Page 45 of Ryker

Dmitri breaks through the back door. “There’s nothing in the basement,” he says, out of breath. “I’ll check the kitchen. Vault took the server room and offices.”

Shit, maybe the fire started in the walls or a bedroom? “Is everyone out?”

“It’s only me, you, Vault, and Sophie.” Dmitri runs a hand over his shaved head. “And Tara.”

Sophie should have gone home already, so the fact that she’s still here worries me because who else might be here, unaccounted for? My employees always go above and beyond for me. It wouldn’t be surprising if some of my staff were already setting up scenes for tonight. Besides, the cleaning staff might still be finishing up somewhere we haven’t accounted for yet.

The faster I get Tara to safety, the faster I can help my friends.

At least she’s stopped kicking her feet and smacking my shoulders.

“I’ll be back,” I say to Dmitri. Hurrying out of the alley, I carry Tara to my car and set her down once I’m sure the road is clear of debris. “Sit in my car and wait for me.” Digging my key fob out of my pocket, I unlock my Audi s6 and open the door for her. “If you get scared or if you see smoke, drive off, okay?”

“What?”

“Do what I say, Tara.” I’m not sure if there’s really a fire or not, but worst-case scenarios creep into my mind and I don’t want Tara injured from an explosion or something. “Get in.”

She obeys—thank fuck—and I slam the door shut to seal her inside before running back to my crew.

Chapter 16

Tara

Ryker Hudson is unpredictable. I don’t think I like it. As he runs back into his sex club, I take a deep breath and blow it out. Leaning back in the leather seat, I grip the steering wheel and stare down at my lap as I try to make a plan. The silk robe I’m in barely covers my goods. The pedal and brake both feel rough against my soft, pedicured bare feet.

This is ridiculous.

I’m leaving.

Starting the engine, I feel a slight pang of guilt. What if Ryker needs my help?

He has Dmitri and Vault, dumbass. He doesn’t need a woman in a barely there silk robe and no shoes coming to anyone’s rescue.

Realizing how very useless I’ve become, especially dressed this way, only flares my anger more. This is Ryker’s fault. If he hadn’t been such a controlling dicktwat and let me have my fucking clothes, I could be helping instead of running.

Now I’m really fucking pissed.

If there were flames shooting out of the windows, I wouldn’t hesitate to run in there to help—silk robe be damned. But there’s nothing. I didn’t even smell smoke while he rushed us out of there. For some reason, it makes this situation feel even lamer. Not that I want his place of business to burn to the ground or anything, but being carried out, then instructed to sit tight while he leaves to make sure everyone’s safe and handles this chaos himself, while I’m wrapped in a white silk robe in a dumb car, makes me rage.

I’m not a delicate butterfly, no matter what my temporary title is here.

Did someone pull that lever and fake a fire?

Wait a damn minute…

Did Ryker set this whole thing up to distract me and separate us again?

“Fuck this.” I slam the car in drive and take off.

Twenty minutes later, I pull my, I mean Mr. Hudson’s car, up to the front of my condo complex.

Garret glares at me from the front door of the building.

Great. Just fucking perfect.

Humiliation finds me wherever I go.

My stepbrother storms around the front of the car and the urge to run him over is strong enough that I have to put it in park, so I don’t actually commit murder this early in the day.

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