Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(23)

“Zara?”

She gulped. “I’m okay. The car stopped.” Silence descended on her, ominous and pounding. He’d been right. She’d turned to Ryker, and he’d known what to do. “Thank you.”

“Stay in the car. I’m on my way.”

*



The wind blew through the open truck window. Ryker had moved quickly to take his Hummer, more than a little thankful his brothers had dragged it out of storage for him. Winter had arrived.

Her brakes had stopped working?

He’d told Zara nearly a month ago that she needed a new car. He’d offered to help pay if she didn’t have the funds for one…and of course, she’d rejected the offer immediately. But a newer car wouldn’t have shut off by pulling the key out, so maybe it was actually a blessing.

If this wasn’t an accident…

It had to be an accident. He planted his foot on the accelerator. The idea that she’d been in danger unfolded something inside him…something dark. He struggled to remain as calm as he’d tried to sound for her, but emotions, dark and angry, rose up in him. She could’ve been hurt, damn it.

He was a master at compartmentalizing his life. Family—Denver and Heath—in box one. Jobs and clients in box two. The past in box three. Women in another box.

But Zara. Something about her was different. A whisper inside his head, coming from deep down, hinted that she’d escaped her box. He’d loved two people in his life, Heath and Denver, and now Zara was right in his chest, mingled up with the emotions he’d never been able to sort out.

The thought that anybody would try to harm her clenched his teeth and forced an energy to the surface he’d worked hard to banish. His chest burned, and the world widened until he couldn’t focus. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel.

His hands shook, and he wanted to yell. Anger had ruled his life for too long, and he’d finally learned to control the rage when they’d escaped the boys home. He hadn’t had to fight his baser nature in years, but now, with the mere thought that Zara had been in danger, it rose closer to the surface.

It almost erupted the second he rounded the next corner and saw her, pale and trembling, leaning against the hood of her shitty car. Mud coated her entire right side.

He was out of the truck and barreling into her before he could take a breath.

She lifted both hands to press against his chest. “Ryker?”

“Why the hell are you out of the car?” he snapped, drawing her around the vehicle to put the rocky hillside at her back, holding her too roughly but unable to stop himself.

She blinked. “What?”

Jesus. She was just standing there, totally exposed.

He sucked in air to yell and stopped himself just in time. Control. He needed control. So he blew out a breath, keeping a firm hold on her arm. Smells hit him first: Scrub grass, cattle in the distance, her perfume. The scent, too sweet, of fear. Sounds next: Her ragged breathing, her heartbeat, birds, wind, life. Nothing near. No presence.

Even so, he took a moment to survey the area, not finding anything out of place. Then he eyed her, head to toe, his breathing leveling out. He forced himself to take several more calming breaths before he could speak evenly. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She pushed hair off her face, and her hands shook. “Nothing hurts. I looked around the car and fell in the stupid mud. I’m just in shock, I think.”

He nodded. If she didn’t require medical attention, he needed to get her to safety in case this had been deliberate. “Okay, honey, get in the truck.”

When she didn’t immediately move, he did, all but dragging her toward the H3 Alpha and lifting her into the driver’s side. “Scoot over, sweetheart.” He kept using endearments to calm her and to keep himself from freaking the hell out. His hands had started shaking again. Man, he needed to get himself under control. This wouldn’t do at all.

She pushed across the seat, her eyes wide.

He returned to her car, crouching down for a better view. Wet brush at the side of the road dampened the bottoms of his jeans. Scratches marred the right side and front bumper of the car from hitting the rocks. He punched the ground, hard, and pain lanced across his knuckles.

Okay. One punch. That’s all he got.

Brush blocked his view of the underside of the car, so he stood and grabbed her purse before striding back to the Hummer and jumping in.

She leaned forward to look past him at her silent car. “I can’t leave my car here.”

“I’ll have somebody come get it.” He’d call Denver on the way out. “I’ll take care of it.” Heat built up inside him, shoving against his sternum, making his arms tense with the need to hit something again and hard. Nope. One was all he got. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted the vehicle into drive, keeping a handle on himself with sheer will.

Allowing Zara to see the real him, the * at his core, was not an option. Hell. She’d seen the *, but she hadn’t seen the monster—the one ruled by emotion and unable to think clearly to protect everyone.

Anger ruled the monster, and Ryker ruled the anger, so he won. Every time he controlled his temper, he beat every bully who had ever tried to make him something else. Somebody else.

He kept his grip light on the steering wheel, once again fully in control.

This time.