Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(24)
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 asshole at his core, was not an option. Hell. She’d seen the asshole, 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.
CHAPTER
8
Zara’s hands were still trembling as she followed Ryker up the stairs from an underground garage. She’d recognized his motorcycles but hadn’t before seen the black muscle car with shiny rims. They bypassed the first floor.
“Our offices are here, and I’ll show them to you later,” Ryker said, his hand firm and warm around hers as he turned to take another set of stairs. The sense of protection and safety he provided tried to burrow into her heart and stay. He reached a landing and put his shoulder to a scratched metal door. The thing opened with a groan, looking beyond heavy.
Her mind cleared as she looked around a spacious foyer, empty of furniture. Blue metal doors were set into each of its walls.
“We replaced the doors with something sturdier.” He strode across the black-tinted concrete floor to the door at the far right and opened it. “Though I should probably start locking this.” His hold on her gentled, and he drew her inside an apartment with a sprawling open floor plan. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the mountains in the distance while heavy metal beams were stationed throughout, no doubt as support. The kitchen was a cross between ultra-modern and stark, with stainless steel appliances, concrete counters, and empty white cupboards.
She blinked at the bare living room. Sure, she’d spent a little bit of time wondering where he lived when he wasn’t in town. The room already smelled like him—male and strong. “I figured the bat cave would have more gadgets. Or at least a sofa.”
He chuckled. “I guess we should start shopping.”
We? She tugged her hand free. “Um, why do you suddenly have an apartment and offices?”
“We need them for now.” He shut the door.
Strung-out butterflies flapped their way through her abdomen. She scratched her arm. The mud had dried, and her entire right side felt sticky. “I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘for now’?”
For an answer, he dug her cell phone from her purse and handed it to her. “Call in sick for tomorrow.”
She shook her head. He was taking over, and a part of her—one she didn’t much like—was tempted to let him. But how many times had she seen her mother give up control to a man, seeking some sort of security, only to lose everything? Was the need to rely on a strong man a weakness for all women or just the women in her family? She could handle her own life and ignore those unreliable needs. “I can’t call in sick. Too much work.”