Page 4 of Without Fail

The big hat-wearing man came after them and caught the second kidnapper by the throat, pulled him out of the van, and tossed him to the ground.

“You okay?” his rescuer asked gruffly and held out a hand to him.

Ryker felt dazed, but he was fine, a hell of a lot better than he could have been. Slowly, he took the man’s hand. As he was helped from the van, the two kidnappers rolled to their feet andtook off running down the street. Chris shoved to his feet, picked up their phones, and walked over to them.

“Should I call 911?” Chris asked.

Ryker shook his head.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said belatedly to the guy. “Thank you.” He took his phone from Chris, but his eyes were on the man who’d saved him.

“Why no cops?” Chris wanted to know.

“My father will handle it,” Ryker said.

“Let me see you safely home,” his savior said gruffly, his eyes shadowed by the brim of a black cowboy hat.

When the man tipped his head up, Ryker caught a glimpse of blue eyes. He had to crane his neck way back to gaze up at the man who would later, that very same day, become his bodyguard until he left for school.

His father, Robert Langston III, had been grateful when he had returned home with Marshal in tow. After a lengthy discussion, and Ryker was sure some detailed investigation, his dad had offered Marshal a job on the spot.

“What happened to the kidnappers?” Syn asked when he stopped speaking.

“I found out later that they both died from overdoses.” Ryker held Syn’s gaze. It wasn’t a stretch to realize Robert Langston had had a hand in their demise. “So, that’s the story.”

“So, what are you going to do now?” Syn asked.

“Now? I’m going to get him to come back.”

Marshal may have been their family-employed bodyguard and even though Ryker had wished for things to be different between them, theyhadat least been friends…or so he’d thought.

“So, you’re not pissed at him anymore?”

“Yeah, I’m pissed. He left without a fucking word,” Ryker said, scowling before he tossed back the rest of his booze.

“And you have no idea why he suddenly left?” Syn frowned into what remained of his drink.

“I honestly don’t know. One day, I turned around and found his resignation on my desk.”

The stunned devastation he’d felt holding Marshal’s resignation letter was something he would never forget.

“Well then, you, my friend, need a makeover.”

“Why?” He frowned.

“Because looking good makes us feel good.”

Ryker rolled his eyes with a snort. “I’ll never look good again.”

“Don’t say that. Let’s go shopping. A new outfit will do wonders.” Syn turned in his chair toward him.

“After I have my surgery. I can’t go out like this…no fucking way.”

Ryker covered the marred half of his face with one hand. The car crash that had damaged his face seven months ago had left visible scars a cosmetic surgeon said could not all be fixed.

He knew what he looked like without gazing in a mirror. An angry V-shaped scar ran from the top right of his forehead, angling down to his upper right cheek before it cut diagonally across his cheek to end just at his chin. His shorn head helped deliver the brutality of it all.

At least he wasn’t bald any longer; he now had enough hair that he could style it a bit.

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