Page 15

Chapter fifteen

Ryder

The neon vacancy sign buzzes and flickers above us as August and I sit inside the van, watching the dingy Portland motel. Rain pelts the windshield, blurring our view of room 114 where that piece of shit Clint has been hiding out.

"You ready?" I grip the steering wheel, anxious to get the show started.

"Been ready." August answers, checking his weapon one final time.

We move quickly through the rain, positioning ourselves on either side of the door. A quick glance through the grimy window confirms Clint is inside, sprawled out on the bed watching TV.

I pick the lock in seconds—a skill that comes in handy from time to time.

Clint's eyes go wide when I throw the door open. He scrambles back against the headboard in fear. "How did you—"

Fucking pathetic.

"Shut up." Before he can make another sound, I’m across the room, I grab him by the throat. August zip-ties Clint's hands behind his back while I keep him pinned. No resistance, no fight—just whimpering and pleading. This was the coward who'd attacked Ava? Who'd terrorized her for months?

"Please, I didn't—" Clint stops when he sees August. “Wait, you're dead. How are you here? This must be a dream.”

"I said shut up." I tighten my grip, cutting off his words. "You lost the right to speak when you put your hands on her."

We drag him out to the van. Mission complete, clean and efficient. Now the real work begins. Ensuring Clint will never hurt Ava or anyone else again.

The drive back feels like eternity, filled with Clint's muffled groans from the back of the van. Every whimper grates on my nerves, reminding me of Ava's bruised face.

"Shut him up," I growl to August.

August turns and lands a solid punch to Clint's face, knocking him out cold.

Close to 3 AM, I pull into the garage at the back of Club X and bring the van to a stop.

"Move," I yank Clint out of the van.

His legs wobble as we march him down the concrete steps. The basement air hung thick and damp. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as we chain Clint to a support beam. His eyes dart wildly around the room, taking in the arsenal of tools lining the walls.

"You can't do this," he stammers. "I have rights—"

August's fist connects with Clint's jaw before he can finish. Blood sprays from his split lip.

"Rights? Not anymore, you don’t, asshole." August grabs a crowbar from the wall. "You know who did have rights? My sister had the right to feel safe, and then you took that from her." The metal bar cracks against Clint's ribs.

I let August get in two more solid hits before stepping in. As satisfying as it is watching Clint get what he deserves, I want him conscious for now.

"That's enough," I pull August back. "The party is just getting started. We can’t have all of our fun all at once."

August's chest heaves with rage as he glares at Clint's crumpled form. "He deserves to die for what he did to her."

"He will pay," I assure him. “We have to be smart about this.”

After securing Clint to a c hair, I call everyone into the conference room.

"So what's the play?" Ethan drums his fingers on the table.

August slams his palm down. "We kill the bastard. Simple as that. He put my sister in a coma that she may never wake up from." I wince a little at the thought of her never waking up again.

"Too quick," Ethan leans forward. "I say we take our time, make him suffer. I've got some creative ideas involving a car battery."

"I want him dead too," I admit. The image of Ava's unrecognizable face still haunts me. "But it needs to be clean."

Chase crosses his arms. "Not my call. I'll support whatever we decide but remember, dead men tell no tales."

Keith, who'd been silent until now, clears his throat. "I might have a solution. Remember Ramirez? The cartel boss we worked with in Colombia?"

"The human trafficker?" Ethan's eyes lite up.

"He owes us a favor. And he's always looking for new merchandise." Keith's face remains impassive. "Sell Clint to him. After that, whatever happens isn't in our hands."

August starts to protest but Ethan cuts in. "You know what they do to people down there, right? The mines, the fights, the experiments. Death would be mercy compared to that hell."

A slow smile spreads across August's face as understanding dawns. "How long do people usually last?"

"Months. Sometimes years." Keith's voice is cold and matter of fact. "Depending on how useful they prove to be."

We all exchange looks around the table. The decision is unanimous.

"Make the call," I tell Keith. Clint will learn that there are far worse things than death.

I motion to August and we head back down to the basement.

Clint's head snaps up as we enter the dim room. Blood had dried on his chin from where August had struck him earlier.

"Good news," I circle around him slowly. "We've decided not to kill you."

Relief floods his face for a brief moment before I continue.

"Instead, you're going on a little trip. To Colombia." I crouch down to his level. "Ever hear of the cartels down there?"

The color drains from his face. "No. Please."

"We have a friend named Ramirez that we are going to introduce you to." August's voice is ice cold. "He's always looking for new entertainment."

"Originally we were going to sell you," I explain casually. "But instead we are going to gift you to him. Building goodwill is important in our line of work."

Clint starts sobbing, the sound grating on my nerves. "I'm sorry, I'll never go near her again, I swear—"

"Too little, too late. You leave in three days." I cut him off. "Ramirez's men will pick you up. After that," I shrug. "Well, let's just say you'll wish we had killed you."

I stand up, brushing off my pants. "We'll collect the favor another time. For now, knowing you'll suffer, far beyond what any human being is capable of tolerating, is payment enough."

Clint's sobs echo off the concrete walls as we head back upstairs. The sound is like music to my ears.

I head towards the stairs, ready to get to the hospital to see Ava, when Chase's hand catches my arm.

"Ryder, wait." His face is filled with concern. "We need to talk."

I sigh and turn to face him. "What is it?"

"Look, I know you're worried about Ava. But I watched you nearly destroy yourself when we were searching for August and the others before they were reported dead." Chase's grip tightens. "You barely ate, didn't sleep. You were like a ghost."

We had put together a team and launched a search operation when August's squad initially vanished. For fourteen days straight, we combed through every crevice and cavern we could find. The Afghanistan sun, pounding down on us. For nothing. The moment I heard they'd discovered their bodies, I completely lost it.

"That was different—"

"Was it?" His eyes locked with mine. "You've got that same look now. Promise me you won't spiral again. We need you, brother. Hell, Ava needs you functioning, not running yourself into the ground."

I run a hand through my hair in frustration, knowing he is right but hating to admit it. My fingers catch on a few tangles—evidence of how little attention I have paid to basic self-care lately. "I promise, alright? I'll take care of myself. No more skipping meals or pulling all-nighters."

Chase nods, finally releasing my shoulder. "Good. Now go."

When I finally get to the hospital, Ava's room is empty, the bed neatly made as if no one had been here at all. A discarded water cup sits on the bedside table, but otherwise the space feels eerily abandoned. My heart rate spikes as the sick feeling of dread starts taking over. I pull out my phone with shaky fingers, quickly dialing Danie's number. After everything that has happened with Clint, finding an empty room is the last thing I can fucking handle right now.

"Where is she?" I demand as soon as she picks up.

"Relax, boss man," Danie's casual tone filters through the phone, though it does little to ease my anxiety. "Her room became available earlier than expected, so they moved her last night. Everything's fine. I stayed with her through the transfer. I was just about to text you actually, but you beat me to it." Her words help me to calm down, though I can't quite shake the panic I feel at seeing her empty room.

I check my watch—11:00 AM. "Which room?"

"She is in suite 14. When you get to the front desk—"

I hang up before she could finish, already heading for the door.

I push through the gleaming glass doors of the Rising Sun Long Term Care Facility, taking in the marble floors and elegant furnishings. This isn’t your typical sterile hospital environment—more like a five-star hotel. The hefty price tag seems worth it just for the peaceful atmosphere alone.

"Good morning, Si r. Can I help you?" The receptionist asks, her polished demeanor matching the luxurious surroundings. Her silver name badge caught the light as she looks up from her computer screen.

I clear my throat, "I'm here to see Ava Jade."

The receptionist nods professionally, her fingers tapping briefly at her keyboard. "Of course. Just follow this hallway to your right," she gestures with a graceful sweep of her arm. "The suites are clearly numbered, and Ms. Jade is in suite 14. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, ma’am." I walk the long hallway to suite 14. I note the carefully curated artwork and soft lighting. Everything is designed to feel welcoming rather than clinical.

When I enter Ava's room, I have to pause for a moment. The transformation from standard hospital room to personalized sanctuary is remarkable. Warm earth tones replace institutional white walls. Plush armchairs and throw pillows create cozy seating areas. Family photos dot the surfaces, and fresh flowers brighten the window sill.

The medical equipment is still there of course—monitors, IV stands, and the adjustable hospital bed where Ava lies. But they'd managed to integrate it all seamlessly into the homey décor. Even the harsh fluorescent lighting had been swapped out for softer lamps.

My eyes fix on Ava, I settle into a chair beside her bed, placed close enough to hold her hand. The room might feel more like home now, but it wouldn't truly be right until she is back with us.

Danie is sitting in the recliner in the corner of the room.

"How's she doing? Any changes?" My voice comes out rough.

Danie shakes her head, "Same as yesterday. And the day before that. Doctors say her vitals are stable."

Before I can press for more details, the door opens with a soft click. A nurse with kind blue eyes and brown hair pulled back in a neat bun enters, carrying a tablet.

"Good morning, I'm Victoria. I just need to check Ava’s vitals and change her IV." She moves to the side of Ava’s bed, checking her blood pressure.

Victoria's presence is oddly calming. She has none of the clinical detachment I'd seen in the medical staff at the hospital. The way she speaks softly to Ava while checking her pulse and blood pressure, as if she can hear every word, makes my chest tighten with unexpected emotion.

She is treating Ava like she is still a person, not just another patient in a bed. I watch as Victoria adjusts the pillows with genuine care, her movements deliberate and thoughtful. Unlike some of the other staff who rush through their duties with mechanical efficiency, she takes her time, explaining to Ava what she is doing and handling her with the dignity she deserves. It is refreshing to see someone who hasn’t become jaded by the daily grind of their work.

"I'm Victoria Dane," the nurse's gentle voice finally broke through my concentration. "I'll be taking care of Ava during my shifts."

Danie shifts in her chair. "I'm Danie Steward, Ava's best friend since college." She gestures toward me. "And this is Ryder Donovan, Ava's..." she hesitates for a fraction of a second, "boyfriend."

Victoria makes some notes on her tablet. "Does Ava have any family members we should expect?"

"She has a brother August." Danie informs her.

"Parents?" Victoria asks softly.

"Both passed away when she was younger. Car accident." Danie's voice is steady now.

I tune out the rest of their conversation, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of Ava's breathing. My hand found hers, thumb brushing over her knuckles. Even unconsciously, her presence grounds me, keeping me from drowning in the rage and helplessness threatening to overwhelm me.

Victoria's questions continue, but I can't bring myself to participate. Every detail about Ava's life, her family, her medical history—Danie handles it all while I sit in silence, holding Ava's hand like it is my only lifeline to sanity.

After Victoria leaves, the room falls into a heavy silence. I shift in my chair, my hand still wrapped around Ava's. I have to let Danie know what I have done to Clint. She deserves to know we got justice for Ava.

"Danie," I keep my voice low, "there's something you should know about what has been going on the past couple of days. About Clint."

She straightens in her chair, "What did you do?"

"Before I tell you—this information dies with you. Understood?"

Danie's expression hardens. "Of course. Whatever happened to that bastard, he deserved it."

I take a deep breath, "Keith tracked him down to some run-down motel in Portland. It wasn't hard—he's not exactly a criminal mastermind. August and I went down and got him."

"And?" Danie leans forward, her eyes intense.

"Let's just say Clint won't be bothering Ava ever again, or anyone else for that matter. We arranged for him to provide certain services in South America. Manual labor, mostly."

"You sold him?" She sounds more amused than anything.

"More like I gave him as a gift. They won't be gentle with their new toy. Given how weak and pathetic he is, I'd be surprised if he lasts more than a month or two."

Danie absorbs this information in silence, her expression unreadable. Finally, she jumps up from the recliner she is sitting in and attacks me in a hug. Tears streaming down her face when she pulls back. "Good. I hope he suffers every single day."

We share a look of satisfaction, united in our hatred for the man who hurt someone we both care about deeply.

Just then August pops his head in the door. "Look at that, I got the right room." He didn’t even make it through the doorway before Danie is on him, wrapping him in one of her bear hugs that nearly knocks him off balance. He looks completely shocked by her attack, his eyes darting between Ava and me, clearly confused and trying to figure out what is going on.

I smirk at his obvious discomfort. August had never been great with emotional outbursts, even back when we were kids. The bewildered expression on his face is almo st comical as he awkwardly pats Danie's back, unsure how to handle the situation.

"I just got done telling her how our little adventure went," I inform him, watching as Danie continues to damn near squeeze the life out of August.

Still clinging to him, even longer than she hugged me I might add, Danie's voice is full of emotion as she speaks.

"Thank you so much. You can't know how much it means to me to know that he will pay for everything he has done to her. After all these years of watching him hurt her, it's like a weight has finally been lifted." Her fierce protectiveness of Ava is evident in every word, and I have to admire her loyalty. I respect the hell out of the little fireball.

August detangles himself from her. "What do you mean years of watching him hurt her?"

Danie's face immediately falls, looking like she'd just let slip something she'd sworn to keep secret. "Oh, nothing. It's really not my place to say," she stammers, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting.

"Like hell it's not," August growls. He gestures toward Ava, "It's not like she is telling us anytime soon."

I watch Danie go and sink back into her chair, her earlier enthusiasm gone. She wrings her hands in her lap, clearly wrestling with whether to break Ava's confidence.

"Please," August pleads, his tone softening. "If that bastard hurt her before—I need to know." It’s something I want to know too. I know some of what happened to her, from the police report. But we never had a chance to have a conversation about what really happened.

Danie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "It started small. Controlling behaviors, like checking her phone and dictating who she could spend time with. Then came the verbal abuse—constant criticism, gaslighting, making her doubt herself." Her voice growing thick with emotion. "He'd fly into these rages over nothing, throw things, punch walls. Never hit her directly, but the threat was always there."

I look at Ava's face, imagining her enduring years of psychological torture at the hands of that piece of shit. Now I want to go back to the office and make him pay for every bruise he has put on her.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" August’s face is a storm of guilt and fury. "I would have—"

"August, you were deployed and then you were gone. She made me promise not to tell anyone, especially you, " Danie cut in. "You know how Ava is. Always trying to handle everything herself and protect everyone else. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone." She wipes roughly at her eyes. "By the time she finally left him, he'd convinced her she was worthless, that no one else would ever want her. It took months of therapy for her to start feeling like herself again."

I thought about how strong and confident Ava had seemed when I first saw her at the rally. How passionately she'd defended women's rights and autonomy. All while carrying these invisible scars.

"Well, at least now we know that piece of shit is getting exactly what he deserves." I squeeze Ava's hand gently. "And then some."

Long after danie and August left, I sit looking at Ava—guilt gnawing at my chest. This whole nightmare started because she caught me stopping a new Dom from hurting his sub. The betrayed look on her face when she stormed out still haunts me. If only I could have explained about monitoring the scene for safety, about my responsibility as one of the club owners to ensure everyone's wellbeing.

"I should have told you everything from the start," I don’t know if she can hear me, but I hope like hell she can. "About your brother, all of it." How could I have expected her to trust me when I'd kept things from her?

When she wakes up—not if, never if—I'll be able to explain why I was in that room that night with a young woman wrapped around me. Why I'd been distant and preoccupied with work. Why I thought I was making the right choice by not telling her we’d found August alive.

My fingers tighten around hers. "Just wake up, baby. Wake up and be furious with me. Yell, scream, throw things—I don't care. Just come back to me so I can make this right."

The silence that follows my whispered plea is deafening. I watch her face for any sign of response, but she remains still, unreachable. The magnitude of everything I need to tell her, to apologize for, weighs down on me like a physical weight.