Owan:
On my way.
True to his word, Owan appeared in the doorway moments later, his expression softening as he took in Cade's sleeping form.
"I've got her," he assured me quietly. "Take your time." I nodded my thanks, taking one last look at Cade before heading for the stairs.
My anger built with each step, a righteous fury that had been simmering for days, weeks maybe. By the time I reached the top of the staircase, my hands were clenched into fists at my sides, my breathing slightly elevated. Cole's door was closed, a strip of light visible beneath it. I could hear movement inside, the rustle of papers, the click of a laptop keyboard. I raised my hand to knock, then paused, taking a deep breath to centre myself. I needed to be in control for this conversation. Losing my temper wouldn't help Cade.
Isat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing. The silence in my room was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the old house settling. I'd retreated here after my awkward encounter with Cade downstairs, fleeing like a coward under the pretense of coursework that didn't actually exist. The guilt of that lie was just another weight to add to the crushing burdenI already carried. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Not the Cade downstairs who was trying so hard to appear normal, who forced small smiles and spoke in that quiet, hesitant voice that was nothing like the fierce girl we'd fallen for. No, I saw her as she was when we found her, emaciated, bruised, her eyes hollow with a pain so profound it seemed to have consumed her entirely.
I saw her flinching away from my touch in that filthy place, terror flashing across her face as if I were just another monster coming to hurt her. I saw her in the ambulance, so small beneath the blankets, her lips forming the words "please, no more" over and over again. I had failed her. We all had. But while Logan threw himself into the hunt for Damien and Ryder devoted himself to Cade's recovery, I found myself paralyzed, caught between rage and despair, unable to move in any direction that might actually help her.
How could I sit beside her, offer comfort, when her trauma was a mirror reflecting my own? When every bruise on her skin reminded me of marks once left on mine? When every night since we'd brought her home, my own nightmares had returned with a vengeance, leaving me gasping and sweat-soaked in the dark? I was supposed to be the stable one. The rational one. The one who could always be counted on to keep his shit together when Logan's temper flared or Ryder's demons surfaced. But now I was the one falling apart, and I couldn't let Cade see that. She had enough to deal with without worrying about me. So I hid in my room instead, telling myself it was for her own good, knowing deep down it was pure cowardice.
The door to my room burst open with enough force to slam against the wall, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. I was on my feet instantly, adrenaline spiking before I registered Ryderstanding in the doorway, his face a mask of barely contained fury.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded, slamming the door behind him with the same force he'd used to open it. His blue eyes were electric with anger, his entire body coiled tight like a spring about to snap.
"Keep your voice down," I warned, glancing toward the door. "Cade's just downstairs."
"I know exactly where Cade is," Ryder spat, advancing into the room like a predator. "I've been with her all fucking day while you and Logan find every excuse in the book to be anywhere else." The accusation hit like a physical blow, all the more painful for being true. "I've been busy," I said lamely, the same excuse I'd given Cade. It sounded even more pathetic the second time around. Ryder laughed, a harsh, bitter sound with no humour in it.
"Busy? Is that what we're calling it now? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you're hiding."
"I'm not hiding," I shot back, anger rising to meet his. It was easier than facing the truth. "I've been working on leads for Damien. Someone has to find that bastard."
"Bullshit." Ryder was in my face now, close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of darker blue in his irises, could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him.
"Logan's the one chasing leads. You're just using it as an excuse to avoid her. You've been up here for hours, doing what exactly? Because it sure as hell ain’t bloody classwork."
"And what would help her, Ryder?" I exploded, shoving him back a step. "Seeing me like this? Seeing how fucking useless I am? How am I supposed to help her heal when I can't even-" My voice broke, the admission I'd been avoiding for weeks finally forcing its way past my defences. "How am I supposedto fix her when I can't even fix myself?" Something shifted in Ryder's expression then, his fury giving way to something more complex. He closed the distance between us again, but this time there was no aggression in it, just an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
"You don't have to fix anyone," he said, his voice dropping to a register that sent a shiver down my spine.
Before I could process what was happening, Ryder had me backed against the wall, one hand fisted in my shirt, the other braced beside my head. His face was inches from mine, his breath hot against my lips.
"Let me help you," he murmured, and then his mouth was on mine. The kiss was violent, all teeth and tongue and desperation. I should have pushed him away. Should have told him this wasn't the answer. Instead, I kissed him back with equal ferocity, pouring all my rage and guilt and helplessness into it. My hands found his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, while his grip on my shirt tightened until I heard seams ripping.
When we finally broke apart, both panting, I saw the same darkness in his eyes that I felt in my chest, that familiar, twisted need that had bound the three of us together long before Cade entered our lives. It was an escape, a way to stop thinking and just feel something other than the crushing guilt.
"Let me help you," Ryder repeated, his voice rough with desire. "Let me take it away, even for a little while." Relief flooded through me, so powerful it made my knees weak. I knew what he was offering, what I needed. I had needed it for so long, but I was afraid to ask, feeling too selfish to ask when Cade needed him more.
Without a word, I sank to my knees in front of him, a position of submission that came as naturally as breathing. Ryder's handmoved to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, not pulling yet, just holding.
"Tell me what you need," he demanded, though we both already knew.
"Take it away," I whispered, my voice raw with emotion. "The guilt, the memories. Make me stop thinking. Please." Ryder's grip tightened, sending a sharp sting of pain across my scalp that cut through the fog in my brain like a knife. "Get into position," he ordered, then turned and left the room without another word. For a moment, I knelt there, wondering if he would actually return or if this had been some sort of test. But the thought was fleeting, overwhelmed by the desperate need to submit, to let someone else take control when I felt so utterly powerless. I scrambled to my feet and began stripping off my clothes with shaking hands, discarding each item haphazardly on the floor.
By the time I heard the door open again, I was in position: kneeling at the foot of my bed, hands gripping the wooden footboard, clad only in my boxers. I didn't turn around, but I heard Ryder's soft intake of breath, felt the weight of his gaze moving over my exposed skin.
"I'm not going to go easy on you," he warned, his voice closer now. I heard the soft thud of a bag being set on the bed, the rustle of fabric as he removed his own shirt.
"Good," I replied, and meant it. I didn't want gentle. I wanted to feel something powerful enough to drown out everything else. The first strike of the flogger came without warning, leather tails biting into the skin of my back with a stinging crack. I hissed through my teeth, my grip on the footboard tightening until my knuckles went white. The pain bloomed hot and sharp across my shoulders, but before it could fully register, Ryder's hand was there, a gentle caress that somehow heightened the sting rather than soothing it.
"Colour?" he asked, a routine check between us.
"Green," I gasped. "Very fucking green." I felt rather than saw his smile.
