“Who?”
She couldn’t explain how she went after a bounty and failed, how if she’d been smarter, more aware of what was happening, not as aggressive or something… If she had not decided on that bounty target to hunt—a high-level Russian gang member—they never would have passed her to the Russian gunrunners who were making inroads with Mayhem on the Highway 35 corridor. “No idea…”
“Sorry.”
“They traded me, sent me to another country and when I had the chance to take Ivan’s life, I failed.” The pathetic words ran off her tongue, and she had to get back to the point of reliving all of this.
“Victoria—”
“I’m weak. I don’t deserve whatever misplaced attention or respect you’re giving me.” She pulled back.
Ryder leaned an inch forward. “Say whatever you want to say as often as you want to say it, love.”
“Why aren’t you listening to me?” Frustration seared her throat. That Australian accent of his, thick and low in her ear, made her ache in irritation almost as much as she wanted to lean closer. The feel of his presence acted like a security blanket in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Did you feel better after you slept?” His low voice rumbled.
“Yes.” She nodded.
“You’ll be even better with food in your system. Let’s go.” Ryder’s thumb stroked her skin before he urged her forward. “Trust me.”
Victoria wanted to, and there was something in his voice that reminded her of sleeping in his arms.
“Off we go, love.”
Not much of a choice, and they passed an alarm clock turned away from the bed as they walked out. 1:32 AM. She’d slept for almost twelve hours. Ryder didn’t leave her side for that long?
Her bare feet padded next to his socks, and they moved down a long hallway to stairs. There was a child-safety gate at the top of the staircase, and he took her hand as they went down in the dark. There were nightlights along the way, and at the bottom, they hooked a right, and he led them into the kitchen.
“The holy grail,” Ryder mumbled as he hit a few light switches. The bright overhead lights blasted on, and he cursed, slapping them off. “Too much. Hang on.” Finally, he found the under-cabinet lighting. “Better, yeah?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Good.” He beelined for a mammoth fridge. “All right. Let’s see what we have.” After a quick pull, he perused the side door and began to pull out Tupperware containers, occasionally pausing to read labels.
“I’m not sure how hungry I am.” She eyed all the food he was removing.
“You’re starved. I heard your stomach. And so am I.”
Her cheeks flashed hot. Well, all right then. “My stomach might not physically be able to hold as much as yours.”
“Either way, no one will accuse me of not feeding you. Mia’s cute and all, but she’s also scary deadly too. Don’t let the manners and smile fool you.”
Victoria laughed, and Ryder stopped, stared, and went back to the fridge.
“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing.” He didn’t turn around, peeking behind the milk in case a rogue vat of leftovers had escaped his inspection. “Just hadn’t heard you laugh before. It’s a good sound.”
Warmth ran through her as she smiled. It wasn’t the same as the hot flash of embarrassment earlier, even though the fact he said that made her even more self-conscious about… everything. It was just nice. Or something. She didn’t know.
“Okay, I think that’s everything we could possibly want.” He turned with his hands full, two longnecks threaded in one hand and a gallon jug in the other. “Drinks? Beer or milk? I’m sure they’ve got Coke or juice somewhere too.”
“A beer works for me too.”
“Good choice.” He put the milk back and shut the fridge, then went to a drawer for a bottle opener, flicking off the tops. “Here.”
She took the bottle, and he held out his. “What are we ‘cheersing’ too?”