Page 63 of Ryder

He groans. “Damn, this is delicious.”

Unease creeps back up my spine. “Did you talk to Claire?”

He nods and swallows. “Yep. She’s in her room. I went up there and knocked. I didn’t want to open the door for fear your woman was packing panties or some shit. I told her you would be here momentarily.”

I’m already moving toward the stairs. “What did she say?”

“She said to tell you to wait down here. She’ll be down in a minute.”

No. I don’t like that a bit. I haven’t seen her for hours. I need to touch her. Something is fucking bothering me. I run up the stairs and grab the door handle with no intention of knocking.

It’s locked. “Claire? Open the door, baby.” My voice is strained.

There’s no response. Total silence.

“Claire?” I try the door again. It’s definitely locked. “Claire!”

Tiago must have heard me shouting because he’s right behind me in seconds. “What the hell?”

I jiggle the doorknob again, and then I hear something that makes my blood run cold. “You told me we had two hours,” the voice growls.

Fuck. Smith? I’ve never met the man, so I don’t know his voice, but what the fuck isanyman doing in my girl’s bedroom?

“I thought we did,” Claire whispers loudly. Her distressed tone makes me step back so I can get a hard kick at the door. This apartment is old and in disrepair. The door to her bedroom is flimsy. It gives way on the first kick, crashing into the room and slamming into the wall.

The sight before me makes me beyond furious. The man—I assume this is Smith—is holding my girl with her back to his chest. He has one hand around her torso, pinning her to him. The other hand holds a knife to her neck.

Claire’s eyes are wide. She’s not moving. Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

“Let her go, Smith,” I order.

Smith backs up. “Not a chance. She’s mine, you fuckwad. She’s been mine for years. You can’t waltz into town and take what’s mine. She doesn’t want your fucking money. She wants a real man her own age. Not someone who could be her father.”

Claire is holding her breath. She has a grip on Smith’s forearm at her chest, but she’s not strong enough to hold him off.

I inch into the room, Tiago next to me.

Smith grips my woman tighter, bringing the knife closer to her neck. I swear if that fucker cuts her… One drop of blood, and there’s a good chance he won’t live to see another day.

Suddenly, and surprising the hell out of me, Tiago lifts a gun in front of him. His voice is menacing as he grits out, “Put the fucking knife down and let her go, or your brain is going to be splattered on the wall in about two seconds.”

Smith’s eyes widen, but he’s a moron. He pulls Claire more firmly in front of him as a shield. “Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll stab her in the neck and you can watch her bleed out.” He bends his knees to keep his head mostly behind Claire’s. What kind of fucked-up piece of shit uses the woman he supposedly wants as a human shield?

Claire’s eyes are on the knife, and the moment Smith moves to adjust his grip, she tips her head forward a few inches and slams it back—right into Smith’s nose.

Smith screams as he releases her to grab his face with one hand.

Claire drops to her hands and knees and scrambles out of the way.

I lurch forward, swing out a leg, and hook Smith behind the knees, taking him down.

The knife hits the floor and slides across the hardwood while I pounce on Smith at the same time as Tiago. There is no contest. Smith is lanky and weak. Tiago and I are in much better shape and larger than him.

We have him pinned face-down in seconds, and I’m particularly pleased that blood is gushing from his nose. My woman did that.

When I glance in her direction, she’s holding out a roll of packing tape. I can’t believe she has the wherewithal to think of that. She’s strong and fierce, and I love her more at this moment than I ever have.

Tiago holds Smith while I start taping his wrists together. I make it far tighter than necessary and move down to his ankles next. I glance at Tiago. “Why did you happen to have a gun on you?”

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