Wicked (Dangerous Liaisons Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  He scoffs. “What morals? When it comes to you, everything is fair game.”

  “Murder is off the plate, Shephard. Please.”

  At my side, Ryker is quiet. Contemplative. Curious. I’m expecting a slew of questions once we’re alone, but the thing I’ve discovered about Ryker is that he keeps to his word. He hasn’t pried into my personal business, instead leaving the control over what I’m willing and ready to tell him in my hands.

  “There’ll be no murder. The bastard who killed your father is an arrogant, loud-mouth son of a bitch. He’ll hang himself with his own actions and words. You’ll see. Men I trust are watching him. They’ll send news of his death.”

  “Shephard.”

  I’m done speaking of violence. He heeds my warning. Letting go of my hand, he sets a bouquet of flowers on my dad’s grave marker. I bow my head. My throat tightens. My eyes fill with tears.

  Shephard curves his arm over the small of my back. Ryker releases my hand and covers the same spot, his arm resting above Shephard’s. He’s such an alpha male, needing to take the top spot in this complicated relationship of ours.

  I blink past my tears. They fall on my father’s grave, the drops staining the stone marker.

  “My father was a sinner. Pride. Lust. Wrath.”

  In the corner of my eye, Shephard’s body pulls taut. He thinks I believe the same of him.

  “My mother also made mistakes.”

  I made them too. Oh, God, I did. Unsteady on my feet, I lower myself onto my knees.

  “I love you, Dad.” I graze my fingers over the date of his death. “Please be kind to Mother in Heaven. It’s your second chance. Your only chance to make things right for the two of you. Good luck, and say hi to her for me.”

  At his best, my dad was gentle and kind. Had made my mother laugh. Made her blush crimson too. But his jealousy changed him for the worst.

  Is Ryker a jealous guy? I rise to my feet. Ryker laces our fingers. So far, I’m not getting the sense that he is. Not when he bumps his body on mine, tipping me closer to Shephard. I smile through my tears. Ryker wants me to go easy on my first crush.

  “Thank you, Shephard, for helping me get home and to my dad again for his birthday. Thank you for bringing Ryker here, too. You’re a good guy.”

  I stand on the tips of my wedge heels—another gift from him—and kiss him on the cheek. He turns into me and cradling the side of my face, he clasps me to him.

  “You’re welcome, Harper. I’d do anything for you.”

  I look up and stare into such beautiful blue eyes, and they’re shining bright with tears for me. He’s hurting. Feels the pain of my losses.

  Compassion. Kindness. Has been so patient with me. Five years. Yet I can confidently say our friendship has lasted seven.

  I lower onto my heels, freeing me from his hold. He pulls a piece of folded paper from his pocket and tucks it in my palm.

  “We’re done, love. You won.”

  Without another word, he returns to the car. He walks tall with his head held high, not giving away the defeat in his words earlier.

  “What was that about?”

  I unfurl my hand and stare at the blood-stained paper. “What I took from him—free will.”

  Dark memories surface. My father’s face contorted with anger at seeing his love beneath another man’s body. The surprise on Colton’s face. My mother trying to push Colton off as she begged for their lives.

  A rush of emotion overwhelms me. Shame. Relief. Sadness. Dismay. What my uncle must’ve felt as he lay bleeding by the door, his gaze locked on mine as the life faded from his eyes.

  Shame at seeing me naked and on my knees. Relief that Shephard found me and saved my life. Sadness for the boys who lost their lives. Dismay that he was dying and I’ll be without living family.

  Shame. Relief. Sadness. Dismay.

  What my mother must’ve felt the day my dad shot her and Colton. Shame for not having the strength to end things between them rather than loving Colton behind my father’s back. Relief that they were finally found out and exposed. Sadness that they wouldn’t live long enough to spend it together. And dismay that she would die and I’d be left without a mother and a father. My father would spend the rest of his life in prison.

  I glance over my shoulder. Shephard is inside the car, watching us with the intensity of a hawk in the sky waiting for its prey to dart out from the safety of its burrow. I return my attention to the paper. More like notepad, the kind cops keep with them to jot down quick notes.

  I let go of Ryker’s hand, and unfolding the paper, I hold the edges taut. This is the first time I’ve seen the note. Bloodstains, blue ink, graphite gray—gunpowder?—and water marks. Are the water marks Shephard’s tears or my uncle’s?

  “What’s that?”

  “Shephard’s promise to my uncle.” A deep ache settles in my chest. I blink back my tears. My hands shake. Losing my uncle once was difficult and to live through it again at finally seeing the promise he made Shephard make . . . I sway.

  Ryker secures me against his body.

  “May I?”

  I hand him the note, and he reads the words out loud, bits and pieces I heard my uncle speak in his soft and respectful tone.

  “I, Shephard Taylor, promise to protect Harper Garrix to my dying breath or otherwise relinquish my promise to a stronger man worthy of protecting her. This promise I make in blood, with my blood, the blood of her torturer, and the blood of her last surviving family.”

  A crushing blow on my chest. A rush of air from my lungs.

  So those are the exact words my uncle said that day. He used his dying breaths to keep me safe while my toying with two dangerous men’s hearts killed him.

  “My uncle, Elias, made Shephard write the words down. Said he’d haunt him for the rest of his life if he didn’t keep the promise. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he told me at my uncle’s funeral. My uncle didn’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife.”

  Contemplative silence. He hands me back the note.

  “By giving you this note while I’m here, is he relinquishing the promise to me?”

  His voice is soft and his tone searching. But there’s no resentment or anger. There’s just the need to understand.

  “I’d never ask or burden anyone with something as dangerous as protecting me. Shephard lived with the weight of it for five years, and he needed to let go, Ryker. It was doing him more harm than good. He and I aren’t good together for the long run, remember?”

  “Is that what you’re asking me to do? Let you go? Are we breaking up?”

  He stares forward with his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders pulled inward. Again, there’s no anger or resentment, but there is hurt feelings. Sighing, I try to explain the significance of what Shephard did.

  “When he gave me the note, he’s putting the promise of keeping myself safe on me, Ryker. He believes I’m strong enough.”

  The spot between my shoulder blades tingles. Shephard. The small of my back, my butt, and the back of my calves tingle with a different awareness. The guys from last night are also watching us.

  “After what happened to me and my family, nothing but violence and death, I shouldn’t be upright. I should be under the covers, only coming out to use the bathroom. Rarely to shower. Rarer to eat. Shephard lived through my hell. Showed me compassion with his kindness and patience.”

  “He took care of you afterward.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that why you have a small appetite? Leftover from your trauma?”

  “Yes,” I say on a sad sigh, remembering those dark and hopeless days.

  Shephard fed me, reminding me to chew and swallow. He helped me shower, too, and carried me back to bed. He sacrificed so much, and what have I given him in return other than hurt pride that I chose a different man to be with?

  “I’m not normal. I’m . . . I’m me, and that’s all I can give you. Me.”

  Making a point, I gesture up and down my
body.

  “Violence is in my blood. My father used his fists, then his gun. My uncle did the same, but he got tired of the boxing ring and became a cop. My mother . . . my mother was beat by her father. I’ve seen and been around nothing but violence. Stay and that’s all you’ll know too. It’s best you never make any promises, written or otherwise.”

  I rip the paper and shove the pieces inside my pocket to later toss in the trash, making my message loud and clear. I will not burden anyone with the task of protecting me from Sam and his friends. The silence stretches on. I don’t dare look at Ryker, afraid of what I’ll see on his face.

  “What if I want to? Protect you for life?”

  “‘For life is never a guarantee. The only absolute is death.”

  He makes a rude noise under his breath. “Is anything in life a slam dunk?”

  “Your career in the NFL.”

  “That’s not a given either, babe.”

  “It can and will be.” I’ll make certain of it. “I can never ask someone to give up their dreams or put their life on hold for me.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do. There’s free will involved here, remember?”

  I shake my head. My tears fall. “I don’t want you to die. He’ll kill you.”

  “Desire. Compassion. Laughter. Beauty. Strength. You are mine. I am yours. Stay and I will stand by you. Fight and I will have your back. Let me go and I will honor your free will to choose a life without me. There will be no violence on my part, Harper. I refuse to be a part of the circle of violence that stains your life.”

  Such wise words, and I . . . A weight lifts off my shoulders. Smiling, I lift my face for his scorching kiss. He holds me tight, and we must look ridiculous. Big, scruffy guy and small woman kissing in the middle of the cemetery.

  He deepens the kiss, and I moan in his mouth. My body slackens, and I relax into his warmth, enjoying this momentary peace. I’ll take any semblance and ounce of peace I can get.

  Sam and his friends are coming for me, and they won’t stop until I’m under his control, or he is six feet under the ground.

  23

  Harper

  The week goes by fast. After we landed in Portland and returned to Prescott, I spent the night at Ryker’s place.

  It was nice waking up cocooned in his arms and kept warm with his body heat. He’s a human heating blanket. And to be able to fall asleep with the window cracked and the breeze brushing over my face . . . priceless.

  It’d take someone with superhuman strength to scale the side of the house to get to the cozy attic bedroom.

  Monday morning, he introduced me to the teammates he runs with. Shephard was a no-show along our newly adopted route. But he kept to our sparring sessions, giving me a tough time for “ditching” him.

  Ditching him, my butt. With Ryker’s okay, I invited Shephard, but he has too much pride and didn’t accept though he apologized for being a jerk. Ryker graciously accepted Shephard’s apology. I’d looked on with a silly grin.

  “Mmm, you look mighty fine, babe.” Ryker’s mouth and warm breath on my neck pulls me out of my thoughts.

  And when he drags his nose down the column, his beard crushing over my sensitive skin . . .

  “Do we have time?” Breathless, I meet his gaze in the mirrored closet doors of his bedroom.

  “Yeah, but you’ll look like you were thoroughly made love to.”

  I hold back my smile. He’s not dropping the f-bomb or saying something to the effect of doing me good and hard. “Made love to” is good. Real good.

  “I’d like that,” I say.

  “To have the time? Or to look thoroughly fucked?”

  I sputter laughter. “And just when I thought you were reformed, you go and say shit like that.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist and tugs me against his hard body. His teeth nip and pull at my earlobe. His erection is big and thick against my back. A moan slips from me, and I close my eyes, giving into the heat washing over me from my hairline to the tips of my toes.

  He undresses us with the speed of a man on a mission.

  “Such determination,” I tease, hurrying onto the bed.

  Growling, he crawls on top of me, keeping his weight off me. Still in awe of snagging this big, protective, sexy guy, I look him up and down, from his thick thighs, thick cock, taut abs, dark hair on his chest, and round, strong curves of his shoulders, and lick my lips in anticipation. My smile slips when my eyes meet his.

  There’s hunger in their green depths. He wants a taste of me, but he doesn’t want to own me. If anything changes between us, he’ll willingly let me go.

  “I care for you, Ryker.” I brush my fingers up and down the cords of muscles on his arms. The sinewy strands flex under my touch. “I like you so much.”

  “Just like?”

  I playfully swat at his shoulder. “You know it’s more than that.”

  “Not ready to say the words, huh?”

  He doesn’t give me the chance to answer. His mouth and hands all over my body brings me to the cusp of an ecstasy I never imagined I’d experience with the man of my choosing.

  I have always believed my body would be used for someone else’s selfish pleasure, and I would be left with nothing but pain and shame.

  His thick finger slides inside my sex. Another finger. He stretches me. Strokes my sensitive clit. My hips come off the bed. My heart beats out of control. I can’t catch my breath.

  His mouth replaces his fingers, and I’m at the mercy of his skilled tongue. He tastes my arousal and drags his nose and his beard along my inner thighs, further marking who I belong with.

  Yes, belong with. I choose him.

  Delicious tension grows in my core. Shoots down to my sex. I clutch the sheets. He works at me with his mouth. I buck against his tongue. Shove my fingers in his hair. Yank when his mouth covers my sex. God, what he does with his tongue . . . My body tingles.

  The toe-curling tension is now an agonizing pressure. I need release. I beg him for it. He slides his tongue over my slit, sucks on my clit, and I shatter. It’s too much. His mouth on me is too much. I push at his head. Slide up in bed. He’s not giving in this time, and I . . . I like it.

  He hooks his arms around my thighs and tugs me to his face. “You gotta learn to ride your come, babe.”

  He’s gentle with his mouth. Forgiving with his tongue. I lift my head, and balanced on my elbows, I watch. Dark head of hair between my legs. Muscular arms hooked under my thighs. His mouth . . . Goodness his mouth . . . My head lolls back, and I close my eyes, riding another climax.

  Rustling of sheets. The mattress shifting beneath me. My eyes flutter open. Ryker rolls on a condom. Slides his erection inside me. My small channel stretches and takes in his thickness. He goes easy on me, sliding in and out. The slow rhythm is pure agony. I claw at his brawny shoulders with my nails and clamp my legs around his waist, urging him to go faster with my heels pushing on his tight ass cheeks.

  “Ryker, please,” I rasp.

  He’s not listening. He’s taking his time. Stretching me with every thrust and leaving me empty with each pull of his cock from my sex. He fills me again and brings me to the brink of a mind-shattering climax as he takes my nipple in his mouth. He sucks on the little bud. Grazes his teeth over the ball of nerves.

  I arch my back, needing him to flick and taste that sensitive part of me. He sucks harder on my nipple. Thrusts deeper. Moves faster. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead. His face pulls into an expression of sheer pleasure. Winding my fingers in his hair, I cover my mouth over his.

  He growls his release. Deepens the kiss. I sink into the bed. Slow the onslaught of his tongue with soft pecks. He sighs against my mouth. I taste my flavor, musky and sweet. I inhale. My arousal clings to his beard too.

  He is my everything.

  “You are mine, too.”

  I said the words out loud. Smiling, I look deep into his eyes as he tucks pieces of my hair behind my ear. I can’t get enough of this
guy. Touching him. Kissing him. Him touching me. His mouth claiming every part of me.

  “Are we ready to show the kids and my team who I belong to, babe?”

  He skims his finger down my face. Runs the pad of his thumb over the freckles alongside my bottom lip.

  “Belong with, not to, Ryker.”

  His brow furrows. “I choose you, sweetheart. I choose to belong to you. Only you.”

  I’m right. Ryker is the guy who will help me be normal again. Unlike the Taylor brothers, Ryker Conway understands the importance of the power of free will. To love or hate. To stay or go. To accept a decision or fight it every step of the way.

  He chose to stay. To accept my messed-up past. Hurt Ryker, and I will fight to my last breath the wicked coming my way.

  This is my promise to the man of my choosing.

  24

  Ryker

  The gym is a commotion of loud voices and bodies in every shape and size. The players are either in the food line with their girls and the kids they brought with them, or they’re hanging with the coaching staff at the bar. The older players, anyway.

  Coach gave the bartenders strict orders to check IDs. He also threatened the players with a benching if anyone is caught with a fake. There’s a reason for his tough stance. His daughter was killed by a drunk driver my sophomore year.

  Speak of the devil, I return my attention to his booming voice.

  “I’m proud of you, Ryker. What you did will make a difference in those kids’ lives. They’ll remember this day for a long time.”

  It’s not my high chance of getting picked in the draft that makes my role model for patience and tough love proud. It’s the act of bringing a group of awestruck kids with me to the dinner and auction.

  Shit, my bank account will remember this day too. Between paying for the girls’ dresses, the boys’ suits, and fancy shoes for the lot of them, not to mention renting a limo for the night . . . But seeing their bugged-out eyes and hearing their screams of excitement? Yeah, okay, priceless.