Page 88 of Cold Carnage

But I knew it was futile. The reality of our situation loomed over us like a dark cloud, threatening to burst at any moment.

As he finished dressing, he glanced at me one last time before turning away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the suffocating silence that followed in his wake.

I threw on my shirt and hurried after him. He was already at the door, shrugging into his sweater with a kind of mechanical detachment that twisted my insides.

"How are you going to get home?" I asked. "I was your ride, remember?"

"I'll manage," he replied, his tone cold.

"Ryker, I?—"

Before I could finish, he was on me. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pushed me against the wall. His eyes, dark blue and stormy, bored into mine. There was so much flashing in them—anger, pain, something else I couldn't quite decipher—but his lips remained pressed together in a thin line.

"Just… stay away from me," he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart cracked with each word.

"That's what you want, right? So… stop."

He released me abruptly, stepping back as if my touch burned him. The sudden emptiness where his hands had been felt like a gaping wound.

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the door. The sound of it closing echoed in the room like a final goodbye.

I stood there for a moment, leaning against the wall for support as I tried to steady my breathing. The room seemed colder now that he was gone, the silence pressing in on me from all sides.

What had just happened? The intensity of our exchange left me reeling. Part of me wanted to run after him, to force him to talk to me, to explain himself. But another part of me knew that it wouldn't do any good. Ryker was a fortress built on years of pain and perfectionism, and no amount of pushing would make him let me in.

I sighed and pushed myself off the wall, rubbing my arms as if I could warm myself up that way. This wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what either of us needed. But maybe it was what we deserved.

With a heavy heart, I walked back to my room and sat down on the edge of the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from our earlier encounter, a bitter reminder of everything that had just happened—and everything that couldn't be undone.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to gather the strength to move forward. Because no matter how much this hurt right now, I knew one thing for sure: giving up wasn't an option.

Not for me.

Chapter 26

Ryker

The morning air hit me like a slap as I stepped out of the house. Brendan stood on the sidewalk, eyes blazing. Before I could register the fury in his expression, his fist connected with my face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice was raw, almost feral. He tried to take another swing, but I caught his wrist.

"Brendan, what the hell?—"

He yanked free, nostrils flaring. "What the fuck are you doing, coming out of her house in clothes you wore yesterday?" His eyes scanned me, burning with accusation.

I said nothing. The truth clawed at my throat but stayed buried. His fist came at me again. This time, I didn't just block it—I hit back. Hard.

"You fucked her?" His voice broke on the question, rage and betrayal dripping from every word. "You fucked my girl?"

Something snapped inside me. The dam of self-control I'd built over years of striving for perfection crumbled. My hands moved before my mind caught up, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling back.

Brendan lunged, fists flying in wild arcs. I met him head-on, grappling and trading blows on the sidewalk like animals. Each punch carried years of unresolved pain and anger—his accusations cutting deeper than any physical wound.

We crashed into a parked car, setting off its alarm. Brendan's knee came up into my ribs; I retaliated with an elbow to his jaw. Blood dripped from his split lip onto my shirt as we wrestled for dominance.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I growled through clenched teeth, pinning him against the car.

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