Ryder
The muscles in my hand burned, the ache intensifying with no sign of relief. My knee was wedged into his back, holding him steady against the gravel beneath me. Rage bubbled inside me, overtaking any sense of rationality I had left, which was but a frazzled thread. Words tried to escape, but nothing passed my lips except my harsh breaths, panting like some kind of rabid animal.
Fury.
Revenge.
I felt it in spades but I couldn’t move from the spot I was frozen in. I tried so hard to exact my kind of justice, but my mind was spiraling out of control, ensnaring me deep in its tight grasp.
“Ryder.” I heard my name as if it’d been whispered. I’d been staring into the face of the man who’d changed my world forever, but his lips never moved. “Ryder,” I heard again, that time a little louder. Before I could shout out and ask who said my name, the man I’d been pinning down vanished, as if he’d never even been there.
All of a sudden a sharp pain radiated through my leg. “Ryder!” A female voice captured the letters of my name, shouting out in fear and anger, both emotions mixed together to form a jolt that thrust me from whatever world had dragged me under, trapped in the deepest recesses of my mind. My eyes were already open, but as my vision tunneled and then expanded, I realized that Braylen was lying on her back . . . and I was pinning her to the mattress. Her legs were spread wide and flailing, my knee wedged between them to keep them apart. I’d captured both of her arms with my large hands, trapping her so she was utterly defenseless. That was until another wave of pain shot through my calf again.
“Fuck!” I yelled, staring down into the face of the woman who’d been sharing my bed for the past five months. Her wild blonde hair was fanned out on the pillow, the look in her eyes telling me she was gonna lay into me as soon as I fully came back into the moment.
“Get off me,” she cried out. “You’re hurting me.” She bucked beneath me and, although she didn’t possess the physical ability to budge me, her show of strength was enough to tell me she meant business. Before I could move, however, she kicked me again, that time the heel of her foot grinding into the tensed muscle of my calf.
“Goddamnit, Bray, stop fuckin’ kickin’ me.”
Of course, she didn’t listen, as was evident when another surge of pain hit. Knowing she wouldn’t stop until she was released, I rolled off her and hit the mattress on my side of the bed. For as much as I wanted to massage my leg, I remained still, doing my best to catch my breath, trying to understand why I was on top of her in the first place.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She sat up straight, scooting down the bed to put some distance between us. “I can’t deal with this much longer. Your nightmares are getting worse, this time affecting me.” It wasn’t until I saw her clutching her forearms that I tried to move closer. I glanced from her arms to her face, cursing silently when I saw the first tear fall. I reached for her, but she moved back. “Don’t touch me,” she rasped, more tears falling down her reddened cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing I could think of to say, although I knew those two words weren’t enough to tell her how much I hated myself for hurting her, even though I had no idea I’d been doing it. I’d been trapped in another nightmare, helpless because I had no control when the past came to claim me.
Several minutes passed, allowing both of us to regain some sense of calm. When she finally cast her gaze toward me again, I saw her red and puffy eyes. Her breaths were still short and choppy, but not as erratic as when I’d first released her. I hated that I’d marked her, bruised her tender flesh while in the throes of my darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, hoping she could see from my expression that I meant it. I was used to being guarded, keeping my past from everyone around me, including all of my brothers at the club. I figured if I told anyone it would make it real. I knew how ridiculous it sounded, my reasoning beyond irrational and fucked up, but it was how I chose to deal with my mother’s death—keep it close and private. It was the only way to protect the last piece of myself.
“Why won’t you ever tell me about your nightmares? Maybe I can help you,” she whispered, already preparing herself for the anger she knew was coming, even though I knew damn well she didn’t deserve any of it. Not that time, at least. Braylen certainly knew how to press my buttons, challenging me every single time she found an opportunity, but right then she was simply concerned.
An attribute I both appreciated and loathed.
Inhaling deeply, I clenched my jaw before shouting, “I told you I don’t remember my fuckin’ nightmares, so how the hell are you gonna help me?” I hopped off the bed and strode toward the bathroom, slamming the door before she could even respond. I knew she knew I was lyin’, but I didn’t want to give her a chance to call me on my bullshit.
After a hurried shower, I walked back into my bedroom only to be greeted with an empty space. Braylen left. I wasn’t surprised, though. Not in the least. I’d been a real ass, first by bruising her, then yelling at her as if she was at fault for my fucked-upness.
I should’ve chased after her.
I should’ve called and attempted some sort of half-assed apology.
I should’ve told her what haunted my dreams.
But I couldn’t do any of it. Instead, I collapsed on top of my bed, hoping she wouldn’t curse me out too bad when I finally did contact her.