Ryker stopped for a minute as the memories of those ‘easy’ days washed over him before he forced himself to continue. “July in Afghanistan is so damn hot and sandy. There was sand everywhere. It was in our clothes, boots, equipment, food - I swear I could taste sand for a year after I was sent back home. I was assigned to a data center at the base. We shuttled information back and forth and provided soldiers with a way to talk to their families back home. There wasn’t anything secret stored there, and as far as assignments overseas go, it wasn’t that bad of a job. Because of the computers, the building was kept cooler than most which was a blessing in the hot desert. However, all of that damned sand got into everything including the equipment. One of my main responsibilities was to vacuum out the units after any storm.”
Ryker shook his head sadly. What happened was not his fault, but he blamed himself for quite some time. ‘Survivor’s guilt’ was what the shrinks at Walter Reed called it. Forcing the memories back, he hurried through the worst of his story.
“The day before it happened, there had been a major sand storm. It had been so thick, we couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. We sat inside and waited it out. Even with every crevice sealed, the grit got through and covered everything. I knew the next day was going to consist of me crawling around the data center cleaning sand. However, it had to be done. Sand in sensitive equipment can cause catastrophic failures. Three techs were working that day, and we each took a different section of the building. I was elbows deep in one of the servers, vacuuming out the grit when everything just exploded. We found out later that a bomb had been smuggled into the camp and placed against the side of the building. Apparently, they didn’t realize we didn’t deal with secret information there. Regardless, the bomb went off, and the building fell. I was trapped underneath for hours. The best I can figure, I landed against some hot metal. The doctor said it pretty much cooked the side of my face and blinded my eye. “He rose up and looked at her. “There you have it.”
Demma covered her mouth with her hand. “Jesus, Ryker. That’s horrible.”
He shrugged. “No more so than losing an arm or leg to IED. At least I’m alive and in one piece. I know a lot of buddies who didn’t make it home including one of my fellow techs. The other has PTSD so bad, he can’t function in society. I was messed up too, for a while. But, thanks to my supportive family and a lot of help, I’m doing alright. Because of the vision, I was given a medical discharge.” He waved his hand in front of his left eye. “I can see movement, shadows, and light but nothing definitive. I had perfect vision in the other eye, but because of the loss of depth perception, I need the glasses to help me compensate. They also help prevent massive headaches.”
They sat together on his bed as she thought about all they both had experienced. So much had happened to bring them to this point in time, to being in this room. She was sitting on his lap, half-naked and without any fear. Heat flared to life in her core, and she squirmed. Ryker must have mistaken it as Demma being uncomfortable for he began to lift her from his lap.
“I should get back to bed,” he muttered.
“Stay.”
Ryker froze and looked at her. “You want me to stay?”
Slowly, she nodded. “Please.” She looked into his twin pools of whiskey-brown and saw something there. Compassion, concern and something almost carnal. When he raised his palm and cupped her cheek, she felt the tingles of awareness travel down her body, making her tremble. Being in Ryker’s arms made her painfully conscious of how long it had been since she had last been with a man. Not just a man, but one who made her ache with a hungry need that blinded her to everything around her.
Demma held his gaze as her fingers traveled down his chest, following the planes and valleys to the waist of his boxers. She hesitated when his thick fingers slid around to the back of her neck and held her hostage. Searching his face, she licked her lips nervously and shifted in his lap. He groaned, and she could feel his need pulsing to life.
“I...” she whispered, uncertain how to ask for what she wanted most from him.
Ryker’s face hardened, and he closed his eyes. Snapping them open again, he gave her a feral stare. “Screw it,” he hissed then captured her lips in a hard, hungry kiss.
Demma found herself on her back with Ryker lying on top. His hands traveled over her body, as if memorizing her form much as she had his earlier. When his finger brushed over her breasts, she gasped and arched up toward him.
“So damn responsive,” he muttered. He peppered kisses along her jaw and down to the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. Nipping the flesh there, he chuckled when she hissed at the pain then growled as she ran her nails over the expanse of his back. He tugged at her pajama top, and she lifted up to allow him to pull it off. He tossed it over his shoulder. She saw his eyes widen as he drank in her body. “Beautiful,” he whispered in a reverent sigh.
Demma hungered as he kissed and teased her, moving down until his lips closed on her breast causing her to gasp and arch again. He rid her of her bottoms. He growled again.
“Please,” she whispered breathlessly into the still night air. “Please, Ryker.”
He raised his head from where he had been worshiping her body with his lips and tongue. “Please what, Demma?”
“Please, I need you,” she begged shamelessly.
He smiled wolfishly at her. “You have me.”
CHAPTER 8
The smell of coffee and bacon pulled Demma from sleep. Opening her eyes, she blinked and looked around. For just a moment, she panicked then the recollection of last night crashed down. A smile graced her full lips, and she stretched languidly, basking in the memory of Ryker’s tender lovemaking. Glancing at the bedside table, she noticed it was almost ten. True to his word, Ryker had spent hours teaching her the intricacies of their new intimacy. Sated and drowsy, they drifted off to sleep just as the sky began transitioning from indigo to gray. They had only gotten a few hours of sleep just as the sun rose. With a sigh, Demma turned around and sat up on the bed, pulling the sheet up until it covered her from chest to knees.
The door opened slowly, and she beamed as Ryker walked into the room, a tray held in his hands. “Good morning.” He gave her a lopsided grin and lifted the tray. “I figured you would be hungry. Coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast. I was going to attempt biscuits but decided I couldn’t afford the dental bills. My biscuits come out like hard hockey pucks.” He crossed the room and placed the tray on her lap. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Good morning,” Demma countered as she wiggled into a fully upright position. Tucking the sheet around her body, she looked at the plate and felt her eyes prickle, and her breath caught. He had even taken the time to arrange the food artistically and garnished the plate with a fan made of sliced melon with a strawberry center. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something so incredibly thoughtful.
“Everything looks delicious. Thank you, Ryker.” Demma picked up her fork then paused. She laughed and lifted the two dandelions from the small glass of water. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Poor man’s roses?”
Ryker chuckled and pulled them from her fingers. Slowly he drew the blooms down her nose and across the pout of her mouth before leaning in and taking her lips with his. He nibbled tenderly then drew back, pulling her bottom lip slightly before letting it go. Compared to the passion they shared the night before, this one was positively chaste. He dropped the weeds back into their makeshift vase. “I didn’t want to leave you long enough to go get real flowers and Mrs. McGregor next door was watching me a little too close to snatch one of her daisies.”
“Well, we don’t want you branded as a flower thief, do we?” She leaned down and took a deep breath of the breakfast so thoughtfully prepared by him for her. “Everything smells wonderful,” she gushed.
The smile which broke over his face made her heart stutter. Snatching up a piece of bacon, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. “Go on, eat. I’ve already ha
d breakfast and my shower. Take your time.” His eyes roamed over her, and he let out a sigh. “You look good in my bed.”
She swallowed the sip of coffee and peered at him over the cup. “You look good in your bed, too.” Placing the cup back on the tray, she patted the mattress beside her. “Why don’t we see how good we both look together in your bed?”
Ryker growled, causing tendrils of desire to race through her blood and pool in her center. He looked drool-worthy standing there wearing just a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. Demma couldn’t help herself. Slowly, she traced the contours of his stomach with one finger. Looking up at him, she smiled seductively. “Come on, Ryker. Help me work up a good appetite.”
The effect of her words on him was immediately evident. She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and indecision flashed across his face. Closing his eyes, he threw his head back and groaned. Several seconds passed as he fought to get his body under control. Finally, he blew out a breath and shook his head with a grin. “As much as I would love to spend all day showing you just how appreciative I am of your delectable body, we have things to do.” He motioned toward the tray. “Be a good girl, finish your breakfast, get your shower, and come in the computer room. I have something to show you.”
“Or you can stay here, and I can show you something,” Demma cooed.
“Temptress.”
Demma ran a finger down between her sheet-clad breasts and eyed him wantonly. “If I’m going to be labeled a temptress, I might as well embrace the role,” she purred throatily.
She watched as his eyes widened and followed the slow journey of her fingers. With a growl, he took a step back and shook his head. “Woman! What you do to me,” he gasped then closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and grinned. “Later, you can show me just how well you play that role. But for now, we have things to do. I think I may have figured out who’s behind the blackmail.”
Relief flooded her senses. “Really?” She lifted the tray to move it.
He pulled it from her hand and replaced it on her lap. “No, ma’am. Eat first, shower and come into the office.” Ryker motioned toward the tray. “You aren’t eating.”
Obediently, she picked up a piece of toast and took a bite, never taking her gaze off him.
“That’s my girl,” he said approvingly. Giving her a wink, he strolled out of the room and closed the door.
Demma finished her breakfast in record time. Similarly, she cut her normal half-hour shower to fifteen minutes. Less than thirty minutes later, she wandered into his computer room. Ryker didn’t look up but rather motioned her over to him. When she rounded the desk, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap. She shrieked with a laugh as he settled her across his thighs. “Ryker! You’re going to break your chair.”
“If it breaks, then I’ll get another one. I’m not passing up an opportunity to hold you.” He whispered against her neck. Nipping the skin there, he propped his chin on her shoulder and resumed typing on the keyboard.
She glanced at the multiple screens covering the desktop. She wrinkled her brow. “So, who’s blackmailing me?”
“Patience, grasshopper. All things in their time.” Ryker stopped typing and motioned to one of the screens. On it, were several documents stacked on top of each other. “I’ve been hunting down all known members of the Blood Cobras. The good news is I’m pretty sure they don’t know you are still alive. When Slater died, it threw the crew into a spiral. They were too busy scrambling to find a new leader to worry about anything else and were slowly imploding. A lot of members have died or moved on to other crews. The bad news is it looks like the hemorrhage is done. This man,” he clicked on the screen and pulled up a picture of a thug in his mid-twenties with black hair and soulless eyes. “James ‘Freak Show’ Rosari moved from New York to Chicago last year and is working on establishing himself. Rumor has it that he’s managed to wrestle control over the tattered remains of the Blood Cobras and is beating the ranks into order. Once he gets himself fully entrenched, he’ll become a major player in the underworld. He has a rap sheet two miles long; everything from drugs to domestic violence and attempted murder.”
Demma leaned forward and stared at the mug shot on Ryker’s screen. The man showed nothing but pure malice on his pockmarked face. She had no doubts that his reputation was warranted. Something told her he would have no qualms in taking over the BC and their territory. Demma felt her heart begin to race uncontrollably. “Oh my God,” she whispered as her face drained of all color. “He’s the one blackmailing me?”
“I don’t think so. Rosari has a reputation for getting shit done. If he wanted you, he wouldn’t be sending messages.” He curled his arms around her and pulled her quaking body closer. “I’m not telling you this to scare you. I want you to be aware of any potential players. Forewarned, forearmed; to be prepared is half the victory.”
She drew in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “He scares me. Even if he isn’t the blackmailer, he can still come after me, right?”
“Possible, but I don’t think so. Rosari is trying to solidify his position, and that means two things. First, he’s not going to want any reminders of Slater’s failure. He has bigger fish to fry than to run down some, forgive the phrase, nobody girl who should have died with the crew. Second, he’s got to get the business re-established and his cash flow fixed. Right now, you would be the last thing he would worry about. As long as you don’t publicize your story and embarrass the crew, he’ll most likely ignore you.”
“Most likely but not for certain.”
Ryker lowered his head in a curt nod. “There’s no certainty when it comes to gang-bangers. You, of all people, know this. However, I feel pretty confident he’ll let you be.”
Demma forced her racing heart to settle. “Alright. We know who it isn’t. Do we know who it is?”
“Well, my second thought had been the DEA, but I am relatively sure the leak isn’t there either.”
She rose up and looked at him questionably. “You seemed so positive last week that a DEA agent was the most obvious choice. Now, you say it isn’t. How can you be sure?”
“I did a little snooping. No one has touched your profile since 2014. I’ve vetted everyone who was a part of your case. Nothing stands out. It doesn’t mean someone at the agency isn’t a mole, but it’s highly unlikely. Just to be sure, I put tags on you. If anyone even accidentally hits on your file, I’ll know.”
Demma had to admit it. Ryker’s abilities impressed her. Not only had he gotten into sealed files, but he had also been able to ascertain nobody had messed with her data. She had no idea what it meant to put tags on her files, but if he said she was safe even from the DEA, she believed him.
“Okay, next?”
Ryker chuckled softly. “Impatient,” he admonished softly. He clicked several more times bringing up another picture. This one was a middle-aged Caucasian male with dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. A two-day scruff dotted his portly jowls as he stared ahead. He wore a pale blue, short sleeve shirt with a yellow emblem on the pocket. A tattoo peeked from the edge of his sleeve on the right side. Demma shivered. There was no emotion on his face.
“This is Ralph Langley.”
She shifted in Ryker’s lap and peered at the picture. Shaking her head and sitting back, she said, “He doesn’t look familiar. Who is he?”
Ryker pulled her against him again. Pressing a kiss to her neck just above the thin white line that marked where the gang brand had sat and hugged her tightly. “Langley was a security guard at the same hospital where you recuperated. I say ‘was’ because the security firm fired him last year when he was caught stealing from patient’s vehicles in the parking garage. Two months later, his wife filed for a divorce. She got the house, custody of their eleven-year-old son, and half of their joint money. Here’s where the plot thickens. It turns out; there wasn’t any money for her to get half. That little oversight got him into trouble with the court for providing false financial disclos
ure. The judge was not amused and gave the wife everything. She got everything that wasn’t on his back at the time. During the investigation, it came out that Langley has a bit of a gambling problem. He’s in deep with a few bookies in Chicago. Like six figures deep. Without a job or any collateral, his life expectancy had plummeted drastically. He fled Chicago two steps ahead of getting a new pair of concrete shoes. He showed up in LA a few months ago.”
She started to interrupt him, but he placed a finger against her lips. “I know what you’re thinking. What has any of this to do with you? He's been watching you. I found this footage shot from a camera across the street from the main studio gate.” Ryker clicked on a box and pulled up a video file. Pressing the play button, he settled back and wrapped his arms around Demma’s waist as if they were about to watch a feature film. Demma’s eyes were glued to the screen as a man pushed by a knot of paparazzi and approached the gate of RJC pictures. He talked to the guard then walked a few feet away. Ryker clicked on the fast-forward button, and they watched as he paced back and forth smoking cigarette after cigarette. Ryker clicked the button again to resume the normal speed. The man stood beside the large painted wall housing the gate as a car pulled up from inside the lot. Demma recognized Monty waving to the guard. She squinted at the screen and was able to make out herself in the passenger seat, signing an autograph for a fan. As they drove off, the man threw a cigarette butt into the bushes and hurried off in the same direction they had driven. Ryker rewound the video until the man’s head moved back and forth in a searching motion. He paused it as the man tilted his face upward slightly, and Ryker caught the frame, expanding it and enhancing the still. Langley.
Chills ran up and down her spine, and she shivered. “So you think this is my blackmailer. Ryker, how would he know? I don’t understand it. The DEA didn’t tell anyone who I was, and they didn’t change my name until after I left the hospital. There’s no way this Langley guy could know my identity.”
Can't Buy Me Love Page 35