Fuck Ezra. He was going to take her out to the living room.
He grabbed the back of the chair and tipped it back, dragging her out to sit next to the woodstove.
Ryker got to work lighting the fire. It was easy; he’d gone camping and shit when he was a kid. The flame took over the paper, curling and consuming everything it could touch. He fed it some kindling and lifted the bottom of his mask to blow on it, puffing up some leftover ash.
Willow’s breaths were ragged. “Please. Tie me down flat or something if you want. Just move my fucking arms.”
Her voice wavered with the plea, like she was trying not to cry.
Ah, shit.
He fed some smaller bits of wood into the fire before closing the front. If Ezra got pissed, he would just deal with it. Ryker might have been an asshole, but something about her made him feel like an even bigger piece of shit by making her suffer.
He rose to his feet and approached. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of freedom. He released the bindings, watching her struggle to pull her arms forward. One side was definitely hurting her more than the other. The same side as the scar on her face.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” he asked, carefully moving her hands to the front of her body and redoing the bindings. He didn’t tie her to the chair again. It wouldn’t be hard to catch her if she tried to bolt.
“You were going to shoot me in the head earlier,” she said between clenched teeth. “Now you care about my fucked up shoulder?”
“Maybe I don’t like hurting pretty girls.”
She snorted. “Only ugly ones?”
His brows came together. He didn’t really like hurting anyone, but it was a job he was forced to do. It was easy for him to flip the switch to “mean bastard”, but the guilt always had a way of sneaking in.
“No,” he replied finally.
Ryker turned to check the status of the fire.
Her voice softened. “Um, could you help work out that shoulder? Or untie my hands so I can do it?”
He looked her over, wanting more than anything to take her up on the offer to do it himself. There was no sign of his friend around. What harm could it do?
Ryker stood behind her, looking down at this girl they had taken off the street. The wrong one. He had really fucked up. She tensed in anticipation, shuffling her black hair.
He owed it to her. She wasn’t their witness. There wasn’t any reason to punish her.
He reached out and took hold of her small frame. The contact made her flinch, but within moments she relaxed into his touch.
Heat radiated through his body. Why was he getting so worked up over this? It was just a favor. He was only trying to help whatever was wrong. That was it.
Willow’s head rolled to the side and she let out the tiniest groan of approval. His dick swelled, straining against the zipper.
Don’t do that, pretty girl.
His thumbs dug into the tight knot of muscle, but all he could think about was how her skin would feel under his hands if he removed his gloves and slid under the neckline of her coat.
Sweat was gathering at the nape of his neck. Fuck’s sake—was the woodstove already working?
The sound of footsteps came from outside. He yanked his hands away and rushed over to the door. He needed to tell Ezra to put his mask back on. Hopefully, his friend wouldn’t notice the massive bulge in the front of his pants.
There was only so much trouble he could get them into. And he had a sinking feeling she was going to drag him into every bit of it.
Chapter 9
Ezra
“Put your mask on!” Ryker said as he threw it toward him.
