Page 7 of Ryder

Ryder had been acting funny for a couple months, although I couldn’t pinpoint exactly how. It was a gut feeling, a warning that something explosive would erupt soon enough, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be around to help pick up the pieces.

While I cared for him—more than I wanted to, honestly—I feared that he’d destroy me if he continued to keep me in the dark.

If secrets festered long enough, they would devour a person’s soul, leaving them black and dying on the inside, blocking the smallest glimpse of healing light.

“Work your magic, sweetheart.” Taking a surprised breath, I lowered my arm to my side, the lightweight shears almost slipping from my fingers. I’d been lost in thought yet again and had completely ignored the client sitting in my chair. Taking a step back, I tried to gather myself, but it was too late. He’d seen my loss of focus. “Are you okay?”

“Um . . . yeah. Sure. Sorry about that. Now where were we?” I plastered on a big fake smile and turned his chair to the side so I could better assess the length of his hair, which hadn’t grown too much since I’d seen him two weeks prior.

George had become a regular client of mine, his incessant need to make sure his hair was trimmed every couple weeks kind of amusing. But hey, I wasn’t complaining. Besides, he was a great tipper.

I had the good fortune to work at my best friend’s salon, Transform. Sia offered me a job as soon as I graduated cosmetology school, promising me a lucrative career with her clientele. I not only worked with all things hair, of course, but I was also certified in nails, waxing, etc. Name it, and I did it, which put me a leg up from most of the other women who worked there.

After only a year, Sia offered me the manager position, telling me she was desperate for someone with my organizational and people skills. And while the offer, complete with generous salary, was indeed tempting, all I wanted to do was come in, handle my shifts, chat with my clients and perform the magic on them they’d come to expect from me.

Sia was disappointed but understood. She ended up hiring a string of interim managers, none of them having what it took to help run an upscale salon. Because I felt bad and wanted to help her out until she found someone more permanent, I agreed to assist with some of the duties if she handled the rest—mainly dealing with the staff. I took care of inventory and bookkeeping while she dealt with scheduling, the stylists and whatever else popped up that required her attention.

“Just the usual today.” He smiled at me as I turned his chair back toward the mirror.

“You know, I might start to think you have a crush on me,” I teased, snapping the black cape closed that I had draped over him to protect from hair shavings.

“Who says I don’t,” he replied, winking at my reflection before flashing me his pearly whites. “Why do you think I come in so often?”

“I thought you had an agenda.” I returned his smile as I ran my fingers through his short tresses. There wasn’t much for me to do except clean his edges and polish him up. After ten minutes, I’d done all I could, turning him from side to side to make sure everything looked even.

I walked around his chair to stand in front of him, bending down to check out the front of his hair. My eyes were glued to his blond strands while his were glued to my breasts. My V-shaped top certainly showed a bit of cleavage, nothing obscene, although apparently the display was enough. Clearing my throat, his green eyes popped up to mine, a wolfish grin on his face at the knowledge that he’d been caught, although he didn’t appear embarrassed by it. Not entirely, at least.

I figured there could be worse things in life than having the attentions of a handsome man. George appeared to be close to my age of twenty-four, although he could’ve been a couple years older. He looked young but distinguished. During one of our conversations, he’d told me he was a corporate lawyer of some sort. He stopped talking about his job when he saw my eyes glaze over. I’d apologized, telling him I didn’t understand anything he’d tried to explain. He didn’t seem put out by my lack of interest, thank God, as was apparent with the fifty-dollar tip he left me, and when he returned time and time again to sit in my chair.

On top of being successful before the age of thirty, he was stereotypically handsome. A full head of thick hair, light green eyes, and a sculpted jawline. His face was clean-shaven, giving him that younger appeal. The only thing not symmetrical on him was a tiny bump on the bridge of his nose, but it did nothing to detract from his good looks. But for as handsome as he was, he just wasn’t my type.

Apparently my type was a dark-haired, rugged-looking, stubborn biker who was a pain in my ass as of late. Oh hell, who was I kidding? Ryder had been a pain in my ass since the first day I met him. Since he’d so eloquently told me that I needed a good fuck to calm me down.

“So, tell me, Braylen. Do you have a man?” George’s words drew me back into the present. He was staring up at me, waiting for me to say something, but when I opened my mouth to answer, a rough voice cut me off, shutting down any reply I had. Stealing my choice to tell him I was indeed involved with someone, although we were kind of going through some stuff at the moment. Of course, I would’ve censored my response.

“Yeah, she does.” Whipping around, I saw Ryder standing ten feet behind me, glaring at George’s reflection in the mirror, looking all intimidating and . . . sexy.

Oh for the love of God, stop lusting after him while he’s embarrassing the hell out of you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Apparently interrupting something.” His mood was sour. His tall, broad frame was drawn tight, the muscles of his bare forearms dancing under the weight of his obvious displeasure. Ryder stood there in all his stubborn, infuriating glory, dressed in dark-washed jeans, a white T-shirt, and his Knights Corruption leather vest—or cut, as he often referred to it. He’d just witnessed another man openly flirting with me; I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he snapped. I had to do something and fast before the situation escalated out of control.

“I’ll be right back, George,” I offered, giving him an apologetic smile before removing his cape.

“Sure thing. I’ll wait right here.” What he said was innocent enough, but Ryder jumped all over him anyway.

“I think it’s best you get outta here before I toss you out on your ass.” Ryder took a step forward, but I stepped in front of him, blocking his advance toward my client. Pushing on his chest, I tried my best to move him back, but he continued to shoot daggers at the guy. I thought I heard George snicker, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I had to remove Ryder from the salon before he really caused a scene. As it was, a few of the other employees and their clients were casting wary glances toward us.

“Go outside,” I rasped, unable to contain my anger any longer because of the embarrassment he’d caused me. “Now!” I whisper-shouted as I shoved at him once more. The man was like a goddamn marble statue, unyielding except for the flicker in his eyes telling me he’d comply.

Reaching for my hand, he clasped it tightly and practically dragged me from the salon, walking briskly down the sidewalk until we were out of sight from any onlookers inside Transform. Thankfully there weren’t too many people milling around outside, everyone locked up inside the shops and spending their money.

“What the fuck, Braylen?”

“What is wrong with you?” I asked, choosing to ignore his question. “What are you even doing here?” My back faced the concrete wall between a high-end boutique and a fancy shoe store. I kept my eyes pinned to his, and for several seconds we entered some sort of deranged staring contest, both of us trying to mentally overpower the other.

Ryder eventually broke. “What areyoudoing?”

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