Page 33 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

Adrian scoffed and shook his head. “Should I tell Riri you’re shirking out on the chores?”

“I call it delegating,” Raptor said, and they both laughed.

“Seriously, man, everything good?” he asked.

Raptor nodded. “The woman drives me fucking crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Crazy suits you,” he replied. They both knew full well Riley grounded Raptor. He hadn’t earned the name for nothing—man was a beast on a bike, could and would surpass anything on two wheels—but outside of his element, he needed her to stay sane.

“Crazy would suit you too, little bro,” Raptor said with a sideways glance, a smile curling up one half of his mouth. “One day, you’ll find a woman who’s worth more than all this.” He motioned to the spread of manufactured metal and swirling leftover smoke. “That one person who can see and appreciate even the broken parts of you, who makes you think, damn, that’s why I’m here.” He threw his hands up. “Life means nothing without her.”

Adrian swallowed and ground out his cigarette.

Yeah, he might know what Raptor was talking about.

Jade eyes peering at him in the moonlight, strawberry sweet lips and a laugh that haunted his best dreams. A woman who saw him as more than a man, who could shine brighter than any star. Bright enough to illuminate his permanent residence of dread and regret.

“Shit,” Raptor said, drawing out the word in a low hum. “What’s her name?”

Fuck. Those heart eyes must’ve returned.

“Too good for a guy like me,” Adrian said. “That’s her name.”

“Ah, yeah.” Raptor chuckled and stood from the chair to clap him on the shoulder. “I used to call Riley that, too.”

???

He shouldn’t need revenge. He knew that.

A week and some change had passed since dinner with Riley and Raptor, and he’d mulled over what to do again and again. Threaded his hands back and forth around that ribbon Riley had sent him home with. Over and over. She told him to use it on someone at the salon and teased that’d be the only place he could find a girlfriend. The pack she’d bought came with plenty of colors—black and pink being her favorites, but he took the purple one.

For a wannabe purple-haired witch, if he ever got to talk to her again.

He didn’t know how to fix himself without getting closure on the past, but the problem with chasing vengeance was that it would inevitably fuck with the future.

So, for the present, he worked. He went to class and rubbed the fading cuts on his knuckles. Came to terms with the fact that the violence connected to the Dragons, indirect or not, had ended his father’s life. Almost ended his, and took his best friend, too.

Daylight passed as he traveled from one place to another. Nighttime stretched between pages of his textbook and breaks like the one he took now, smoking out on the porch as he gazed up at a web of constellations and the dark void that stitched them together.

He crushed a half-used cigarette in an empty sardine can and sighed. Instead of smoke, hot vapor fogged from his lips before disappearing into the chilled air.

The one person who’d been able to move on from all this had been his boss. Vera helped countless others to find peace, but the longer he searched for it, the more elusive it became.

Forcing himself into a domestic life felt like a lie, a disgrace to his father’s legacy of finishing what he started. Someone had stolen it—taken their father’s chance to walk his daughter down the aisle, to attend his son’s graduation, to watch his wife age into a graceful old lady.

No. He couldn’t forget, much less forgive.

Even if he didn’t act on it, he had to know who pulled the trigger. A name, that was all.

He wouldn’t stir up shit and cause trouble for Raptor or Riley. He wouldn’t pick up the pistol in his dresser drawer like he’d planned.

For the first few years, all he’d thought about was an eye for an eye. Three bullets for three lives. He’d roll them around in his palm, the metal heating to the boiling point of his blood as he planned his revenge.

One shot to the knee, so they could never stand straight again.

One shot to the shoulder, so they could never pick up another gun.

Then one shot between the eyes, so they’d be forced to face death themselves.

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