Marcus nods. “It’s just a stupid term the crew came up with for when he found the one. For most of the time that Ryker’s been in charge of our gang, he’s been single. Oh, by the way, sorry about earlier.”
“It’s okay, you were concerned about your brother,” I reply, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. “You know, for all the tough guy act you show the crew, you’re pretty sensitive.”
Marcus chuckles, shrugging. “Maybe. I do know that I hope you are Rygirl though. He needs someone in his life besides me.”
“Ryker’s Girl?” I ask as I make the connection, and Marcus nods. “But I’m not his girl! Just because you saw . . . just because the two of us were together, that doesn’t make me his girl.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Marcus agrees. “But when he turned around to give you that kiss before he left, that’s all I needed to see. Everyone knows it. Except for maybe you, it seems.”
“It’s only been a few days, Marcus. Maybe a little over a week?”
He shrugs. “When you know what you want, you know what you want. Ryker’s always been like that. Either way, he’s been different and I like it. More heart, less cold-blooded. Tell you one thing—he needs more than me in his life.”
I nod, looking down. “Still, it’s not like that.”
“You never know. Like I said, Ryker doesn’t fuck around,” Marcus says. “And you two have chemistry. I saw that even before bursting in on you two.”
“Can we change the subject?” I ask finally, and he hums, shrugging. “Uh, if I can ask, you’ve talked about your father. What about your mother?”
Marcus finishes his coffee, sighing. “Took off when Ryker and I were still in junior high. Pop was dedicated to the life. The gang came first, and she couldn’t deal with that no more. Last I heard, she met a guy out west and got remarried. By now, she might even have another kid or two.”
“That’s gotta be tough,” I say, and Marcus shrugs again. There’s a defeated tone to that shrug that makes me sad. It’s like Marcus understands that it’s wrong for a man to not make his wife and his family the most important thing in his life, but that’s the way gang life is. It sucks, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. It scares me and saddens me that Ryker might feel the same.
Finally, Marcus gets up, pouring himself another cup of coffee before he sits down and speaks again. “It is what it is. I understand why she did it. Being number two in your man’s life has to suck for any woman, whether that number one is a business, a gang, the army, whatever.”
There’s a rising murmur of sound outside the meeting room, and Marcus looks up, a smile coming to his face. “He’s back.”
I turn, getting to my feet just as I see him cross the warehouse, blood all over him. “Ryker!”
Marcus hears something in my tone of voice and laughs. “Sure seems like you’re Rygirl to me.”
“It’s not like that!” I yell.
The door opens, and Ryker comes in closer, his face and body exhausted, but his eyes sparkle when he sees me. “What’s not like that?”
There’s a crowd gathering outside, everyone almost silently respectful as Ryker leans against the door frame as Marcus gets a chair for his brother. “Nothing, brother,” Marcus says. “We’re just glad to have you back, that’s all.”
I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I sit back down and Ryker comes over, pulling out the chair and sitting next to me. A few of the idiots outside mutter, but it dies as soon as Ryker glares back over his shoulder. He turns back to me, his eyes softening as he puts a comforting hand on my leg.
The fact is, I don’t know what to think. Feeling his hand on my thigh, I feel something I’ve never felt before. This isn’t like Jacob’s charm when he was dating me and I didn’t know that the charismatic smile hid a monster on the other side.
Ryker is different. As his hand rests on my thigh, he’s not demanding and he’s not saying he understands. Just that . . . it feels like he accepts me. Finally, I look up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat as I see the blackened blood that’s covered half his face. “Is he . . .?”
Ryker nods. “By my hand.”
“Was there anyone else home?” I ask, and Ryker nods, the look in his eyes sending a chill going down my spine. “Oh, no . . . Stanzie?”
“A blonde girl. She was dead when I arrived,” Ryker says. “I’d have called when it was done, but I broke my damn phone in the fight, and then I had to get other things done. Marcus . . .?”
Ryker’s words hit me hard, and I think about poor, sweet Stanzie, who never had a chance. If there’s anything that I can do for her, I swear to myself, I’m going to do it. She had a piss poor life that I couldn’t do anything about, but she’s going to be honored in her death, that I can swear.
All of this flashes through my mind in the heartbeat after Ryker’s question. Marcus’s phone rings before he can answer though, and he pulls it out, listening quickly before saying one phrase in reply. “Yeah, we’ll call you back.”
He turns to Ryker, his eyes looking at his brother in wonder. “That was a contact from the mayor’s office. They want to meet.”
Ryker nods, leaning back in exhaustion. “Then it’s done. Marcus, get a car. I want to go home.”
Chapter 15
Ryker
The streets glitter in diamond lights below me as the last of the sun disappears below the horizon. I look down at it, pondering my kingdom. I’m the King of the City now. The meeting with the mayor this afternoon, just the two of us, with no press, no retainers, just two guys having a couple of muffins in the park, cemented my status.
I have the keys to the city. I’m the king, and everyone knows it. Nobody’s going to come after me for Jacob’s death. No one loved him. They only feared him.
I hear the click of high heels behind me, and I turn, momentarily stunned as Sarah comes into the living room, looking for the first time like the Hollywood starlet she used to be. I’d told Marcus to make sure she was outfitted properly for whatever she wants to do, and as usual, my brother came through. “You look . . . amazing.”
Sarah blushes slightly, tucking a long strand of her lustrous black hair behind her ear and smiling a little. “You look a lot better after a shower, shave, and a nap too. I–I wanted to wait until you were free before I said goodbye.”
I look behind her, and I see that she’s got a small backpack already, her few things there with the ridiculous shoes Marcus got her sticking out of the top. Sarah looks over her shoulder, seeing what I’m looking at and laughing slightly. “Yeah, I decided to keep them. They’re really comfortable. And they’ll remind me of this.”
“Where will you go?” I ask huskily, my throat not wanting to work. “Back to Hollywood?”
Sarah shakes her head, looking down. “No. Let’s face it—that part of my life ended a long time ago.”
I nod, not sure what to say. “So . . .?”
“I thought maybe I’d take the money that’s still in my accounts and go to the beach for a while. It’s been five years since I left this city on my own, and well . . . it’d help.”
I swallow, stepping forward. “The beach sounds nice.”
Sarah nods, looking at me with confusion for a little bit before she steps forward and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Thank you, Ryker. You probably saved my life. You definitely gave me a chance at a real life.”
In her heels, we’re the same height, and when she kisses me, I feel something inside me loosen, something that I’ve kept under wraps for too long. When she goes to step away, I grab her wrist, not hard, but still enough to stop her. She whips her head back, her hair flying over her shoulder as she looks at me with those beautiful dark eyes as they widen in shock and maybe . . . hope?
“I don’t want you to go,” I say. “I want you to stay.”
I let go of her wrist and she turns, her face twisting in a rich play of emotions as fear, desire, and I don’t know what else runs through her. “Ryker, you promised me that when you’d killed Jac
ob, I could go free.”
I nod, reaching out more tentatively and taking her hand. “I did. And you deserve your freedom more than anyone in the whole fucking world. And I will keep my word. You can leave if you want, but I want you, Sarah.”
“As your prisoner?” she asks, and I shake my head, stepping forward and putting my hand around her waist, pulling her to me.
“No. Next to me. Every king needs his queen.”
Sarah puts her hands on my chest, pushing away gently. “Ryker, I . . . I want you too. But I can’t be number two. I won’t do to you what Marcus said your mother did.”
At this moment, I could damn near kill my brother, but he’s right, and Sarah’s right too. She can’t be number two. I’m the king, and my kingdom deserves a king who is focused on it first. I think, and Sarah steps back, going to her bag and picking it up. “Goodbye, Ryker.”
She steps into the elevator, and as the doors close, I know what I need to do. I run as hard as I can for the stairs, pulling my new phone out of my pocket as I pelt down the stairs. “Marcus!”
“What do you need?” Marcus asks. “I’m at the club, enjoying some drinks. Thought we were taking the night off?”
“Get over here. I need to talk to you. Now!” I say, hanging up before he can reply. I put my phone in my pocket, pausing at the thirty-third floor and praying that the taxi is slow in coming to pick Sarah up.
I’m gasping for breath by the time I hit the latch bar on the door and emerge into the building’s foyer. Even though I’m going down, running down forty-eight flights of stairs on a dead sprint is fucking hard. I cross the space, running out into the parking lot just as the taxi starts to pull away. “SARAH!”
The taxi stops, and I run up, pulling open the door. She’s sitting there, her eyes wide, and the taxi driver is looking over his shoulder at me like I’m a psycho. Hell, maybe at this moment, I am, but I know what needs to be done. “Ryker?”
I reach in, taking her by the hand and helping her out of the car before I pull her into a hug. “Sarah, stay. Not as number two but as number one. I don’t want this fucking city.”
Sarah’s shocked, looking into my eyes as my words sink in. “You mean . . .?”
“Give me twenty minutes. You can sit in when Marcus gets here. I promise you, it’ll change both of our lives.”
Sarah nods, closing the door on the cab. The taxi driver honks his horn, looking out his window. “Hey, lady, you going to the airport or what?”
Sarah turns, shaking her head. “Sorry, no. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
The driver looks like he’s about to bitch about it when he sees me, and before he can get worried, I pull my money clip out of my pocket and peel off two one hundred dollar bills, handing them through the window to him. “A tip, for your excellent service. Have a good evening.”
“You’re fucking nuts,” Marcus says, looking at me and Sarah in shock as he takes in what I just repeated to him for the third time. “You don’t want to be king?”
“No,” I reply, holding Sarah’s hand. “Some things are more important than money, and some things are more important than power.”
“And you want me to take over? Ryker, I’m not the brains of this operation. You know that—” Marcus says, and I hold up a hand, stopping him.
“You’ve got plenty of brains, Marcus. And I’m not abandoning you. I’m just saying that . . . well, let the city think that I’m still the king for a while if you want. I don’t give a fuck. But the day-to-day operations, the real power, that’s you. I’ll still be around for advice if you really need it. Face it, though, Marcus—you’ve been running a lot of it by yourself for a while too. Half the time I ask for things, you’ve already got them done.”
He shakes his head, looking down. “You’re fucking nuts.”
“You keep saying that,” Sarah says with a chuckle. “To quote from my previous life, I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Marcus looks at Sarah, then chuckles. “I’m even more jealous of you now, Ryker. Got the crown, and got the girl, and now you’re just giving up the crown because the girl’s more important. All right, man, if that’s what you want. Can you gimme six months to work a smooth transition? Like you, I don’t want a crime war in this city.”
I look at Sarah, who nods, and I offer Marcus my hand. “Six months. Minus this next week. I’m taking Sarah on vacation tomorrow. Then yeah, I’ll give you six months of help.”
Marcus takes my hand, shaking it. “Okay then. Well, I guess my night out just became more of a celebration for myself. I’ll give you two your privacy. I already figured on staying out all night.”
Marcus gets up and leaves, giving us both a laugh and a wave as he gets in the elevator. “Good job, Rygirl!”
The doors close, and Sarah laughs, turning and putting her arms around my neck. “You realize Marcus is right? You just gave up an entire kingdom.”
“And gained something far more valuable,” I reply, putting my hands on her waist. “I’m not saying it’s going to be perfect. I can’t cook for shit, although maybe now, I’ve got the spare time to learn how. And I know it’s not guaranteed between us, but I know when I want something, and I want you.”
Sarah grins, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “So, Ryker Johns, how about you take me to your actual bed, and we celebrate you losing your throne?”
I growl, picking her up in my arms and carrying her toward my bedroom. “Well then, I suppose we’ll just have to go shopping for a new set of lingerie before we go on vacation, because I might just tear them off you.”
Sarah chuckles, wrapping her legs around my waist as we make our way down the hallway toward my bedroom. “My King.”
I kiss her and lay her on my bed, looking into her beautiful eyes. “My Queen.”
And that’s all I fucking need.
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Bound to the Bad Boy
by Crystal Kaswell
Chapter 1
The bell rings as Emma pushes the door open. Cold air greets us. The tattoo parlor's A.C. is a welcome reprieve from an especially hot afternoon in Venice Beach.
But it does nothing to cool me down.
Not when Brendon is standing behind the counter, all tall, handsome, and off-limits.
He runs a hand through his short, dark hair.
He shoots Emma that typical, paternal what have you gotten yourself into now look.
His dark eyes soften as his gaze meets mine. His lips curl into a smile.
A smile that makes the shop's air conditioning irrelevant.
All it takes is a smile from Brendon and I'm on fire. I've been crushing on the guy for years. He's Emma's older brother, and Emma's been my best friend since forever.
I should be used to Brendon's gorgeous face and his perfect body and all the lines of ink running over his muscular arms.
His chest piece peeks out from his scoop-neck t-shirt. My fingers itch to trace the lines of that ink. My fingers itch for his skin. Every inch of it. Every sweaty, warm inch of it.
Emma grabs my arm and pulls me towards the counter. She nods to Brendon's paternal expression, then to me. It's her usual look. Isn't he annoying?
She's completely oblivious to my crush.
It needs to stay that way.
Emma is my best friend and the only person, besides Brendon, I trust in California.
She waits until Brendon is done with his customer, then she moves up to the counter. "Hey. I'm thinking about some ink. Right here." She pushes her t-shirt up her sleeve to show off her bicep. "A heart that says 'bad boys.'"
He turns to me. "Do me a favor, Kaylee?"
His deep, steady voice sends a shiver down my spine. That's no good. We're supposed to be friends, good friends. And good friends don't picture each other naked this often.
I barely manage to get out my response. "Sure."
"Keep an eye on Em for me." He t
urns to his sister. "Your textbooks are in the back."
She offers him a sweet smile.
"You're right. You can't be trusted to get them," he teases.
"You should be less suspicious," she says.
"More gullible, you mean?" He shoots me a wink. "You mind keeping an eye on the desk, Kaylee?"
Emma pouts. It's mostly for show. She and Brendon are always perfecting their you're a brat/you're bossy and annoying banter.
She motions for the bathroom. "I won't tell if you snag a hottie's phone number from the appointment book." She winks and heads off.
I sit on the stool behind the counter and play with the binding of the appointment book. The shop is quiet except for the hum of a tattoo gun and the quiet grunts of a client getting a back piece.
Despite my complete lack of ink, I'm used to the hum of the tattoo gun. I stop by the shop, with and without Em, a few times a week. I like being here.
Mostly, I do homework or read at the front desk and help out between appointments.
The black sketchbook on the counter draws my eyes. It's Brendon's sketchbook. I've seen him with it a thousand times.
What does he draw when he isn't mocking up a tattoo?
I should respect his privacy. I shouldn't snoop. But my fingers are begging me to pry that book open.
I want to look inside his head.
He's always quiet. Stoic. Strong.
Just a peek…
Just for a minute.
I take the book into my lap and pry it open. The first few pages are familiar tattoo mockups—Brendon always shows off his finished work. Or maybe I check the shop's Facebook religiously. Either way.
Then there are figure drawings. More tattoo mockups. A fierce dragon defending a castle. A giant octopus destroying a sea monster. A topless mermaid sunning on a rock.
A librarian pinup.
Only…
No.
She looks like me. Same champagne blonde hair. Same green eyes. Same pretty pink cardigan. Same thick blue glasses. These aren't exactly standard frames.
Begging for Bad Boys Page 23