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Ryker smiled. He could see Syn trying to work out in his head why he hadn’t had Marshal as a full-time bodyguard when they’d attended Harvard.
“Brandon and Chad are more my age, that’s why they were with me when I attended school.”
“Ah, okay.” Syn sipped at his drink.
“Marshal helped me behind the scenes to get Belle Makeup and Skincare launched,” Ryker murmured.
Belle Makeup and skincare was a dream Ryker had wanted since high school and when he came into his grandfather’s money at the age of twenty-five, he’d finally been able to bring his dreams to fruition. During the process, he excelled at the chemistry aspect but had struggled with the business part until Marshal had stepped in to help.
“I didn’t know he had a hand in your business, but then I was abroad for a few years,” Syn said, scratching his head.
Ryker nodded, sipping at his glass. “He’s kind of private and doesn’t talk about himself much at all.”
Other than Marshal’s school and Secret Service job, he knew next to nothing about the guy except that he’d repeatedly proved himself with the Langstons. And really…that was what mattered, right?
“Bishop has a feeling there is bad blood between Marshal and your parents.”
“That’s because Marshal left us. He helped my dad with some financial decisions that pretty much saved our company and then he walked away.”
“Then why do you want him back?” Syn asked, shooting him a curious glance.
“Because he saved me,” Ryker murmured. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was a big one.
“When?” Syn stared at him.
“You know there was an attempted kidnapping on me.”
“Yeah…years ago when we first met you told me, but you kind of brushed it off.” Syn scowled. A brief flash of hurt filled the other man’s eyes. “Spill it.”
The kidnapping had happened before meeting Syn and he felt a bit guilty for not giving Syn details later on, but he’d been schooled in the art of privacy by his father.
“I’d been sworn to secrecy by my family before heading off to Harvard.”
“I get it, plus you didn’t know me very well back then.” Syn sighed and sipped at his drink—he understood the level of privacy that only applied to the wealthy class. “Don’t tell me if you’re going to get in trouble.”
“No, I’ll tell you,” Ryker murmured, taking another swallow from his glass, welcoming the burn.
He thought back to the day of the attempted kidnapping.
“I was walking out of a club with Chris…” he began.
Instead of taking the family town car, he had wanted to continue drinking. And that was only because he’d been a rebellious young adult—one with too much bravado and too little brains, he told Syn.
“With my fake ID, I could get into any club I wanted,” he recalled. “When the SUV rolled up, Chris and I had been too busy checking out guys on my cell phone to pay much attention.”
He took a deep breath and hurriedly went on as the memories assaulted him.
“Then I was grabbed.”
When big arms had snatched him, he’d fought, kicking and screaming. He remembered the stench of sweat from the man’s body. Another man shoved Chris to the ground and left him there. That was when it dawned on Ryker that they were after him.
“Run, Chris! Get help,” Ryker screamed, fighting and kicking both men, trying to make a difference.
Fuck! He had been eighteen years old and set to enter Harvard later that year, but there was nothing he could do to stop getting dragged into the vehicle.
Only, he wasn’t dragged inside, he kind of toppled inside when a mountain of a man wearing a cowboy hat came out of nowhere and crashed into one of the kidnappers.
Ryker was lifted off his feet and forced farther into the van by the other kidnapper.
