“Stunning,” Ryker’s eyes don’t leave mine.
I gasp.
He drops the medallion and steps back. “Taking a shower. Sleep. Early start in the morning.”
I’m still standing there with my mouth hanging open when the water turns on in the shower.
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter 17
“What is his hair secret?”
-Cat
At first, I think the nightmare wakes me up, but then I realize a hand is clamped over my mouth. I’m about to scream when the scent of leather, kick-assedness, and Ryker washes over me.
“Shhh, Kitten,” his rough voice whispers in my ear. “Someone’s outside.”
I nod.
He removes his hand.
“It’s a no-tell motel. It’s probably rush hour right now,” I hiss.
I can feel him shake his head. He’s coiled like a spring beside me on the bed where I fell asleep, fully clothed. Again.
I listen and realize Ryker the Biker might be onto something. The sounds outside didn’t sound like a bunch of horny motherfuckers about to get their rocks off.
He points to my bag that I packed the night before. I learned a long time ago - when you were under fire, you never knew when you’d have to vacate the area A-Fucking-SAP.
I slip my holster around my shoulders, check my weapon, and flip off the safety. I grab my bag with the other hand.
Ryker stuffs pillows into the bed and pulls the sheets and bedspread over them. It won’t fool anyone for long, but it will buy us time.
He crouches to the side of the door that giant Bowie knife in hand, then motions for me to take cover in the bathroom. The military precision of his hand signals gives me pause for a split-second before I hear someone trying the doorknob.
I duck into the bathroom and lay down on my side, facing the front door. Gun at the ready.
Three seconds later, a new Goon Squad busts through the door. The only sounds are thepffftandpopof the silenced weapons as they spray both beds with bullets.
Ryker is stock-still. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing in the dim lighting. The goons run out of bullets, like the idiots they are.
Goon One reloads. “Check the beds.”
“Why do I have to check the beds?” Goon Two whines.
“Do your damn job,” Goon Three grunts.
They still haven’t noticed Ryker, who is now crouched behind them in the room. Goon Two moves to the bed closest to me, pulls back the bedspread and whips around to see Ryker slash through the Achilles’ tendons of the bad guys at the door.
I’m up in a heartbeat, jumping on the back of Goon Two, knocking the weapon out of his hand. He didn’t reload, but that doesn’t mean I want to chance that he’s not out of bullets.
He grunts and tries to throw me off. I wrap my arm around his neck, squeezing with all my might. His hands scratch at my arms, trying to get air. I push my other hand into the back of his neck and wait him out.
The sleeper hold is one of the first things I learned in the Army. And it’s effective when you’re half the size of your opponent. They’ll fight like hell for air, but it doesn’t take long for the other guy to pass out if you do it right.
I feel the fight go out of him as he falls to his knees. When my feet are on the floor, I slowly release the hold, ensuring he isn’t faking.
