Page 44 of Hide Little Traitor

When the jet landed at the airfield, I had a text from Damon that he was on his way here and not to bother coming into Miami. Now I see why.

“And what did Daddy Lombardi have to say when he confronted you?” Ryker folds his arms over his chest, standing between my brother and the stairs.

“He didn’t,” Damon replies. “He had two of his enforcers deliver the message, and I barely managed to escape before they could take me to him.”

My brows raise in surprise. It’s not like my brother to run. He’s always been ready to face any problem head-on even the ones that could get him killed. It’s out of character that he didn’t even bother trying to defend himself to our father.

Ryker’s frown deepens, and I suspect he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Do you need a doctor?” I ask, brushing off the lingering suspicion. Things have changed for Damon over the last month, the return of Chloe knocking him off-kilter and making him consider something other than the future Dad paved for him.

He shakes his head. “Nothing that’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Ryker says, finally tearing his assessing glare from my brother and turning toward the jet.

I fall in line behind him, pausing at the steps to help Damon.

I half expect him to refuse my help, but he’s in real pain, and even with my assistance, it takes three times longer to get to the top than it should.

Damon drops into the first seat we come to, and I help him with the seat belt when it’s clear his ribs are making it difficult to do it himself.

“I’ll grab the first aid kit from the back and patch up some of these cuts,” I tell him once he’s clipped in.

“I’m fine, Ronan. Nothing I haven’t dealt with a million times before.”

I roll my eyes. Always so fucking stubborn. “Sit tight for a minute,” I say, not giving him another chance to argue before heading to the bathroom at the back of the jet.

I’m gone for less than a minute, but when I return I find Ryker looming over him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.

He doesn’t respond immediately, and it’s not until I’m within a few feet that I notice the zip ties hanging out of his pocket.

“Is that necessary?” I snap.

“Was it necessary when he did the same to Chloe?” Ryker asks, not bothering to look up at me. “By my calculations, this asshole is still more of a threat black and blue than my girl is on a good day, so yeah, I’d say it’s necessary.”

“She’s not your girl,” I argue.

“Really? Because I’m the only one here that’s been inside her in the last decade, so from where I’m standing, she absolutely is my girl.” He smirks, securing Damon’s bound hands to the armrest.

I suck in a breath. This motherfucker has a death wish.

“Until I can confirm the story he’s spinning, I’m not going to give him a chance to catch me off guard. You don’t survive as long as I have in my line of work without a healthy dose of suspicion about everyone you meet.”

“And yet you’ve never tied me to a chair,” I point out.

“You care more about finding Chloe than about killing me. And you know it would upset her, something you don’t want to do while you’re trying to get back in her good books.”

“He has a point,” Damon mutters.

“I don’t need you to agree with me.” Ryker frowns, shoving himself to his feet and testing the restraints.

He has them tighter than most would, but he’s right not to underestimate Damon when he’s the one who taught Chloe and me how to slip this exact kind of binding.

“I’m assuming Kingston still has you running around the country?”

“I think I know where he is,” Ryker says, typing something out on his phone.