Page 83 of Ryker

He thinks I’m talking about someone else. He has no idea I mean Tara.

“You have to breathe.” Vault loosens his hold on me. “Come on. In with the good shit. Out with the bullshit.”

I’m going to be sick. “I… I can’t….”

D stays in my face. “You can and you will. In…” He sucks in an exaggerated breath. “Out.” He blows out an exhale that hits me in the face. “In…” He inhales. “Out.” He exhales.

I finally manage to get with the program and my panic lessens, marginally. It’s enough for me to ease my grip on Vault's thighs. My vision clears too. “Your breath stinks.”

“No, it doesn’t,” D laughs.

He’s right. It doesn’t. He’s smacking on minty gum. “Thanks.” It’s been a long time since I had an episode like this.

“You want me to help you, uhhh, relieve some more pressure?” D tips his head where the floggers are.

“No.” I think that’s part of the reason my head’s so fucked right now. I’m having a drop. Too many emotions have popped up at once because of it.

Tara has been the best worst thing to ever walk into my life.

I fear I’m the same for her.

After a few more minutes of calm breathing, I tap Vault’s leg. “You can let me go now.”

“Awww, but I like it when we cuddle.”

Dmitri holds his hand out and pulls me to my feet. The room spins a little. “Shit. I’m dizzy.” Stumbling to the couch, I drop in it and cradle my head in my hands. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“You have a lot going on,” D says. “The club, your Butterfly, Greene Street.”

“Knox needs more money,” I blurt. “Brisbane Realty offered his father a lot of cash for the club, so he’s given Knox two months to get the rest of it up to code and running, or he’s selling it.”

“Jesus Christ.” D plops down next to me. “That asshole will make him do all the work and sell it off anyways, probably thinking he’ll get a higher price if it’s updated.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“How much more does he need?”

“Five hundred grand.”

Vault whistles. “On top of what you’ve already contributed? That place is not even worth it.”

“It’s all he has,” I say. But Vault is right. That club is a dump and even though Knox managed to turn the underground level into something great, the biggest part of the building still needs serious work. His father ran it into the ground and no amount of paint or leather seating will fix it. “We’re in too deep to let him fail now.”

As silent partners, Dmitri and I have given a lot of our savings to him already.

“Do you have any extra cash, Ry?” D rests his elbows on his knees. “’Cause I don’t.”

“Not after bidding at the ceremony,” I admit. The room finally stopped spinning and my perfect hearing is back. “I need the rest of my money for the auction of Greene Street.”

I’m not even sure I’ll have enough to cover it. Loans are out of the question. I refuse to ask for outside help.

“Maybe you shouldn’t bid on it, Ryker.”

There goes the joy of having my hearing back. Or maybe I’m hallucinating because I swear Dmitri just said that I shouldn’t buy the building. “Maybe you should mind your business.”

“Oh, it’s like that now?” He stands, stretching every bit of his six-foot-five self as he towers over me. “You just ran your Butterfly out of here, had an anxiety attack on the motherfucking floor, and you’re still stupid enough to not see what’s causing all your damn problems?”

“That building isn’t—”

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