16
Ryker
I'm so agitated I seize the all but abandoned pack of smokes from my dresser and light up right there in the house. I try to move to the opposite end of the house from Bryan. Pissed as I am, I'm not going to expose him to secondhand smoke. Moving outside the house just seems irresponsible at this point. The tip of the cig glows bright amber and I clench my eyes shut, trying not to think.
It's a futile effort. The look on Cleo's face is burned into the back of my eyelids. The panicked look that flitted across her face makes my blood run cold.
I lay my heart bare to her, confess the most secret desire I've ever had, and she runs. That didn't bode well.
For the life of me, I can't figure out just what I've done wrong. True, we haven't been together long, romantically, but I'd been her friend and confidant for years now. Cruz and Holly had tied the knot within a few months of meeting each other. Surely Cleo and I have enough history that we've reached that point as well?
And now she's out there in the night, just waiting to be snatched up by Trent. What do I do? Cleo's car is smashed in and probably dragged to an impound yard by now. My bike doesn't have any place fit for a child of Bryan's size. My truck needs repairs before it's drivable again.
I shoot Cruz a text, telling him what's going on. I'll have to hope that he can track her down, though it kills me to put her fate in the hands of another man. Especiallythisman. But Cleo would murder me if I left Bryan alone to chase after her. And I have a feeling she doesn't want to be found.
Why? Why the hell had she gone?
The question spins around in my head so much I feel dizzy. I consider it so long and hard that I burn my fingers on the glowing tip of my cigarette. I douse it in the leftover glass of water I had by my bed before flicking it into the trash. I light another, just to have something to do. It feels like torture, dangling in the unknown, not knowing if she's safe.
About twenty minutes later I'm down to my last cigarette and my phone dings. I pull it from my pants pocket, hoping desperately that the number is Cleo's. My spirits fall a little when it's Cruz instead.
She's safe. She's at Rapture, having drinks with Holly. I'll have her back in an hour. She looks shaken up.
I expel the smoke on a relieved breath. At least she's safe. Trent won't attack Rapture with Cruz there. Too damn dangerous, going against the other leader of the MC. If he attacks, it will be a cowardly ambush like Damian planned for Cruz. The McNeils' never did things. Cruz said Holly would be there, and Penny. If I trust anyone more than Cruz, it's Penny. The woman has a spine like steel and the cojones that matched any man in the Sleepless Spades. She'd die before she let Trent lay one finger on Cleo. If she isn't with me, I'm glad she's with them.
Cruz will bring her back to me if he can. If she wants to come back. If I haven't scared her off for good. If, if, if.
When the last cigarette is through, I leave the room with its haze of smoke and dump the polluted glass of water in the sink. I clutch the edges of the counter so hard that it creaks. It's too warm in here. I need to turn down the damn heater.
How had I read the situation so wrong? I'd been so confident she'd say yes. And if I were being honest with myself, I wanted to be a dad. Bryan isn't mine, but I've given him more care and consideration than Damian or Trent ever would have. I check every night to be sure he's breathing, terrified of SIDS. This power play by Trent isn't because he gives a damn about his grandson. He wants to hurt Cleo. And he's succeeded.
There was a practical edge to my proposal, though I'd never say it aloud to Cleo. A pair of parents is more effective when presenting to a court. If Bryan was inourcustody instead of Cleo's, her chances of winning the case went up.
But the proposal wasn't a business arrangement. It wasn't designed to put an end to legal concerns. I want her to stay by my side because she wants to be there, not because she's afraid. And I scared her off.
"You're a fucking idiot," I mutter to myself. "You really think she's going to stay with you once this all blows over?"
I didn't want to think that way. Cleo had seemed sincere.
Think. Get over your fucking self pity and think. What's the reason?
I force myself to consider the problem from all angles, instead of a wounded sense of pride. If I were in Cleo's head, what would be my reason to run off?
Fear springs immediately to mind. Fear of me? No. She hadn't seemed frightened by me,. Frightened of the bone-headed moves I've pulled, certainly. But not afraid of me.
It clicks into place and I clutch the countertop until my knuckles turn white. Of fucking course. Everything came back to Damian, didn't it? Bad enough the man had been a bastard in life. He was still causing problems in death. He'd made promises to Cleo too, promising a life and commitment. And what had she gotten for buying into it? Pain. Fear. An unexpected pregnancy.
I am the first man, aside from Cruz, who's given a damn. And we haven't been together long. If the proposal had come further down the road she might have been receptive. But now, with things so tense and so new? She must think it's a trap. She bolted.
How did I convey that this isn't a snare? That I'm not the same bastard who beat her to a bloody pulp?
Well, I'll start by killing Trent. If he wasn't here, hanging over us, things might have been different. Instead, he's dredged all those unpleasant feelings, letting them settle over the surface of Cleo's mind like so much pond scum.
I stare out into the night through the kitchen window fixed above the sink. I've broken into a sweat, still too warm. And that's when I notice here's an odd flickering glow outside. The only comparison I can draw is when the power was down a few years ago and I was forced to light the house with candles. It's...firelight.
And then the smell hits me. It's so familiar that I've almost blocked it out of my mind. It clings to the inside of my nostrils for a day or two every time I have to run into a burning building. The char. Wood burning. It clicks into place all at once, chilling my blood and sends me sprinting to the opposite end of the house. The light, the warmth, the smell.
Someone has set a fire.
