Page 71 of Ryker

The door unlocks and I open it for her, just so she can storm inside and head back to her suite. Christ, she’s sexy when she’s mad. Her hips sway more when she’s in a bad mood, too. My mouth waters at the fantasy of fucking every ounce of aggression out of her body and mine.

When we reach her suite, I’m still five steps behind her, slowly reeling in my thoughts and closing all the open tabs in my brain. Tara deserves a big fat apology, and that’s all I should focus on right now. Knox’s club can wait another day or two. Greene Street isn’t until the end of the month. And Dmitri will understand if I lock myself in with my Butterfly for a while.

Tara opens her suite door, slips inside, and promptly slams it in my face. Then I hear it lock.

What. The. Fuck.

“Tara!” I slam the heel of my palm against the woodgrain.

“Leave me alone, Ryker.”

God damnit. “Let me in.”

“Fuck you.”

I deserve this and so much more. “I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my forehead against the door. “Please let me in.” When she doesn’t answer, I apologize three more times. Embarrassment heats my cheeks because I know this is all being caught on video. That means D and Vault will know I’ve acted out of line and they’re going to give me shit for it, too.

As they should.

I’ll suffer the consequences of my actions, but first I want to apologize to Tara the right way—face-to-face—not behind a god damned door.

Is she crying in there? Setting the room on fire? Watching TV? Taking a nap? Or is she pressed against the other side of this door, listening to me grovel? I could pull the surveillance app up on my phone and watch her from my cell, but I don’t. I think knowing the truth will gut me no matter what she’s doing in there.

An hour goes by, and I haven’t budged or uttered another word. Then something in me breaks a little. Dropping my head in defeat, my arms braced against the doorjamb, my shoulders sag. “Tara, please.”

She swings the door open, and a ragged breath rattles out of me. “I’m so—”

“That’s not an apology. You better beg,” she says, with her perfect plucked eyebrow arched.

I’m falling down a motherfucking rabbit hole. Rendered speechless, I take three tries to find my voice. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“On your knees, Ryker.”

Anger flares in me, but I drop to the floor, anyway. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

She hugs herself even as she glowers down at me. “Sorry for what?”

“For being an asshole.” Tara rolls her eyes and tries to shut the door in my face again, but I thrust my arm out, slamming my palm into it and knocking it wide open. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m sorry I made you serve us at Knox’s and made you crawl on that fucking floor. I’m sorry I told you to put your mouth to good use and suck my dick in the car.”

“And?”

And? What the hell else did I do? What am I forgetting? “And…” At a loss, I stare at the floor and scramble to come up with what more I should apologize for.

“Say you’re sorry for not letting me speak.”

“I’m sorry for not letting you speak.” Wait. What? “Butterfly, I didn’t silence you.”

“Yes, you did.”

When I try to stand, she steps forward and shoves me back down. “Stay on your knees.”

Now she’s pushing it. “I didn’t silence you, Tara.”

“You did. When I tried to offer my help in the car regarding the permits, you cut me off and acted like the only thing I was good for was giving you road-head.”

“I already apologized for that.”

“Not properly, you haven’t.” She steps back and sweeps her hands. “You can come in. But you’ll do it on your hands and knees.”

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