by S. E. Jakes
I frowned. Stared at her. Because in all the sitting around pretending not to mope, wondering if maybe Ryker would call or break in again, I hadn’t actually considered that my going to get him back was an option. It would mean spilling my goddamned guts about my past, but obviously, it wasn’t reason enough to stay away. Not when I was obviously this miserable without him.
I felt like an idiot, because honestly, as Noah liked to point out, I hadn’t dated. I’d always just screwed. And before Ryker, that was all I’d needed.
Now, it wasn’t nearly enough. Nothing was, without him.
You walked away. Therefore, you could—and should—be the one to try to get him back. Lightbulb time.
Greta was watching me careful, like she could read everything I was thinking on my face. Was everyone in Havoc always goddamned right? Because it was super fucking annoying. Even so, I heard myself ask, somewhat pathetically, “Suppose it’s too late?”
And that brought the Gotcha! gleam to Greta’s eyes. “If you’re thinking about that, you already know the answer.”
I couldn’t look at her—she was too triumphant. Then I had to remind myself that wanting Ryker back—and finding a way to do it—wasn’t a bad thing unless I made it such. “Can you get me into Havoc? To Ryker’s house?” There were a lot of steps that went after that, but first things first.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Are we doing this now?”
Panic rolled in. Slow down, speed racer. “No. I need a couple of days at least.” Maybe more, if I chickened out further. “I’ll call you.”
“You’d better,” she said harshly, and my face must’ve shown surprise, because she gentled. “I’ll always pick up for you, Rush.”
After she left, I stayed on the couch for a while, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do to win Ryker back, to make him forgive me. A big romantic gesture would probably work, but I was pretty challenged in that area.
I stared between the roses that were dying on the coffee table and the keys to my truck, and an idea began to form.
Maybe I wasn’t so romantically challenged after all.
“Is this your attempt at romance?”
I shrugged, my face flushed, as Ryker stared at the car I’d parked in front of his house. Judgmental much? “Is it working?”
He stared at me like I was an alien and spoke his next words slowly. “I gave you roses.”
“And I’m giving you a car.” Which really, was way more practical and romantic than flowers, but I wasn’t telling him that. Because he wasn’t exactly full of joy and sunshine at the moment. Granted, it was close to two in the morning, but he’d been awake—or at least the lights had been on downstairs when I’d pulled up in front of his cabin. The car I’d brought him, an old-school Monte Carlo (a sexy motherfucking car that had some real street value) vibrated, because I’d put in special headers to make it loud like his Harley, so there was no way he’d missed the sound. The black paint gleamed, and while I hadn’t been able to spruce up the interior much (yet), it was still a kickass car.
For a second, I’d wondered if maybe he was inside with someone else. But then he’d come storming out of the house and stopped cold when he saw me.
I turned the car off and got out.
He was still standing there on the porch, unmoving. “You’re giving me a stolen car.”
“The car itself isn’t technically stolen,” I pointed out. “I mean, the parts are from all different places. So it’s not like they’d be used for anything else. They were sitting there, doing nothing. You said this was the one you drove to follow the Dead around with your friend one summer so . . .”
Ryker crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “What the hell are you doing, Rush?”
Rush. I hated hearing that name from him. “You wouldn’t answer my calls,” I tried, unable to ignore how his eyes had become like daggers, pinning me and not letting me go, no matter how I squirmed. I’d been worried about just showing up here like this, so I’d tried things the easy way. A phone call to smooth things over. Because there was less rejection in a phone call.
But hell, being rejected by not being called back honestly felt pretty shitty anyway. And, in the end, I’d had no choice but to just come here cold. I had nothing to lose.
I had everything to lose.
Finally, he told me, “You were right. This can’t work.”
My stomach plummeted, his words like a knife to the heart. I blurted out, “Don’t, Ryker. Don’t say that to me. I was wrong. I was an idiot. I just . . . I don’t know how to love. I don’t know what it is, what it looks like.”
He paused for so long that I thought for sure he wasn’t going to answer. I waited for him to turn and walk back into his house, and honestly, if he had, I probably would’ve broken down the door to follow him in. But finally, he asked, “So what’s changed?”
I’d been thinking about that over the past several days. In fact, I’d spent every waking moment, and some not so wakeful, rolling that very question around in my mind. “Nothing. And everything. See, I figured out that love looks pretty much like everything we’ve done. None of that other shit was as important or insurmountable as that fact.” I paused to take a breath. “I’m just sorry I figured it out too late.”
“Damn you.” His words were a painful whisper, but somehow they vibrated like a scream in my ears. He came down from the porch like a big angry bull, charging directly at me.
I stood my ground.
I guess he’d thought I was lying, but his countenance changed in an instant when he pinned me against the Monte Carlo. “Fuck, Sean, you really didn’t know.”
I shook my head, feeling stupid. Suddenly, I couldn’t even look at him, and I cursed myself for thinking I could—should—do this.
“Look at me.” His command was rough. It immediately made me feel hot and needy, and I did as he asked.
I was fucked up from childhood. Fucked up from battle. And now I was back doing what I loved—stealing cars—and that didn’t feel quite right either. I was off-balance, completely. Except things were right with Ryker. He’d become my compass. He’d seen more combat, street and otherwise, than I’d see in a lifetime. It’d showed on his face when he took care of me the night of my accident, and the night I’d freaked out on him here, but it never stopped him from being strong.
“I want to be as strong as you are,” I confessed.
“Jesus—you’re there without even trying,” Ryker promised me, and since he’d never lied to me, I chose to believe it.
“For a long time, I thought we were just fucking, Ryk. I didn’t realize . . .” That we’d been talking. That Ryker had me turned around and made me realize what I’d been missing. Longing. Wanting more sex, yes, but in between, in small doses, we’d been talking. Learning. Getting to know each other.
Ryker stroked his knuckles over my cheek. “You can learn just as much fucking someone as you can talking to them. Sometimes more. You know that better than me.”
I considered that. “I’m not sure I did.”
“Maybe not consciously, but that’s why you used to fuck so many people. You were looking.”
“So fucking’s my version of the dating game?”
“Yeah, basically.” There was zero irony in Ryker’s words.
I tried to mentally catalogue my sexual past—and holy hell, there were a lot, most nameless, faces and bodies blending into orgasms. Some were memorable in that I could recall my orgasms, or the fact that I’d spent the night, more for the promise of morning sex than anything else. But for the most part, I’d dismissed them. No do-overs. I thought it was me being a no-commitment kind of guy—or, in my more honest moments, a complete dick.
But if I looked at it from Ryker’s point of view . . . “Maybe you just fuck better,” I said seriously.
Nothing threw him. “I definitely fuck better,” he agreed. “Because I know who I’m fucking, and why I’m fucking him.”
I wasn’t just addicted to the sex we had�
��he’d become a part of my life. As unpredictable as his visits had been, they’d become something I depended on.
“Fuck,” I muttered as the realization spread like heat through my body. “You reeled me in.”
“You did the same goddamned thing to me without even trying. And it freaked me out too,” he admitted.
I studied him in that moment. Really studied him. He was very tall. Built, but not in that jacked muscle-head way. From my time in the Army, I knew the difference between useless muscles and someone who used them. He was heavily tattooed, but there was space in between, like he’d thought about each of them carefully and planned his body art. Again I inspected the roses on his forearms thoroughly, tracing a single stem through the thorns, and ended with my hand on his—on his rose tattoo—before looking up into his face. He was angrily handsome, sharp and cutting, with eyes that softened when he looked at me.
He’d let me in. I’d done the same in return. I could run, again, but what was the point? He was already inside.
I’d been running from myself.
“Yeah, you were,” he murmured.
“I only do this talk-out-loud thing with you.”
“Good.”
I suddenly wanted to bite the tattoo on the side of his neck. I wanted to lick it while he fucked me. I pictured fingers inside of me, this big rough man fucking me gently. Giving me exactly what I needed. Either he was that good—which I’d grant him hands down—or he really had taken his time studying me. Learning my body. Learning me.
I probably told him all of that, because his hand slid inside my pants, stroked my cock as my balls tightened. “Not going to last.”
“Don’t want you to,” he countered. “Let’s see if I can beat my old record.”
I dropped my head back and let the pleasure roll through me. I was happy. And I didn’t care what was happening around us.
The difference was, Ryker did. Always would. He had so much more than I did. A family. People to fall back on.
And you have Ryker. So didn’t that mean by default, I also had Havoc? Or that he’d eventually have to make a choice between us?
I was saved from thinking about that when he stroked me faster and harder, until the only thing on my mind was crying out his name while I came.
It echoed back to me in the hills and that, in and of itself, seemed right. Really right.
“At least I learned something,” Ryker told me a little while later, while I lay splayed on his couch where he’d put me after half carrying me inside. He was still dressed, but he’d slipped me out of my clothes since I’d come all over myself at his bidding.
“What’s that?”
“Giving you space is never a good idea.”
I couldn’t necessarily disagree. But I also hadn’t told him everything. “My PTSD’s not a terrible case, but when it’s triggered . . .”
“And being here did that. I should’ve thought of that before throwing you to the wolves here.”
“It was a lot, all at once.” But there was one very specific thing that’d thrown me right over the edge. “Listen, the porn . . .”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” No judgment, just genuine surprise mixed with some concern. And then he sat up and really looked at me, scanning my expression, obviously wondering if he’d missed something.
My gut tightened, but I couldn’t back away from telling him now. I’d done nothing wrong, but I still didn’t like to talk about it. “How’s it . . . monitored?”
“You mean, is it ever illegal? No. It’s a real company, on the books. Inspected. We front money, but we don’t do the majority of the work.”
“Just the talent.”
He frowned. “I dated a couple of them, yeah, but it’s not a requirement that they fuck us. We guard during shoots. We also guard rock bands. What the fuck, Sean? Talk to me.”
“I was fifteen.” The words tumbled out, and his jaw tightened. “It was consensual. Stupid to tape it. Like I said, fifteen.”
Ryker’s voice got growly and protective. “How old was the other guy?”
“Nineteen.” I could still picture him. Good-looking, and he’d seemed nice, and I’d trusted him. I have no idea why. Even then I’d known better than to trust the outside of the package. “I didn’t know he’d taped it to sell it. He told me he’d erase it. And then one night, I’m out in a club with his friends and one of them congratulates me on my sex tape.”
“Who was he?”
“Ryk, come on.”
“Who was he?” Ryker was insistent. “And what company put the tape out?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “The guy who taped me laughed when I confronted him. He handed me a hundred bucks—threw it at me, actually, told me it was my cut, and I beat the shit out of him, okay? And doing that wasn’t all that satisfying, because he was just trying to make a living too.”
“There’s more to this.”
I sighed. “I went to the production company. He said that if I wanted him to take that tape off the market, I’d have to give him something. He blackmailed me. He pushed me to my knees . . .”
I didn’t have to go further. I ended up in my usual position—back against the wall with Ryker holding me. “So you don’t run from me,” he said.
I knew. “I know.”
“Did he tape that too?” Ryker asked gently, and I shook my head. “But he didn’t take the original tape down, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it happened to you. I’m sorry I did something to trigger that memory.”
“You didn’t know. If you’d done it any other time . . .”
“But I didn’t.” He stared at me. “We don’t do anything like that. Go, look around. Talk to anyone you want.”
“I think I will. And not because I don’t trust you. It’s more for me. I get that people make a living doing what they need to—I’m the last one to question career choices but . . . I watched it happen to my mom. I saw her slowly lose herself trying to make a living like that.”
Ryker nodded slowly. “I understand. It’s hard to understand why anyone would do that consensually when you weren’t given the choice. Now, tell me the name of the company. And the production manager.”
“They might not even be in business anymore.”
“I want to take care of you, Sean. Let me.”
His last words were so fierce. There wasn’t a reason not to. I told him. He nodded. Kissed me—quick, but still toe curling. And then he let me down, lowered me from the wall. Rubbed my shoulders and as long as we were in true-confessions mode . . .
“I think Noah’s involved in some really fucked-up shit, but I don’t think it’s his fault.”
There was no I told you so, nothing except, “You need to stay with me until we figure this out.”
I nodded. “I’ve got a bag with me. I left my truck at the house.”
“And Noah?”
“I’m not deserting him. But he’s lying low.”
“He’s got your number?” he asked, and I nodded. “If he calls and he’s in trouble, we’ll deal with it then.”
I could live with that. But . . . “I’ve got some jobs to do. On my own. I made a deal with BT.”
He sighed. Stared at the ceiling. There was no real way he could reprimand me—I knew that.
The only thing he said was, “I never wanted to change you—just keep you safe.”
Later that day, Ryker said that he’d bring me over to the studio. As much as I wanted to go, suddenly, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“Maybe another time,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I’d been staring out the front window, and now he stood next to me.
“Whatever you want.” He paused. “I know what those guys took from you, Sean. I really do. But by not fighting through it, you’re giving them the rest.”
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself and his sudden lecture. But he was right.
“Don’t let them win, Sean. Whatever els
e happens, just promise me that.”
“Why? Because you’ll miss out on blowjobs?” I couldn’t help myself. And Ryker, to his credit, didn’t look surprised by my wiseass answer.
Instead of touching me or forcing me to stay put, he simply stood in front of me. I’d freaked him out too much, and I’m pretty sure he was trying not to trigger me when we talked about the porn stuff. “Because you’ll miss out on life. Love. Lots of shit. Your past is your past. Why the fuck are you trying to drag it across the finish line with you? Cut that shit off. You’ll be a hell of a lot lighter. Freer too.”
“Aren’t you afraid . . .”
“What?” he probed when I paused.
“Forget it.”
“No chance.”
“Fine. Aren’t you afraid that if I let that go . . . if I let it all go, that I won’t need you as much?”
In case I wasn’t sure, in case Ryker hadn’t yet been convinced I was definitely in the running for the Most Fucked-up Guy Ever award, I’d just solidified my spot in the winner’s circle.
But Ryker’s expression softened. “No, baby. Whatever happens, you being happy is what I want. “
“What makes you happy, Ryker?”
“You.”
For the first time, I could say the same of him, without reservation. And with that, I suddenly got bolder. It came out of nowhere, this next idea, but I needed to purge the bad and usher in new memories for this place.
“You don’t have to take me to the studio. I think I’d be more comfortable if you auditioned me here.” He stared at me, quizzically but I kept on going. “I really need a job. Figured you could get me in.”
“Sean . . .”
God, the warning tone did it to me every single time. I got on my knees, sank to the floor without a worry in the fucking world. He stared down at me as I unzipped his pants, opened them to expose his gorgeous cock. His hand cradled my head lightly, stroked my hair, but it wasn’t his usual touch. He didn’t want to freak me out again, so I had to reassure him.
I looked up at him and said, “Make it okay. Take away the memory.”
His eyes flashed, and he never looked unsure, but I felt it—the slight hesitation—and my heart skipped a beat. Could I do this? I wanted to put this behind me so badly . . . and I needed him to help me.