by Coralee June
The adrenaline from sneaking out, hiding from my father, and clinging to Ryker, was making my heart race. I breathed in his sweaty scent as his arms pinned me against the trunk. My lips brushed against his chin, just barely grazing his bottom lip. I jetted my tongue out to lick my lip where it touched his, as if on instinct.
Ryker then leaned forward so that our cheeks were touching. “The first rule of sneaking out,” he whispered in my ear, his plump lips brushing against my lobe and tickling my neck. My legs straddled the branch, and I wrapped my arms around his middle, holding him close. “Timing is everything.”
I swallowed, attraction bubbling up in my chest. “Noted,” I choked out with a small smile. Having Ryker so close was making me dizzy.
“And the second rule of sneaking out,” he whispered while his hands drifted to my hips. “Don’t fucking climb a tree if you can’t get down.”
I let out a muffled giggle, the movement making my jerking chest jump against his as I tried to calm down. I couldn’t see his expression, but I felt a smile against my skin as I let out a relieved sigh. We inched back towards the window, being extra careful not to fall. Ryker’s lip quirked when his sneakers landed on the plush carpet of my bedroom. He held a hand out to me, and I clutched it tightly as I climbed over the window frame and collided into his chest.
“No more tree climbing for you,” he scolded while pulling away.
As expected, the ever-observant Ryker immediately began exploring my pink bedroom. He stopped at my white dresser with chipped paint and flower handles. "The guys are going to be pissed that I’m the first to see your room," he said, thumbing through the collection of loose change, jewelry, and makeup. He walked along the wall, looking at my shelves of various trophies. Each one was from a club, sport, or academic team my mother made me sign up for.
“Ballet?”
“I hated it,” I replied, frowning when I remembered the tight buns and overbearing moms.
“Debate team?”
“I’m non-confrontational.”
“Softball?”
“Terrible hand-eye coordination,” I replied with a chuckle.
“Chess?” he asked, his voice light.
“I did actually like that. A sport that lets you sit and be quiet for hours on end? Sign me up.”
He stopped at my desk, and the hint of a smile graced his lips. My laptop was open, and a photo of me with him, Gavriel, and Blaise was in the background. It was the only evidence I allowed in my room that we were friends. I rarely kept my laptop open, so I felt safe allowing that one piece of the Bullets into my room.
The photo was taken one night my parents were fighting. I told them that I was going to my lab partner’s house to work on a project, but instead, I made my way to the Jamesons’. We spent the night watching the Godfather and eating junk food. It was the perfect sleepover, and one of the first nights I truly got to know Ryker.
Ryker took a calloused finger and ran it along the edge of my computer screen before turning to face me. “Your room doesn’t look like you,” he mused. I wasn’t surprised by his conclusion. My pink bedding and collection of dolls, trophies, and porcelain horses didn’t feel like me. Nothing in this house felt like me.
“What would you picture then?” I asked with a small smile, curious to hear his answer.
“Something peaceful. Neutral walls. A plush bed. Some eclectic art, too.” Ryker looked up at the ceiling and grinned when he saw the glow in the dark stars there from when I was a child. “The stars are dead-on though.”
I blushed when I remembered begging the guys to keep a light on the night I slept over. Blaise, being the ever chivalrous pain-in-my-ass, insisted that they all sleep in the gameroom with me.
"How's the new job?" I asked. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind that Ryker intended to move to LA. That was so far from me.
"It's a job," he replied with a shrug. "Just working there to save up some money."
"To move to LA, right?" I asked, shuffling nervously.
"That's the plan."
I wanted to ask him why, or if we'd still be friends once he left, but instead of voicing my concerns, I kept my mouth shut. Ryker ran a hand along his chest, and I noticed scratches along his knuckles. “You did well at the fight the other night,” I said, changing the subject. His lips parted slightly as if surprised by my compliment.
“You’re so...strong,” I murmured.
“Being able to beat the shit out of someone, doesn’t make me strong,” Ryker said with a frown. Downstairs, the sound of the front door slamming made me jump. I turned towards my bedroom window and peered outside, watching as my Mom drove off in her navy suburban. She peeled down the drive, blowing through the stop sign at the end of the street. I let out a low sigh.
“So what makes a person strong then?” I asked in a small voice, distracting myself from the worry I felt. I pinched the skin at my throat when Ryker responded.
“Hit me.”
I spun around to face him, confused. “Excuse me?” I asked. I bit my lip, unsure of what exactly he was trying to prove.
“Hit me, take a couple punches. Take every ounce of the anger you feel and channel it into a couple of hits. I won’t flex. Won’t move.” Ryker shrugged then lifted the bottom of his shirt up and over his head, revealing his toned abs. A heady flush bloomed along my chest as I took in every inch of his light skin and defined muscles. He’d toned a lot since joining the fight scene with Gavriel.
After closer inspection, I noticed various scars along his torso. A circular burn scar looked about the size of a cigarette. A pink scar lined his lower stomach. An older, white line trailed his neck. He crossed his arms over his chest. I blinked, embarrassed for staring at the wounds that covered his perfect body. I wanted to ask what happened. I wanted to demand to know who hurt him.
“You’re kidding,” I finally said after clearing my throat.
“Nope.”
I took a step forward. Outside, a lawnmower kicked up as the neighbors began their Saturday morning routines. The residents on Woodbury Lane continued about their day while our family fell apart. “Why?”
“’Cause I said so,” he said with what almost looked like a smirk.
“This is ridiculous." I looked around my room, stalling. On my nightstand was a photo of my parents and me. It was taken at the Police Officer’s Ball. A photographer skillfully caught a rare moment where we were all smiling. Dad had his hand clasped tightly on Mom’s and my shoulders, almost pinning us still for the image. My smile looked fake, but it made all the newspapers. We were described as a happy family, but Dad disappeared again right after the ball. “You just want me to punch you? Here?” I asked while throwing my hands up in disbelief.
“You gonna keep asking questions, or are you gonna fucking hit me, Sunshine?” he asked with a frown. “Hit me. Now.”
“I-I can’t,” I said with a nervous laugh.
“You let your image control every aspect of your life? You gonna keep hiding up here in your ivory tower pretending shit’s okay when it’s not? Or are you going to fucking hit me?” Ryker’s voice was cruel and unyielding as he took a step closer.
Fury like a flame burned in my chest as I soared over to him. He wanted me to hit him? Fine. I’d hit him. I raised a shaky fist and lunged, preparing to lash out. But just before I could land a punch, he grabbed my wrist, stopping my momentum with little effort.
“What the fuck, you said you wanted me to hit you!” I screamed, thankful my parents weren’t home to hear. Ryker stared at me. His green eyes didn’t falter as they took in my angry expression, and I swallowed.
“Untuck your thumb, that’s how you break a finger,” he said while taking his free hand and unballing my fist. He moved with such gentle attentiveness that I gasped. Easing my hand into a new fist, goosebumps pebbled along my skin. He then cupped it in his palm, and lightly rubbed at my knuckles with his thumb. My skin felt hypersensitive to his touch.
Finally, he tore his eyes from mine
and looked at my hand. “Perfect. Now, hit me.”
My earlier anger had fizzled out, and now I just felt clumsy. I didn’t want to punch him. “Don’t make me piss you off again, do it. I promise there’s a point to all this.”
I bit my lip, feeling foolish and uncertain. I guess since he told me to, it was okay. I then reared back and punched Ryker in the chest halfheartedly.
Even though I didn’t put as much effort into hitting him, I still felt the hard smack of pain on my knuckles the moment our skin connected. “Ouch, goddamn, Ryker! You said you wouldn’t flex,” I moaned while shaking out my hand.
He at least had the decency to hold back a smile, but I noticed how his lip quirked. “You need to hit the softer parts of me. Hit somewhere without muscle,” he joked.
“That’s impossible, have you seen yourself?” I asked while roaming my eyes up and down his torso. Abs, pecs, and corded arms—there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body, and he knew it. I licked my lips, suddenly feeling hot.
Ryker coughed, his eyes heated and fixed on me. “Hit me, Sunshine. And this time mean it. Don’t make me ask you again.”
I scowled, embarrassed that he caught me staring, and this time, when I reared back to punch him, I didn’t hold back. I connected with his abs, and despite the sting in my knuckles, I recoiled and struck again. Each hit grew with intensity; an anger I didn’t know I had was boiling up to the surface.
It wasn’t Ryker I was hitting, it was everything about my life I hated. It was my parents’ fighting. My Dad’s disappearances. My Mom’s alcoholism. The ridiculous standards they put on me. I grunted, punching until he stumbled back.
A hand snuck out and caught my fist, clamping down and forcing me to stop. He squeezed, saying my name in that reverent tone I adored. “Sunshine, look at me.”
And I did. I took in the various red splotches along his abs and chest. Blood was already gathering under the skin, and I gasped when I saw the evidence of my anger. It marred his scarred skin. Would it bruise?
“Ryker, I…” I began, pinning my destructive hands against my stomach. I couldn’t believe I hurt him.
“You know what makes a person strong, Sunshine? It’s not their ability to hurt someone," he began with a frown, "it’s their ability to take a hit.”
Ryker reached out, grabbing my wrists. He forced my hands to roam over his abs and chest. I felt him take in a sharp breath as he pressed my hands lower, connecting with some of the red spots along his Adonis belt.
My breathing quickened. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he interrupted. “Don’t you dare say sorry.”
“You seem like someone that’s taken a lot of hits.” My voice was calm as I voiced my assumptions. I’d always wondered why he'd arrived battered and bruised months ago.
“I have,” he replied, keeping my hand firmly against him. He didn’t offer any extra explanation, and he didn’t have to. I saw everything he kept hidden about himself reflected in his eyes. I saw it in the way he observed a room. His insightful views of the world.
I moved my hand away, realizing that I was still touching the defined grooves of his rippled abs. “Do you have any plans for the day?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Not really, there’s a party at the lake tonight,” he answered while scratching behind his neck. He then bent over and grabbed his discarded white t-shirt. “Are you coming with us?”
“Oh, I don’t usually…” I stopped myself before I could decline. I was going to try new things this summer. I'd promised myself that I would see each puzzle piece of the Bullets before they slipped through my fingers. I was going to roll with the punches.
“Yeah, actually. I’ll go.”
Chapter Sixteen
Present Day
The ride to the Belasco Theater was quiet. Callum stayed behind but said he would meet up with us later. There was a heavy air of anticipation in the limo. Gavriel watched my tapping foot with discontent and handed me a glass of whiskey, which I downed. When I reached for another, he shook his head. “Once I can see how you handle your liquor, I’ll let you have more.”
"How dare—"
“You asked for this, Love,” he said in a mocking tone, the old nickname like a kiss.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
Paparazzi stood outside the front gate taking photos of everyone that looked important. It was a huge change from the last fight I had been to. The Bullets started off at an abandoned restaurant in suburbia hell. Now Ryker was headlining a fight at an expensive venue. The press, gorgeous models, and neon lights left me feeling starstruck. Gavriel instructed the limo to drive around back. I sensed he wanted to avoid being seen. But there were still photographers near the loading entrance.
The limo driver opened the door, and as we got out, a flash of bright lights filled my vision. Gavriel grabbed my hand and eased me to the theater while scowling at the photographers. His security detail exited their Land Rovers and immediately began confiscating the cameras. As the door shut, outcries of rage hit my ears as the bodyguards crushed their cameras against the concrete.
We wove through the hallways of the kitchens and workers’ stations. Gavriel obviously knew the place well because he navigated it with ease. He led me towards a large door, but before opening it, pulled me aside and pushed me against the wall.
"I know this won't be easy for you," he said. There was a tenderness about his voice that felt foreign to me. "I want to make it clear, right here, right now. I own you.” Gavriel’s declaration sent an electric thrill down my spine. I’d always belonged to him, but hearing it rocked me.
“Ryker, Callum, and Blaise? They're all going to have pieces of you; I tried fighting it when we were teens, but I'm not going to fight it anymore. I own each of you. You hear me? You can’t escape it." I swallowed. "He's going to lash out, he's going to try to hurt you as much as you hurt him. And he's going to hate seeing you waltz in on my arm. But you're going to be and do exactly what I say, do you understand?"
I was too busy staring at Gavriel, quaking with lust at his words. I craved his ownership.
"Yes. Yes, sir." Gavriel cocked his head to the side and glared at me.
"Also, these fights? They’re networking events for gangsters. Sure, average Joe's will bring their teenage kids here to watch some blood get spilled. But that's just the surface. You're about to dive into my world, Sunshine. I hope you're ready."
He didn't give me a chance to respond. Gavriel leaned in and crashed his lips to mine with revered attention. I couldn't help but moan as he explored my soul with his kiss. His hands wrapped around my wrists pinning them together at my navel.
His kiss felt like finality. His kiss felt like everything and nothing all at once. It was like he held a gun of lust to my head. When he smiled against my lips, it felt like the cruel calculation of someone that knew he had all the power. He pulled the trigger on my heart. At that moment, I was his—and his alone. His lips were hot against mine, and it felt too good to stop. Just when I thought I couldn’t want him more, Gavriel tore away from me and grinned.
"Let's go see Ryker." Gavriel looped his fingers through mine and yanked me away from the wall. I was still processing my emotions. Still craving his touch and trying to orient myself. For a moment, I couldn't remember who I was or what we were doing. All I knew was him.
"You ready?" Gavriel asked with a smirk, knowing how not ready I was.
"Yes, sir."
We made our way through the crowd. I fidgeted with the edge of my jacket, my feet wobbling in their heels as I clutched Gavriel’s arm. I didn’t see him, I felt him. It was like my soul knew Ryker was nearby and decided to ignite with a hyper-awareness unique to him. “Be strong,” Gavriel whispered just as Ryker’s eyes connected with mine.
I wasn’t expecting the burning resentment and hate reflected in his stare. Despite the change in appearance, he immediately recognized me. His scowl was fierce, with cruel eyes that dug up every insecurity I had. I regretted letting Blaise pick out my ou
tfit. I wanted nothing more than to cover up. I wanted to hide.
Against my better judgment, I called out to him, praying my voice would break through his anger. “Ryker?” I sounded small and timid.
My pulse was thudding. The last time I was with him was in the Jamesons’ houseboat on the lake. My lips parted, and I felt my muscles relax as I remembered that night. He was so attentive, kissing every inch of me. That night, he made me feel whole and perfect and sexy.
“Hey, Summer,” he growled, jarring me out of my memories of the friend I once knew. Using my name was like a slap to the face. I'd always been Sunshine to him. He wanted to hurt me.
I took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. His nose looked different. Not necessarily crooked, it had been broken and reset a couple times. He wore a robe, but I could see ink swirls along his skin. I ached to see his Sunshine tattoo. I clutched my jacket tighter, knowing that if I let go, my fingers would reach out and touch him.
He now had a buzzcut. It suited him much better than the shoulder-length hair he had in Chesterbrook. I assumed it was easier to fight without the long hair, too. He was stronger. Each cut muscle on his body had thick veins protruding along them. “It’s been a long time,” he added.
“Five years,” I answered. It felt like I was reacquainted with someone I barely knew, not the man that took my virginity. Gavriel and Blaise were wrong, there was nothing there between us. Not anymore. Ryker hated me, and I couldn't blame him.
He took a moment to take in my appearance. Green eyes traveled down my long legs, lingering on my skirt. And after seeming unimpressed, he turned to address Gavriel. “Boons is hyped up on drugs tonight. Should make for an interesting fight.”
That was it? That was all I was going to get? He was already back to business. I knew he was in fight mode, but at least a “how ya been” would've been nice.
“You got your head in the game, Kid?” Gavriel asked, and I almost rolled my eyes at the verbal pissing contest. Gavriel was always asserting his dominance over Ryker. That nickname was one of the many tools in his arsenal.
