Page 50 of Scream Little Sister

Ryder’s fingers circle my arm and my other wrist as he gently guides me off the bike. He holds me steady on my shaky legs as my feet touch the gravel. A whimper slips out of me as the world wobbles and I lose my balance.

“Easy,” he murmurs as he catches me before I fall.

He tucks me against him, with my breasts smashed against his chest. A muscle thrums in the corner of his jaw, but he keeps the expressionless mask in place. His arm winds around my waist, his palm flat on my lower back. His free hand grips my throat beneath the helmet—a placement that should concern me, but if I’m being honest with myself, it brings more relief than fear. It’s as if I’m handing over my power and allowing him to take care of me.

Ryder works the straps undone and eases the helmet off my head. He carelessly tosses the gear to the ground while keeping his focus on my face. I suck in fresh air and snake my arms around his neck to stay upright.

I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.

Fuck, I’m going to die right in front of my brother.

Ryder hooks his arm around my waist, palm on my lower back and his other hand taking its place around my throat. He cocks his head as he watches me.

“Breathe with me.” He sucks in a breath through his nose.

I follow his instructions, but my lungs can barely hold the oxygen. Then the air rushes out through my mouth as he does the same.

“Good girl,” he coos, then repeats the same breathing technique. “You’re safe. No one will hurt you. I’ve got you, doll.”

I follow along until I’m able to fill my lungs without feeling like I’m about to puke. He whispers words of encouragement while I focus on breathing. I’m safe. Justin can’t hurt me. Ryder and I didn’t get hurt on our way here.

No one is dead.

We’re safe.

He’ll keep me safe.

My mind shifts its focus to Ryder. My breasts still press against his chest, and our hips lock together, leaving no room for anything other than unspoken words to slip between us. His hand remains on my throat. Can he feel my fluttering pulse?

“Eyes on me.” His fingers flex around my throat, a warning to do as he says.

I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes until he said something. My lids pop open, and I train my gaze on his face.

Ryder’s thumb strokes my neck, sending tingles straight between my legs. Our warm breaths mingle, and I take in his heady scent. Amber and cypress fill my lungs, my head now dizzy for an entirely different reason as the panic subsides.

“We could have died.” A sob bubbles out of me, and tears spring to my eyes.

Ryder’s blank expression cracks, revealing a softer emotion I saw once when we were kids and I cleaned his bloody nose. “We didn’t, though.”

“We could have!”

Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but there is no rationality left in my bones after a panic attack that severe. My brain still clings to the potential of death. Or worse. Any second now, Ryder could let go of me, scoff, and tell me to stop being a baby. He could revert to treating me like a ghost.

I don’t know which outcome is worse.

Ryder releases my throat and slips his hand behind my head to hold me in place as he leans down until our noses touch. I suck in a breath as our lips brush, but he makes no move to kiss me fully.

“I’ve been riding since I was sixteen. There’ve been a lot of close calls in that time. What happened back there wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” His fingers thread through myhair and tighten in a firm grip. “You had the helmet on, doll. If something happened to someone, it would have happened to me.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. Another sob works its way up my chest and bubbles out of my mouth. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It should.” He offers a smile, but something’s off in his gaze. He’s not upset about our near-death experience. If anything, he welcomes it.

I fist his hair and tug, desperate for him to understand how those thoughts scare me. I don’t want anything to happen to him, no matter how much he hates me. No matter how much he treats me like I’m shit beneath his shoe. I don’t want Ryder to get hurt.Ever.

Ryder’s pupils expand, and he inhales a sharp breath as he pulls me closer to him. With our hips flush together, I’m forced to feel the growing hardness within his pants. After what happened with Justin, my body shouldn’t respond this way right now. Butterflies fill my stomach, and my nipples harden into sensitive peaks.

“Well, it doesn’t make me feel better,” I say with conviction. Hoping he can hear the desperation in my voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”