I slam my computer closed and flop back onto my bed with a whoosh. The money is still bouncing everywhere. Luckily, it’s moving so fast the worm I put with it is making it difficult for others to track. The worm for the emails hasn’t done a damn thing since JK hasn’t checked it. In order for it to work, he needs to reply to the damn things. I added one that will give me IP addresses from the location he checks in, as well.

I could reply to the emails myself to see what the responses would be, but the less I put myself out there, the better. I want to find him, not the other way around. It’s a tricky thing. One I didn’t realize was so hard, surprisingly. This sneaking and stealth work is aggravating because it takes time.

Buzz taught me how to tap into feeds from security cameras. I watched around JK’s mother’s house from a camera on a light pole down the road from her place, but I never saw him. It would be the place people will most likely look for him, so if he’s smart, he’ll stay far away.

Every end is coming up dead, and I’m really feeling for my father and the brothers. If this is what it feels like to have your hands tied and do nothing, they can have that shit back.

A cough comes from the living room, and I roll into my pillow with a groan.

Ryker.

For a little over a week now, he’s been by my side everywhere I go. We’ve had to go to the clubhouse a couple of times so he can attend meetings with the brothers and stop by his place for clothes. Other than that, he’s been stuck to me like glue.

Months ago, I’d have been eating this up, having him so near to me. The way he touches me, rubs my feet to soothe out the aches. Years I’ve wanted this. Years.

Ryker has always been there. Always been the one who was so close yet so damn far away. Elusive when it came to me. There, but not.

A brush of a hand here or there or a ruffle of the hair was about the only physical contact we’ve ever had. I wanted more. So much more with him, but it wasn’t in the cards.

Prom was the worst. My father made me have my date, Shawn, meet me at the clubhouse instead of our house. My father had all the brothers outside, waiting for him with the sole purpose of scaring the shit of him, which they did. I was surprised we didn’t have to stop so he could change his pants from pissing himself.

As my mother and grandma took pictures of us, my gaze continually landed on Ryker. His strong arms crossed over his chest, breathing in and out heavily, his eyes narrowed, checking the guy out. He stood so tall and powerful. He didn’t even have to come close to me for me to feel it. It was like a punch to the stomach that sent chills throughout my body.

I’d wished and hoped that Ryker would be the one standing next to me instead of Shawn. Imagined Ryker in his jeans, black T-shirt and cut, taking me to prom where we’d dance the night away and hang out. Needless to say, that was stupid. I can’t see Ryker doing the dancing thing. Hope is a powerful thing.

Even when Shawn and I left, I watched Ryker as his eyes never left the car.

All I wanted was for Ryker to take my hand and lead me wherever he wanted me to go, but that didn’t happen.

Now, he’s living with me. On the couch. In my apartment. I see him every freaking day. My old self would love this. Relish in it and hook him with everything I had inside me.

Unfortunately, life has a way of screwing people, of twisting plans and making them unreachable, unattainable, and crushing at the same time. It throws what you desperately want in your face like splattered mud. Yet, you still can’t have it. Even with him here, in my space, protecting me, I can’t.

It’s all because of one man who decided I was an easy target one night and went in for the kill. He tore me from the inside out, making me damaged, used, and disgusting. To this day, the shower still doesn’t clean the filth he put all over me. It doesn’t erase the phantom feelings I get from time to time. It doesn’t clean me. Nothing will clean me and take me back to my old self.

I rub my belly as the emptiness inside consumes me like it does every other time I think of my baby. The one he gave me that I couldn’t keep.

It’s a mixed place to be—this piece of you created with a monster—and a hell you can’t imagine ever surviving again. There is still a longing inside me, though turning back time isn’t an option. Even if I could change things, how? There isn’t anything that could’ve been different in my eyes. I just know there is this piece of me, no matter the circumstances of its conception, that’s dark and empty, devoid of life. It eats at me every moment, every breath, feeding and growing.

I groan, wiping the thoughts from my mind, just as there’s another noise from the living room.

Looking at the clock, I see it’s only ten-thirty. Going to my room for alone time has been my regimen, but this is getting ridiculous.

Pulling off the covers and clambering out of bed in my pajama shorts and oversized T-shirt that I stole from Nox a while back, I make my way to the living room. The sounds of the television filter through the hallway as gunshots echo and words are said that can’t be made out.

Ryker lies on the couch, his boots on the floor in front of him, his feet up on the cushions. His arms are behind his head, and his focus is on the TV.

As if he can sense me, he turns and our gazes lock. My pulse spikes as the hairs on my arms prickle at the fierceness of his look. We’re lost in each other for a brief moment in time, and it’s glorious.

I give a slight cough, breaking the connection, and turn toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry. You want anything?”

I hear rustling and know he’s getting up from the couch. His pattered footsteps tell me he’s coming my way.

Sucking in a breath, the refrigerator jingles from the condiments on the door as I open it. Nothing looks good to me. Left over spaghetti, Chinese, cheese—blah.

His stare is on me. I feel it zapping me in the back, and my body begins to heat. Ignoring this, I check out the freezer and, low and behold, mint chocolate chip ice cream. Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner.

“I’ll take some of that,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb.

It takes everything I have not to allow my jaw to drop to the floor. He’s wearing basketball shorts that ride low on his hips and a tank top that’s showing all his muscles and tattoos. Going to bed early means I’ve been missing out on this view for the past week and a half. Shit.

Tearing my eyes away, I open the drawer and pull out two spoons, then point them toward the couch. His soft chuckle fills the space as he moves, sitting on the right side of the couch. I move to the left, pull the top off the ice cream, and then hand him a spoon.

“What are you watching?” I dig into the ice cream then take a bite. The taste of mint explodes on my lips. Holding back a moan is difficult.

“Die Hard. Nothing else looked good.” He digs into the mint chocolate chip while I try to hold the carton steady for him. My arm shakes at his movements, or maybe it’s just being this close to him.

We sit like this for a while, both watching the movie, eating and not speaking.

Why does this have to be so strange? We are friends, right?

I lick the spoon then hand him the rest of the container.

“I’m good.”

Nodding, I take it to the kitchen and put it back in the freezer.

Taking a seat back on the couch, I ask, “Aren’t you a little tired of this every night? You have a life; surely, this is imposing on it.”

He stretches his arm out over the top of the couch, close to me, but not touching. “Someone’s gotta guard that hot body.” He winks, and part of me melts. Damn him.

“What about taking rotations? I know my father isn’t going to let this go, and I’m resigned to that. But what if Nox, Jacks, or Green comes over for a while? That’ll give you a break.”

Something pulsates off Ryker. It’s so powerful it pulls me. His face is controlled, but his eyes are working and doing it hard.

“No one stays here but me.” The words are dangerous in a way I haven’t heard from Ryker in all my years of knowing him. So much so my lips stay shut on that topic for the rest of the night.

Eventually, Ryker moves to lay down, stretching his long body across the couch.

“What are you doing?” I ask stupidly, like I can’t see what he’s doing nor feel his legs behind my back.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms, and everything freezes in time. What’s going on here? “Just rest your head on my chest. My legs are killin’ me, and I need to put them up.”

“Do you have problems with your legs?”

“Nope.” His arms are still out, waiting for me. I let out a long yawn, and he chuckles. “Lie down.”

I shouldn’t, but my body isn’t catching up with my brain.

As I lay my cheek on his chest, I feel how hard and muscled it is. Not knowing where to put my hand, I rest it next to my head. It sucks not having much experience in this department. One would think I could hack it, yet my nerves are fluttering in my stomach.

He places his hand on my back, moving it in slow circles. Slowly, my body softens and my eyes drift closed. This is the most comforting and relaxed I’ve ever felt with a man. God help me.

* * *

“Let me know when you want to go,” Ryker says, leaving me outside with Emery, my mother, and Angel, who is Emery’s mother, as he strides toward the clubhouse.

I won’t lie. I didn’t want to come. Didn’t want to be at a big party where everyone would be.

I keep reminding myself that it isn’t because I don’t want to see Ryker with one of the club mommas. It has nothing to do with that. He has every right to do anything he wanted. So what if I fell asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and breathing in his tobacco? That doesn’t matter. He’s a free man, able to do whatever he wants. Just like he’s always been. Just like he needs to be.

Having him around all the time is screwing with me. My focus is totally jacked up. JK is my priority, and if Ryker ever found out what happened to me, he wouldn’t want to be with me, anyway. I need to keep that in perspective, always in my head and never forget it.

“Right.” Taking a seat next to my mother, she smiles brightly at me as Ryker enters the clubhouse while I do my best not to stare at his ass.

“Watchin’ him awfully hard, Austyn. What’s goin’ on?” My mother isn’t accusatory by any means, but she is curious.

At her words, I avert my attentions, pissed at myself for getting caught. Friends, right? Friends watch friends go into buildings. There’s nothing creepy with that.

“Not a damn thing.”

She turns fully toward me as Angel coughs in her hand. “I call bullshit.”

“That’s become your favorite word lately.” It has. Every time I turn around, she’s calling bullshit on me. Too bad most of the time it’s true. She knows too much, always has.

“I call it like I see it.” My mother flips her hair back over her shoulder then clasps her hands together, giving off a relaxed vibe, yet you know she’s going to zing you with something. “Ryker’s living with you. You’ve always had a thing for him. He obviously has one for you, so …”

Closing my eyes, the intake of breath does nothing for my calmness. She doesn’t know what JK did to me. How he held me down and ripped my virginity away from me, then had his buddies take their turns. She doesn’t know how that spoiled and soiled me from the inside out. She doesn’t know I had to get rid of the baby that came from that. All she knows is what happened when JK got me the second time and the pain that was inflicted on me.

I can’t tell her that I’m tainted and no man will ever want to touch me. That I’m dirty and gross, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. It’s like a festering thorn deep under my skin, digging itself deeper and deeper with each moment that passes, cutting me.

I can tell my mother none of this. Therefore, she’ll never really know why. No one can know. If it’s talked about, then I fear that it’ll never go away. Everyone will remember it every second of the day, and I’ll never be able to get past or escape it. Truthfully, I don’t know how to get past any of this, except to find JK and make him pay.

“Yeah, he’s staying, but that’s it.”

When my mother’s keen gaze hits me hard, I avert my eyes, not wanting her to see inside me.

“You’ve been in love with him since you met him. Don’t tell me all that has gone away. Is this because of JK and what he did?”

I love my mother. I really, really do. But this is too close for comfort. I feel like fire ants are crawling all over my skin, biting me as they swarm, threatening to take me over. My mother is a force to be reckoned with and many won’t take her on. Normally, I never would, either, but I need this to stop. I need it all to stop before those ants envelop me.

Looking her dead in the eye, I tell her, “Mom, I love you, but you need to let this go. Now.”

I feel as if she’s grabbing something inside me and pulling out the information she needs with her gaze. She is determined to figure out what is inside my head.

This time, I can’t look away. She should know this is serious, and keeping eye contact with my mother is the only way to show her. She respects it.

It takes her a bit before she nods and breaks her binding spell. “Gotcha.”

“Let’s shoot tequila!” Emery calls out, and I groan.

Me and tequila have been friends for many years. We have a love-hate relationship. It goes down smooth, gets me drunk, and makes me happy. Then it tears up my insides and spews out of my body later.

Just then, Ryker comes out of the clubhouse with a very pretty brunette wrapped around his waist. Bile threatens to escape.

Slapping the table, I cheer, “Tequila it is!”

Emery smiles, my mother looks at Ryker knowingly, and Angel just continues to be her quiet self. This is going to be an interesting night.

* * *

Half the bottle is gone. Holding it up, I find there’s more to be consumed.

My body feels fine. Memories have disappeared. Ryker has disappeared. Everything is quiet in my head for the moment. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in months and months.

Sure, there’s a shit-ton of noise around me, but as I lean on the bar, head resting on my elbow, a calm washes over me. This leads me to taking a couple more shots and Emery following me.

“Whaaadddaa doin’?” Emery is drunk. Big time.

I take a slug from the bottle, not feeling any bit of the burn anymore. It almost tastes like water, and that’s when you know you’ve drunk too much.

“Drinkinnnn’.”

She gives me the wide-eye look. The one that says duh, not what I’m asking. “With Ryyyyker.”

Not this again.

My mind swims, and it takes me a moment to think. Leave it to Emery to make me try to organize a complete thought on tequila.

“Nothinnnn’,” is the best I can come up with. Lame, but real.

“Whattttteverr. Don’t tell ya bestestttt frieeeend.”

A laugh escapes me. I say nothing, just watch my best friend turn fuzzy in my vision.

The bottle is wrenched from my hand.

“Hey!”

Ryker stands there with a glare to end all glares, shaking the bottle. “You’re done.” He hands the bottle over to the bartender, who puts it behind the bar so we can’t reach it.

I look at the bartender. “Party pooper.”

He just shrugs like he doesn’t give two shits.

My attention goes back to Ryker. “Fine, Daddddd.”

His nostrils flare as he steps into my space. “Lotta things I am to you, Austyn, but Dad isn’t one of them. Let’s go.” He grabs my arm, not hard but firmly, and pulls me next to him. “Emery, you comin’?”

“Nope. I’m stayin’ here tonight.”

“Traitor,” I tell her.

She smiles, giving me a wave. “Have fun!”

I look up to Ryker. “Ya know, you can just go back to your woman friend, and I can sleep in my father’s room.” My words come out a bit more slurred than I want. Guess those last shots are doing me in.

“No,” is all he says as he leads me to the car while I give sloppy waves to a couple of people as I’m escorted away.

He opens the door, and I climb in, resting my head against the headrest.

“Buckle up,” he orders after he climbs in.

I huff. He’s so acting like my father it’s not even funny. Ordering me. Making me stop drinking. Being all demanding. But something in my foggy head is telling me not to call him my dad again.

Pulling the belt, I latch it after a few failed attempts because the damn thing keeps moving, or maybe it’s me.

The ride home is quiet. Ryker peers over at me several times like I’m going to go poof in a ball of smoke and disappear like some magician on crack. I touch my body. Nope, still here. I let a chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“I’m just imagining I’m a magician and going to go up in a puff of smoke.” I throw my arms out wide. “Poof!”

He throws his head back and laughs deeply, a sound I do love to hear. It gets my girl bits tingling, and that is not a good thing. Drunk and Ryker, that’s not a good combination.

“Yeah, we’ll see how you feel in a few hours. Let’s get ya some food.”

He pulls into a drive-thru and orders me a greasy burger and fries that I devour. When we make it back to the apartment, he has to help me into the place because my balance is a bit off. He leads me to the couch, and I fall onto it with a groan. The burger and booze aren’t working well together, mixing like a concoction of death.

Faster than I thought my body could move, I race to the bathroom, slam my knees to the tile floor, and begin to pray to the porcelain god. I knew this would happen, but this part is the hate I have with tequila. Great going down, shitty coming up.

As my hair is pulled away from my face, mortification sets in just as I throw up again, the contents of my midnight snack now gone. Dammit, and the food was supposed to soak up all the booze.

“Go away,” I tell him as I cough, but he doesn’t move, just gathers my hair, keeping it behind my head.

“Do what ya gotta do, Austyn. I’ve got ya.”

God, he’s got me, the words I’ve always wanted to come from his mouth. Why did he have to wait so long to say them?

I shake my head as another bout comes on. My stomach doesn’t have much in it. Eventually, as the nausea dissipates, I fall to my ass.

When Ryker releases my hair, I feel it fall down my back. Then he moves, and I hear water running, then a cold towel is pressed to my forehead.

He crouches down in front of me with so much compassion on his face. I’m so drunk I can’t stop the walls around my stiffened heart from chipping away. Another reason for me to hate tequila.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” He gives me a wink then rises, going back to the sink where he wets another cloth before handing it to me. “For your mouth.”

I gratefully take it and wipe my mouth, even sticking my tongue out and wiping it. The acidic taste still lingers, though.

“Do you think you’re done?”

Not feeling any more rumbling, I answer with a, “Yeah.”

With no effort at all, he leans down and picks me up from the floor, carrying me to my room. He sets me gently down on the bed then removes my shoes, tossing them to the floor. When he grabs my oversized T-shirt, my brows pinch together. He’s not going to change me, is he?

“Up,” he demands, and my arms go.

Ryker doesn’t remove my bra, just pulls the large shirt over my head then unbuttons my shorts and pulls them down my legs. I instantly dampen from this act, having wanted this exact thing so many times before, and here it is, happening while I’m piss-ass drunk.

Ryker grabs the garbage can, putting it next to my bed, which is a very thoughtful and smart thing to do. He then pulls the covers over top of me, brushes his lips over my forehead, and then leaves the room. I instantly pass out.

It’s the only peace I can seem to find in my head.