Ryder

 

Ryder awoke to a clatter outside of Kara’s bedroom window. His eyes shot open and he jumped to his feet. A silence returned to the room, and he listened carefully. Just when he began to think that he’d been hearing things, another clatter sound, this one followed by a low muttering of the word “fuck!”

 

“What was that?” asked Kara sleepily.

 

Ryder shushed her and held up his palm. A fearful expression formed on her face, and she was quickly awake.

 

“Ryder, what’s going on?”

 

“Quiet!” he hissed. “If there’s someone out there, I don’t want them to know we’re up!”

 

Kara’s mouth formed into a tight, flat line and she didn’t make another peep. Ryder walked slowly over the bedroom carpet, doing his best not to make a sound. Soon, he heard heavy footsteps in the alley—footsteps that he marked right away as those of a biker.

 

“I’m gonna go check it out,” he said quietly. “You stay here and lock the door; don’t move a muscle, don’t make a sound. And if you don’t hear from me in five minutes, call the fucking cops.”

 

Ryder hated the idea of getting the police involved, but the idea of something happening to Kara made his stomach form into a tight, sick knot.

 

He stepped into his jeans and checked to make sure his multi-tool was in his pocket. He slipped it out and withdrew the sharpest knife he had. He opened the bedroom door and something ran past him. Turning around on his heels, he saw that it was just Furball, who leaped onto the bed and curled up on Kara’s lap.

 

He snatched his coat up from the chair and moments later, Ryder was out in the cool evening air. At the corner leading into the alley, he listened carefully again, this time hearing the sound of a message being typed up on a cell phone.

 

Stupid motherfucker, thought Ryder. Sent someone after me who doesn’t even know to mute his phone.

 

Ryder peered around the corner and spotted a burly man in leather and denim, his hair long and wild, a scraggly beard hanging down from his face. He was beefy and tall, and it occurred to Ryder that the reason they sent this particular man wasn’t due to his brain power. Ryder knew that he might not be able to take him in a one-to-one fight and that the element of surprise was his only option.

 

“Fuckin’ stupid-ass assignment,” the man said, his voice low and resonant. “Standing out in the middle of a fuckin’ alley in the cold. I really oughta say something to Franco; motherfucker thinks he can tell me to do whatever he wants.”

 

And doesn’t know to keep his damn mouth shut either, thought Ryder.

 

He watched as the man squatted down to peek into the bedroom, anger boiling in his gut at the idea that this guy had been watching them all night.

 

“Fucking boring as shit,” he muttered.

 

Then let me liven up your evening, thought Ryder, gently lifting a lid off of a nearby trashcan.

 

Ryder pulled his arm back and, after aiming carefully, whipped the lid like a Frisbee. The lid hit the man’s head dead-on, a hollow, metallic clanging sounding through the alley as it did.

 

“Fuck!” shouted the man, his hand shooting to his forehead where the lid had hit.

 

Ryder didn’t waste a second. His knife in hand, he rushed towards the man, slamming into him at full speed. Ryder’s ribs sent out waves of pain at the impact but he pushed through it. He hit the man so hard, he nearly launched out of his shoes, stumbling backward and falling into a pile of trash cans.

 

“It’s fuckin’ you!” shouted the man as he staggered to his feet. “Franco told me just to keep an eye on you, but he didn’t say shit about not killing your sorry ass!”

 

“Give it your best shot, fucker,” said Ryder, tossing his knife from one hand to the other.

 

“You’re the asshole who killed my brothers,” said the man. “And now I’m gonna shoot you in the fuckin’ gut and let you bleed out in this alley like a stuck pig.”

 

With that, he reached behind him and pulled a small revolver out of his waistband, the chrome catching the moonlight.

 

“You know what they say—never bring a knife to a gunfight,” said the man.

 

“I think I can make do,” said Ryder.

 

The man raised the pistol. But before he could get out a shot, Ryder took off towards him, swinging his fist through the air as he ran and connecting hard with his jaw. Ryder felt the crack of bone beneath his knuckles, and the man staggered backward once again. Clearly in a daze, the man raised the pistol and fired a shot, the crack echoing through the alley, a sharp ‘ping’ sounding as the bullet hit a nearby trash can.

 

Oh, that’s it, thought Ryder.

 

Closing the distance between the two of them, Ryder drove another hard punch into the man, this time in the gut. The wind flew out of him and the gun dropped from his hand, hitting the cement with a clatter. The man dropped to his knees to grab it, leveling off for another shot. But Ryder was too quick for him—with a jab of his knife, he shoved the blade into the man’s wrist, a howl of pain sounding from him. Blood streaming from the wound, he dropped the gun and fell into a heap.

 

The fight was over.

 

“You fuck!” shouted the man, one hand clamped onto his wrist. “You fuckin’ stabbed me!”

 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to shoot me, asshole. And keep your fuckin’ voice down; people are tryin’ to sleep around here.”

 

The man whimpered and moaned as he curled up into a fetal position.

 

Ryder scoffed.

 

Sure can’t take much damage for such a big guy, he thought.

 

Ryder stepped over to the man, who was still curled up on the ground.

 

“Are you … are you gonna kill me?” he asked.

 

Ryder kicked the gun away and looked down at the man.

 

“Nope, because I’m gonna send you back to Franco with a message. Tell Franco that this stalking shit ends now. Either he faces me man-to-man so we can end this, or I get the rest of the Hunters and we stomp out the fuckin’ Gremlins for good. Got it?”

 

“Got … got it.”

 

“He knows how to get in touch with me. And tell him this is his one and only warning. Any more shitheads lurking in alleys, any more motorcycle drive-bys, and he’s fucking done. We’ll come down so hard on you assholes that what we did to you before will look like a goddamn spa day.”

 

“Now,” said Ryder. “Get the fuck out of here.”

 

The man nodded and struggled to his feet. Blood dripping into the snow behind him, the man dashed out from the alley and was gone. Ryder stood there for a moment, his heart thudding in his chest.

 

This is it, he thought. I’m gonna square off with that asshole and that’s gonna be the end of it.

 

Remembering what he’d told Kara about calling the police, Ryder ran back into the apartment. To his relief, she was still sitting in bed, Furball curled up on her lap.

 

“What happened?” she asked. “Was that a gunshot I heard?”

 

“It’s over now,” said Ryder. “For tonight, at least.”

 

Ryder was struck by the urge to take a shower. He headed into the bathroom and was soon standing nude in the tub, steaming hot water pouring over his toned body. He’d finally set up his showdown with Franco, and all he could think about was whether or not it would be his last.