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“How can I feel protected?” I snap out, trying to swallow the bitter pill that this conversation has become. “When you made me feel special just for some power play?”
The words are sharp, a blade honed by the rawness of my emotions. My gaze bears into his, a mixture of accusation and disbelief. Ryker’s expression remains steady, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, a shadow of understanding.
“It wasn’t just that,” he replies, his voice soft yet resolute. “I didn’t expect to like you as much as I did. Instantly, I was struck by you, and I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since.”
Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with this information now? Helikesme? My God, my heart stops beating as I let that sink in a little. I find myself grappling with a strange contradiction. I’m not hurt in the way I could be. This isn’t hell, I guess…
The emotions that should have accompanied such a revelation are muddled, a puzzle I can’t quite solve. How else would I have crossed paths with the others – Maddox, Colt, and Novak – if this didn’t happen? How would I have felt all those things if this never happened?
The thought brings me up short, forcing me to confront a truth I’m hesitant to acknowledge. Ryker’s actions, however misguided, have set in motion a series of events that have introduced me to a cast of wolves who have changed the trajectory of my life. It’s as though destiny has unfolded in the most unexpected of ways. How can I hate him for that?
But then Ryker ruins everything by scoffing all over again, dismissing me in a way I hate. The air is thick with tension, the aftermath of our conversation lingering like a storm cloud over the room. Ryker’s scoff becomes a spark, igniting the fire of my anger once more, a flame that threatens to consume me whole. But this time, it’s different. I refuse to let my emotions be dismissed or belittled. I won’t let Ryker make me feel like I am nothing.
As the echo of his scoff reverberates in the air, I feel a surge of something raw and primal within me. It’s as though a dam has burst, releasing a torrent of frustration and fury that I thought I locked away. The further it burns up in my body, the more irritated I become.
Ryker approaches me, his expression a mixture of apprehension and resignation, as if he knows what is about to unfold. But my rage is a tempest, a force that demands to be reckoned with. Without hesitation, without giving him a chance to speak or deflect, I raise my hand and slap him across the face, enjoying the feel of my body connecting with his like this.
The sound is a thunderous clap, a physical manifestation of the anger that has built up within me. Ryker’s head turns with the force of the blow, but he doesn’t retaliate. There’s a resignation in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the punishment he knows he deserves.
The slap was a release, a cathartic explosion of emotions. But it isn’t enough. The rage still simmers, a molten core that refuses to be quenched. I raise my hand again and strike him once more, the impact sending a jolt of pain up my arm.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t react beyond a flicker in his eyes. And so, I strike him again, the sting in my palm mirroring the intensity of my emotions. It’s as though each slap is a form of retribution, a demand for him to feel the weight of my anger, the frustration of being manipulated and controlled, and being left helpless in this God damn room.
The charged atmosphere in the room seems to thicken with each and every slap, the tension between Ryker and me a living, breathing entity that refuses to be ignored. His unflinching gaze holds mine, a silent challenge that seems to ignite the air around us.
It’s as if the energy of our emotions has taken on a life of its own, spiraling into a vortex of conflicting desires. Without words, without hesitation, I close the distance between us, my steps purposeful, my heart pounding in my chest. It’s a reckless act, driven by the intensity of the moment, the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions that has brought us to this precipice.
And then, it happens. Our lips meet in a clash of longing and intensity, a kiss that seems to bridge the gap between anger and desire. The taste of him is both familiar and foreign, making me want more. My hands trail his body, my fingers mapping the contours of muscle and strength. The physicality of the moment is intoxicating, a heady rush that drowns out everything else. It’s as if the touch, the kiss, are a manifestation of everything we can’t say with words.
As our bodies press together, the heat of our connection seems to spark a fire that blazes within me. The old saying ‘A girl never forgets her first’ flashes in my mind, the truth of it resonating in the depths of my being. This is uncharted territory, a moment that will be etched into the fabric of my memories while I’m here. Stuck under this man’s control and power, which is a really strange place for me to be when all I want to do is overpower him…
I can’t help but throw myself into the kiss. Ryker’s unflinching demeanor only seems to fan the flames, his unyielding strength a magnet for the chaos that swirls within me.
But as the kiss deepens, as our bodies press closer, I feel a flicker of something more beneath, something that we will always share.
“Listen,” his voice is a hushed murmur, heavy with a mixture of determination and apprehension as he pulls apart. “There’s something I have to do tonight. It’s... complicated.”
I nod, barely able to form words as I wait for him to continue. “Hmm, yeah I guessed as much. I didn’t think that suit was just for me.”
“I’m meeting with your father,” he reveals, the weight of the confession settling between us like a heavy shroud. “And I... I plan to use you as leverage against him.”
My heart skips a beat, the implications of his words crashing into me like a tidal wave. Use me as leverage? Against my own father? That seems fucked up.
“How?” The question is a whisper, a fragile thread of sound that barely escapes my lips. Does he know that my mother was killed in front of him – if the rumors are to be believed – and he didn’t care? What makes Ryker so sure that he will care about me?
“I think us having someone he cares so much about will change his mind.” He seems to sense my hesitation. “I didn’t want to keep you in the dark,” he hisses, his eyes pleading for understanding.
“What do you want from me then?” I finally manage to find my voice, the words quivering with a mixture of vulnerability and fear.
He takes a deep breath, his gaze wobbling curiously. “I’m coming to you to ask what you think of the plan. If you’re on board with it, it might just work. But if you’re not... I’ll find another way. I won’t force you into this.”
Urgh, well what am I supposed to say to that? It’s my only chance at freedom. But now I’m confused as to what freedom will look like. Where will I go? Back home? The thought of returning home is a chilling specter that looms over me. The mansion’s opulent halls hold memories that are both tender and nightmarish, and the idea of once again being ensnared by my father’s oppressive influence sends shivers down my spine.
And then, there’s the alternative, an option I hadn’t dared consider until now. The four men who have become a paradox in my life: both captors and saviors, disciplinarians and companions. They have shown me kindness, tenderness, and a strange sense of belonging. The unsettling mix of emotions I feel around them is a confounding puzzle I struggle to solve. Could I stay here with them? Not as a victim anymore, but as someone who belongs?
I guess only time will tell with that one.
“Ryker…” I venture, my voice tentative because I have to be honest. It’s the only way. “…using me against my father... it won’t work. He cares more about power than he does about me.”
