Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(100)

He grins. “It’s pretty brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“So that was the game?” I ask, dumfounded by their disposal of people. “Use him to hide your bribe?”

“Mmm. What we didn’t plan on is you and the call log.” He runs a hand up the side of my torso, and I fight to remain calm.

“You piss off enough people, betray them, someone’s bound to return the favor,” I say, finding my resolve.

“Exactly.” His chuckle sends fear ricocheting through me. “I’m returning the favor to you right now.”

With my hands still cuffed in one of his and his forearm pressed against my shoulders, pinning me to the wall, he slides a hand between my thighs.

My entire body tenses.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

This is real.

So real.

The tears come. The random babbling as his fingers dig into me through the fabric of my clothes. I scream for help. For him to stop. But every movement, every show of fight, has him growing harder against my leg.

I can smell my own terror in the room almost as certainly as I can smell his arousal, and both make me dizzy and nauseous.

“Will Ryker still want you when I’m through with you?” His voice is a growl in my ear. “He’s not really into used things—that’s why Bianca and I had so much fun using him. Nothing like showing the best attorney in all of New York that he’s far from fucking invincible. First with the representation and now with what I’m going to do to you.”

I grit my teeth and fist my hands as I try with every ounce of my being to push him off me.

“Will you cry when I fuck you?” He lifts a brow. “I think you will. All tough on the outside but not an ounce of strength when shit gets real.” He presses a kiss to my lips as I buck my head back and forth. “Will you fight me? Will you lock your legs around my waist and try to prevent me from ruining you?” He yanks my skirt off me, the expensive fabric giving way without an ounce of fight. “I love the sound of a hand hitting flesh . . . it turns me on. So go ahead and hurt. I’ll get off on it.”

This time he shoves his tongue inside my mouth, and I make a conscious decision to let him. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but chomping down as hard as I can on it is probably the most satisfying.

He cries out and lets go of me as a reflex to the pain I’ve caused him.

I make my move. The door is too far away, and I’d have to go through him to get there, so I run to the nightstand, my sights set on the lamp.

He tackles me from behind with his entire body. My screams fill the room as I kick and claw and fight while his maniacal laughter echoes around us.

And then, as if I’m in a dream, Carter is off me.

There’s a roar in my ears I can’t comprehend from where I’m lying facedown against the carpet, one heel on, one heel off, the cool air of the room sliding over my bare skin.

Everything seems to go in snapshots of time.

Everything feels so very fuzzy. So very slow.

The textured carpet against my cheek.

The tenor of Ryker’s voice. At least I think it’s Ryker’s voice, because it sounds like him, but with a rage I’ve never heard before.

My body being sore. So very sore. My fingernails broken. My knuckles raw.

The sight of my wig lying partially under the bed. The black hair so dark against the light carpet.

The heat on my cheeks from where my tears have streaked down them.

And then I know it’s Ryker.

His voice saying my name.

His hands cradling me as he picks me up ever so gently and sets me on the bed.

His arms wrapping around me and holding on like he’s so very afraid to let me go.

“I’m here. You’re okay. He’s never going to hurt you again.” These words are on repeat on his lips. The repetition of them is almost as soothing to me as the feel of his arms.

There is more commotion in the room or hallway or somewhere close enough I don’t see but can hear. The click of handcuffs. The groans of pain. The Miranda warning being recited.

“Please tell me you’re okay?” The break in Ryker’s voice all but snaps the hold I have on my own sanity. But he doesn’t lean back, he doesn’t look me over, almost as if he’s wary of discovering truths he’s afraid to acknowledge. That he didn’t get here in time.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming. “I’m okay.” I repeat it again, almost as much for my sake as it is for him. “I’m okay.”

His fingers tense, and then there’s a hitch in his breath as he pulls back his own emotions. As he fights the same fear I have. As he realizes this is all over now.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Ryker

“Can I take her home now?”

The detective looks my way and holds up his finger for me to wait one more second.

I don’t want to wait one more second. I want to get her the fuck out of this hotel room with its yanked-down curtains and knocked-over vase and broken lamp. All reminders of what that bastard tried to do to her. All reminders of how hard she fought.

And that has nothing on the rage I feel when I see the huge red welt on her cheek or the pieces of her clothing ripped apart on the floor.

I’m antsy and can’t sit still and can’t stand, and all I want is my arms around her so I can physically touch her and feel that she is here and whole and a little shaken but untouched in every other way.