shock and confusion .

The metal ledge is piercing my broken ribs, so I clench my jaw and try to slide down, but the weight of my body is too much for my injured shoulder. I know I’m about to lose my grip. I can’t help but check out his bare torso as he stalks towards the window. His muscles move and flex with every stride.

Now is not the time, Bianca. I think to myself, pulling my gaze away from him.

I let go of the window, but something grabs onto my arm with the dislocated shoulder. I let out a cry, and my body slams into the wall. I lift my head to see Ryker glowering down at me. His grip is tight, and I can’t help but wince. I twist my wrist, trying to escape his hold, but his grip tightens.

I put one foot onto the brick wall to stop myself from swaying. Looking down, I realize I’m only a few inches off the ground. Thankfully, being tall has its advantages in this situation.

“Either you let me go, or I pull you down with me,” I whisper, looking up into his cold black eyes. His diamond face and sharp jawline stun me momentarily as a piece of black hair falls onto his face. I swallow, not breaking eye contact, as I grip my forearm and pull as hard as I can. He lets go, and I drop, landing on my ass, scraping my legs on the gravel.

I stand, wipe off the pieces of gravel stuck to my body, and look up, seeing Ryker still peering down at me. I smile at him. I’m not sure why. It’s not in a taunting way or sinister but a genuine smile. None of this is amusing. I just watched a man be tortured and killed and used a dead man’s body to escape, but still, I let out a low chuckle and shake my head. When I hear footsteps approaching from the corner of the building, I sprint down towards the road.