Ryder

 

His belly full, Ryder sat back on the couch. Part of him did want a little more soup—it hit the spot like he couldn’t believe—but he didn’t want to ask Kara to make it. He hated being doted on like this—it made him feel like a child who couldn’t look out for himself.

 

“I need a smoke,” he said, heaving himself up with a pained grunt.

 

“Don’t smoke,” said Kara. “You’re in bad enough shape as it is.”

 

Her eyes went wide at that, and Ryder happily realized that it meant she was finally catching herself mothering him.

 

“I’m gonna step outside. Need some fresh air.”

 

Kara took a sip of her tea and nodded, her wide eyes on Ryder. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryder saw that she was carefully watching his every step, making sure that he wasn’t about to take a tumble. He realized that the best he was going to be able to do was to get her to keep her mothering comments to herself; she still seemed dead-set on nursing him back to health.

 

Ryder rummaged through his jacket pockets and pulled out his smokes and his chrome Zippo. Looking into the pack, he saw that about half of them were smashed and torn, the light brown tobacco from the smokes loose at the bottom of the pack. He fished out one of the good ones, tossed his jacket over his shoulders, and headed out of the back door.

 

It was still snowy and damn cold out, but Ryder figured he could take it for the length of time he’d need to smoke a quick one. Sparking the Zippo to life, he brought the wavering flame to the tip of his cigarette and lit it. Taking a slow drag, his eyes drifted off into the forest that surrounded the cabin. Despite everything, Ryder appreciated just how peaceful the scene was. The snow drifted down among the thick trunks of the trees, and the wind was a low whisper. It seemed as though the worst of the storm had passed, but it still likely wasn’t going to be a good idea to leave until morning.

 

Ryder took another drag, and as he did, he tried to focus back on the attack, trying to figure out just who it was that had nearly killed him, just who it was that had left him for dead. Ryder closed his eyes and thought.

 

“This don’t kill ’im, the cold will,” he remembered.

 

The voice was ragged and rough, like a man who’d been chain-smoking since he was a teenager.

 

“Least this little fuck gets for what he done to me,” came the next voice, this one deeper, more threatening.

 

That’s it, thought Ryder. Just gotta figure out who that voice belongs to. Think, dammit.

 

“Whaddya say we get movin’, boss?” asked the third voice, a high, rat-like tone that sent irritation up Ryder’s spine as soon as he recalled it.

 

“Fine,” said the low voice. “Let’s get back to Rick’s and ride this fuckin’ storm out with some whiskey.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” said the first voice.

 

Rick’s … thought Ryder. That’s the bar in Riverdale where the Gremlins hang out.

 

It all hit Ryder like a bolt of lightning flung down to earth by Zeus himself—it was Franco Dupree.

 

Ryder took an angry drag from his smoke, Franco’s wide, pug-ugly face forming in his mind. He couldn’t believe that it’d taken him so long to realize that Franco, the leader of the Gremlins, and the man who’d sworn he’d take out Ryder no matter what the cost, was the one behind the attack.

 

Especially after what Ryder had pulled last week.

 

Last Tuesday, Ryder and the rest of the Midnight Hunters had gotten word that Franco and the Gremlins were going to be intercepting a drug shipment being sent through the city by one of Ryder’s ally clubs in New York. Ryder preferred not to mess with drugs too much—the risks were too high, despite the money—but let his friend know that he’d keep an eye on the shipment as it made its way through the city. And in doing that, he’d learned about Franco’s plan.

 

Ryder was almost pleased about it. From what he’d heard, Franco and his boys were looking at this interception like an easy payday, and his contacts had let Ryder know that some of the Gremlins were already spending the money in their heads, coming up with new operations that they could finance with the profit from the sale of the stolen drugs.

 

It was almost too good of an opportunity for Ryder to pass up. So, he decided to savor it. He laid a nice little trap for Franco, leading his men into thinking that the shipment would be nearly unguarded at some warehouse in New City where it would be swapped from one truck to another. Ryder and the Midnight Hunters posted up in the area, the trap set.

 

Sure enough, Franco and his boys couldn’t resist. They swaggered onto the scene, drunk and high out of their minds, ready to take the drugs that it looked like they already considered theirs.

 

Ryder took another drag of his smoke, a sly smile forming on his lips when he thought about the look on Franco’s ugly mug when Ryder and his crew surrounded him.

 

That’s one for the books, he thought. One to think about till your dying day.

 

The gunfight was quick and brutal. When the smoke cleared, Franco and the remaining members of his crew hightailed it out of there like a yelping gang of whipped pups. None of the Midnight Hunters had so much as a single scratch, while the Gremlins lost about half of their men. What Franco had figured would be an easy payday ended up being a blow that’d have the Gremlins crippled for the next year, at least.

 

Ryder let the New York crew know what had happened, and they were more than happy to send a nice little bonus his way for his quick, smart work. So, at least one of the Chicago crews had gotten paid that day.

 

But Ryder realized he’d made a miscalculation. He figured that Franco would be licking his wounds for the next few weeks, not risk losing even more men in some kind of half-baked revenge plan.

 

Ryder shook his head as it dawned on him what a bad call this had been. He should’ve known that Franco would be out for blood. Ryder’s screwup had almost cost him his life. And he had no idea if Franco was planning on some sort of attack on the rest of the Midnight Hunters. For all he knew, his boys could be in the fight of their lives right now.

 

And here I am, he thought, sitting in some cabin all warm and safe, getting soup fed to me by one of the hottest pieces of ass I’ve seen in a minute.

 

He wanted to get the hell out of there, to get back on his bike and check in with his boys. And most of all, he wanted to have his boot right on Franco’s neck, to watch his eyes bug out of his skull as Ryder pushed his boot further and further down.

 

Ryder whipped the butt of his smoke out into the snow, more frustrated than he’d been before. He’d solved the caper of just who’d tried to murder him, but now he had no other option but to sit around waiting until it was safe to move out.

 

“You okay?” asked Kara as Ryder strode back into the living room.

 

His blood was pumping and he was filled with purpose again. The last thing he wanted was to be lying around like a hospital patient.

 

“I need to get out of here as fast as fucking possible,” he said. “Got some skulls to crack.”

 

Kara’s eyes widened at that. Ryder checked himself, knowing that this girl was like an alien to his world, and that something as simple as planning a brutal revenge on an enemy was likely a shock to some like her.

 

“You’re gonna sit down and rest. Maybe in the morning we can talk about leaving. But for now, we’re stuck, and you’re gonna have to accept that.”

 

Ryder stood at the front window, looking out into the snow as though he might learn some new piece of information by doing so.

 

“Here,” said Kara, stepping into the kitchen and pulling out something from one of the cabinets. “I found something while you were out smoking. Something you might like.”

 

Ryder’s ears perked up. He turned to Kara and saw in her hands a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses.

 

Hottie with a bottle of whiskey, he thought to himself. Is there anything better?

 

“Why don’t you have a drink and relax?” she said. “I’m not really into liquor, but I’ll join you. Just … don’t get all crazy and turn this place into a scene from Roadhouse or something.”

 

Ryder smirked and stepped over to Kara. He leaned against the counter while Kara poured, his eyes on the amber liquid as she prepared a couple of measures.

 

“Here,” she said, handing him one of the glasses. “Go sit by the fire and take a load off.”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Ryder.

 

With that, he plucked the bottle of whiskey out of Kara’s hands and strode over to the fire. Sitting on the ground, he tossed back the tiny little pour in his glass before popping the cork out of the bottle with a “thoop” and taking a long pull.

 

“Just don’t get too messed up on that,” said Kara. “I’ve already cleaned up enough of your fluids for one day.”

 

A look of realization flashed on her face.

 

“And I found something else, too,” said Kara.

 

She ducked into the hallway and into one of the bedrooms, returning a few moments later with a record player topped with a stack of vinyls.

 

“Looks like our homeowner’s into jazz,” said Kara. “Care for some music?”

 

Ryder wasn’t the jazz type himself, preferring music that was fast, heavy, and with a lot thrashing guitars and screaming vocals. But some background noise did sound nice.

 

“Go for it.”

 

Kara plugged in the player and set a record spinning. Light jazz filled the room, a mournful trumpet carrying the melody.

 

“Miles Davis,” said Kara. “I love him. Always helps me relax.”

 

Ryder took a sip of his booze and tried to chill out.

 

“You look like you got some bad news out there or something,” she said. “You okay?”

 

Ryder looked away for a moment, trying to figure out just how much of his world he should let her in on.

 

“Just thinking about my bike,” he said. “Don’t want it to be out in the cold for any longer than necessary.”

 

Kara glanced out of the nearest window at the snowfall. As she did, Ryder felt his eyes track down her body once again, starting at the curve of her neck and following the gentle slope down until his eyes came to a rest on her ass.

 

Get your head right, he told himself. You got more important shit to worry about.

 

“Might be able to get it in the morning,” she said. “Assuming you’re in good enough shape to move.”

 

But he couldn’t help himself—Kara was looking better and better to him by the minute. Sipping his whiskey and letting the booze swim around his head, he found himself drawn to the girl. He thought quickly, realizing it’d been a few weeks since he’d been laid. The thought lingered in Ryder’s mind, and he considered how uptight this girl seemed.

 

Seems like the type who’d be spending her Saturday nights in a damn knitting circle or something, thought Ryder, taking another sip. Doesn’t strike me as the sort down to fuck someone she just met. Still … might be worth a shot. Could go for a good fuck.

 

He took another sip and shifted in his seat, now beginning to feel uncomfortably horny. More pain shot through his body as he moved, but Ryder was sure he could look past the throbbing and aching if it meant he’d get some action.

 

“Let me take a look at you,” she said.

 

Ryder heaved himself off of his seat and took a place on the couch next to Kara. Her eyes darted up and down his body, lingering on his wounds—not to mention his muscles. Ryder had to keep his smirk down, realizing that Kara was likely going through a little internal “to-fuck-or-not-to-fuck” debate of her own.

 

“You poor thing,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “I can’t believe you were so close to dying out there.”

 

Ryder pressed his mouth into a flat line. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was being pitied. And Kara seemed like the type for whom it came naturally. Kara reached forward and placed her hand on Ryder’s chest. A dull ache radiated outwards.

 

“That hurt?” she asked, flicking up her eyes and Ryder, her expression one of sympathy.

 

“Nah,” he said, lying just a bit.

 

He took another sip of his booze, realizing that as much as he hated pity, it just might be the angle to play to get Kara into bed. Indeed, her defenses seemed to be lowering by the moment as she looked over his battered body.

 

Ryder decided the time for playing around was over. Her hand still on his chest, he reached up and placed his own hand on the side of Kara’s neck. Her eyes shot to it, a slight gasp sounding. Then, she turned her big blue eyes back to Ryder, just in time for her to see him move in for a kiss.