Page 110 of Ravaged Saints

I lean into him and kiss him gently, “We are over it, okay?”

He nods, a smile spreading on his face, and we head out of the bathroom. I turn toward my room when I spot Ryker heading to the opposite side and stopping in front of Knox’s door, his brows drawn tight.

“Everything okay?” I ask, noting the tension in his posture. Something’s bugging him.

“Someone came out of Knox’s room last night.” I see the worry on his face.

“Dante?” I ask. Knox and Dante have their late-night drinks and card games. It’s not uncommon for them to be in each other’s rooms.

He shakes his head. “I think it was Ethan.”

That makes me pause. “Why the hell would Ethan be in Knox’s room?” I knock, but I already know Knox is up. When there’s no answer, I try the door, and it’s unlocked, so I step inside, scanning the room. Nothing seems out of place, but Knox would’ve noticed if something was moved.

“You still think Ethan’s up to something?” I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms, and Ryker’s eyes roam the space, searching. If there’s anything to find, he’ll be the one to do it.

“Not just me.” He shifts his weight, hesitating.

I step closer. “Who else?”

He takes a deep breath, and I can see the doubt in his eyes. “Who, Ryker?” His jaw tenses.

“Aspen, but she made me promise not to tell anyone.” He glances around, ensuring no one else is listening.

“What did Aspen say, Ryk?” My voice drops low, and I move closer to him.

“Bryn told her something weird. That Ethan had some sort of plan to make the base—” He stops, rubbing the back of his head, his tell for when he’s anxious. “A better place.”

“What the fuck?” My temper flares, and I shut the door harder than I meant to.

“Yeah. She wants proof he’s up to something and asked for my help.” His gaze locks onto mine.

“Why you?” Not that Ryker isn’t the best man for this kind of thing—his codename is Recon for a reason. He can find a fucking needle in a haystack.

“She knows I’m already onto Ethan.” He shrugs.

“Right.” I nod. “Where is Ethan now?”

Ryker glances at Ethan’s door, strides toward it, and knocks, but there is no answer. He tries the knob. Locked.

My pulse quickens. In almost ten years, Ethan’s never locked his door. None of us do. The first time a door was locked, it was to keep Aspen from running again.

“Watch the stairs,” I say, heading to my room. I grab my old lockpick set, and within a minute, the lock clicks open, and Ryker moves inside with his usual smoothness.

It takes him a few minutes before his eyes lock on something. “Is this a map?” he asks, holding up a folded paper.

I step closer and frown. “That’s the base.”

Ryker’s jaw tenses as he unfolds the paper completely. “Look at the names.” He hands it to me.

Rooms. Cells. Women’s hold. Prisoners’ hold. Tactical room.

A cold chill slithers down my spine as I read, my hands trembling against the paper. My stomach knots so tight it hurts.

“What the fuck is this?” The words barely make it past my lips, strangled by the rage boiling under my skin. My pulse pounds against my skull, heat prickling along my arms.

Women’s hold? My breath stutters. We don’t have prisoner hold rooms. We don’t have fucking cells.

“Is this what Ethan is planning?!”

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