Page 2 of Ryder

Of course, she didn’t listen, as was evident when another surge of pain hit. Knowing she wouldn’t stop until she was released, I rolled off her and hit the mattress on my side of the bed. For as much as I wanted to massage my leg, I remained still, doing my best to catch my breath, trying to understand why I was on top of her in the first place.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She sat up straight, scooting down the bed to put some distance between us. “I can’t deal with this much longer. Your nightmares are getting worse, this time affectingme.” It wasn’t until I saw her clutching her forearms that I tried to move closer. I glanced from her arms to her face, cursing silently when I saw the first tear fall. I reached for her, but she moved back. “Don’t touch me,” she rasped, more tears falling down her reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing I could think of to say, although I knew those two words weren’t enough to tell her how much I hated myself for hurting her, even though I had no idea I’d been doing it. I’d been trapped in another nightmare, helpless because I had no control when the past came to claim me.

Several minutes passed, allowing both of us to regain some sense of calm. When she finally cast her gaze toward me again, I saw her red and puffy eyes. Her breaths were still short and choppy, but not as erratic as when I’d first released her. I hated that I’d marked her, bruised her tender flesh while in the throes of my darkness.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, hoping she could see from my expression that I meant it. I was used to being guarded, keeping my past from everyone around me, including all of my brothers at the club. I figured if I told anyone it would make it real. I knew how ridiculous it sounded, my reasoning beyond irrational and fucked up, but it was how I chose to deal with my mother’s death—keep it close and private. It was the only way to protect the last piece of myself.

“Why won’t you ever tell me about your nightmares? Maybe I can help you,” she whispered, already preparing herself for the anger she knew was coming, even though I knew damn well she didn’t deserve any of it. Not that time, at least. Braylen certainly knew how to press my buttons, challenging me every single time she found an opportunity, but right then she was simply concerned.

An attribute I both appreciated and loathed.

Inhaling deeply, I clenched my jaw before shouting, “I told you I don’t remember my fuckin’ nightmares, so how the hell are you gonna help me?” I hopped off the bed and strode toward the bathroom, slamming the door before she could even respond. I knew she knew I was lyin’, but I didn’t want to give her a chance to call me on my bullshit.

After a hurried shower, I walked back into my bedroom only to be greeted with an empty space. Braylen left. I wasn’t surprised, though. Not in the least. I’d been a real ass, first by bruising her, then yelling at her as if she was at fault for my fucked-upness.

I should’ve chased after her.

I should’ve called and attempted some sort of half-assed apology.

I should’ve told her what haunted my dreams.

But I couldn’t do any of it. Instead, I collapsed on top of my bed, hoping she wouldn’t curse me out too bad when I finally did contact her.

Ryder

Slamming back my third beer, the alcohol did nothing to soothe my nerves. It’d been two days of silence from Braylen. Normally, I’d give her the time she needed, especially since I was usually the cause of her anger. Although for some reason, this time was bothering me more than normal. Was it because what I felt toward the woman had been intensifying over the past month?

But safety lived in silence and denial. It was how I’d survived this long, and I refused to change because of a woman.

Trying to push aside all thoughts of Braylen Prescott, I focused on gettin’ piss drunk and passing out. And since Trigger refused to serve me hard liquor, knowing damn well what happened when that stuff coursed through my veins, I had to drink what he offered—beer. But as long as it did the trick, I wouldn’t complain. Not too much, anyway.

“You’re unusually ornery tonight,” Trigger acknowledged. “What’s up your ass?” Slinging a towel over his shoulder, he went about cleaning up behind the bar. Trigger was the club’s resident bartender, lending an ear to those who needed it and givin’ shit to those who deserved it. Apparently I was the latter. Tucking strands of his graying hair that had come loose from his ponytail behind his ear, he locked eyes with me and waited for me to engage.

“Ornery? Since when did you start breakin’ out the big words?” I swallowed the rest of my drink, tapping the bar to indicate another. “Did you get one of those ‘word a day’ calendars? Deciding to test out your fake smarts on the likes of us?” My laugh was humorless. Giving someone else a hard time helped to take the attention off myself.

“Just because your dumb ass has a limited vocabulary doesn’t mean we all do,” he retorted, sliding a fresh glass my way.

I never let on that I was a smarty in school. High honors and all that good stuff. School came easily to me, numbers and theories the easiest. It was how I was able to help invest a lot of the club’s earnings years back, setting us all up for life with the returns.

“Whatever.” Focusing on losing myself to the suds in front of me, I zoned out and thought of nothing except becoming sloshed enough to barely keep my head up. But I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy, not planting my ass on a barstool at the club. When I’d arrived earlier, only Trigger was present, the rest of the guys out taking care of what they needed to before gathering back together.

Most days I loved the company, even though I was more on the quiet side, sittin’ back and takin’ it all in. But right then, I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Those hopes were dashed as I heard Breck, Cutter, Jagger and Tripp stride through the entrance.

“Holy shit!” Tripp shouted. “What brings you here, stranger?” The nomad of the club strolled toward me, clasping me on the shoulder once he closed in on me. “Where the hell you been?”

“I was just here the other day,” I gritted, keeping my simmering temper in check.

“Last week,” Cutter said as he walked toward the kitchen. If I thought I was a quiet one, Cutter had me beat, usually only speaking when he wanted to call people out on their bullshit.

“He’s too busy wrapped up in Braylen’s pussy,” Breck taunted, taking the seat next to me.Does he have some sort of death wish?“Tell us, Ryder, does she have a magic cunt?” He laughed, but it was cut short when I jumped up and hauled him off his chair by the scruff of his neck. There was a quick flash of fear in his eyes, but it was gone seconds after glancing at my drink of choice. Had I been drinking hard liquor, he probably would’ve pissed himself because he knew what I was capable of when it passed my lips. They all did. They’d seen it. Hell, they’d had to beat and restrain me to get me to calm the fuck down. Or pass out. Whichever came first.

“What?” Breck laughed. He was the complete opposite of his father. His unkempt shoulder-length brown hair and beard were way past due for a trimming. The biggest difference, however, was his ability to spout off at the mouth and irritate the fuck out of most of us because he never knew when to shut up. “It’s an honest question. We all wanna know.” He brought his drink to his lips even as I held him tightly in my grasp, spilling the contents down his front when I shoved him away from me. “Fuck,” he mumbled, wiping the dots of beer off his cut.

After chugging down the rest of my beer, I attempted to leave but Tripp stopped me, stepping in front of me and arching a brow. “You good?” Two simple words. Too bad he had no idea how complicated his question really was.

“Yup.”

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