Page 5

5: Ryder

I hate suits.

They’re itchy and restricting, but mostly they make me think of the way my father used to make me dress to meet his campaign donors. Fake smiles, fake love, and the perfect image of a family that didn’t actually exist.

Suits don’t mean shit to me, but to everyone else, a man in a suit screams power, intelligence, and authority. So here I am, stuffed into one, doing Diablo’s bidding for no other reason than he said so.

Well, except for my KitKat.

I'm doing this for her.

This is what she wanted, and I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to screw it up. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage of the situation. If Diablo has a hidden agenda—and I know he does—I’m going to figure it out, and Lila is going to be the one to crack.

I’m not here to charm investors. I’m here to charm her.

She wants my attention; I can see it. Hell, I can feel it—the way she practically vibrates with the need for me to notice her. All I have to do is give her just enough to keep her wanting more, then watch her unravel. People like Lila always do. And once she’s putty in my hands, she’ll tell me exactly what Diablo is planning.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who sounded so confident yesterday,” she says, her focused green eyes flicking my way as she raises a brow. Her blazer hugs her figure too well to be professional, and the lack of a shirt underneath makes it clear she’s playing a game of her own.

“Don’t worry, babe,” I flash her my signature smirk, the one that says ‘I’ve got this in the bag.’ “I don’t need much pre-game to finish what I start.”

“I guess we’ll see.” She mirrors my expression, unfazed by my arrogance, like she’s been expecting it. “How about a little wager?”

I shouldn’t bite.

I know I shouldn’t.

But…

“A wager?” I arch a brow, the bait already too tempting. Besides, I always win. And when I do, she’ll have no choice but to spill her secrets. “Alright. Name your terms.”

Her lips curl into a confident smile, the kind that says she thinks she’s already won.

Cute, but I'm going to mop the floor with you.

“We see who closes the deal the fastest,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “If I win, you have to make me dinner.”

I blink, caught off guard for a split second before I laugh—an actual laugh. “Dinner? That’s it? Hate to break it to you, but I’m not exactly Chef Boyardee.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I don’t care if it’s PB&J, Ryder. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Alright, fine.” I lean back against the elevator wall, feigning nonchalance. Internally, though, my mind is already spinning. She thinks she’s clever, and maybe she is, but she’s underestimating me. “And when I win?”

Her confidence falters, just for a second, but it’s enough to tell me she’s not as certain as she pretends to be. “What do you want?”

I lean in, closing the space between us just enough to make her feel it. “When I win, you tell me what Diablo’s planning. All of it. ”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she’s going to refuse. But then her expression smooths out, and she tilts her head, her arrogant grin back in place. “That’s a steep price.”

“Don’t make wagers you can’t afford to lose,” I reply, my voice low and unwavering.

The elevator hums softly around us, the silence stretching between us for a moment. Finally, she steps back, straightening her blazer and lifting her chin. “Fine. But you’d better bring your A-game, Ryder. I don’t lose.”

I let her have this moment. “Neither do Ikm.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing a room filled with rich, law-breaking investors who think they’re untouchable. But for once, I was a good little boy and studied them all.

Untouchable my ass.

They'll be eating out of my hand in seconds.

They’re laughing, sipping expensive liquor, and trading stories about the millions they’ve made through their “ventures.” The kind of people who have just enough power to think they’re above consequence.

This is going to be fun.

Lila steps out first, her heels clacking against the marble floor like she owns the place. Her confidence is impressive, I’ll give her that. But I don’t follow immediately. Instead, I hang back just enough to watch her, to see how she interacts with the room.

She dives in smoothly, shaking hands like she’s been doing this her whole life. It’s an act, of course—one that Diablo no doubt trained her for. But I can see the cracks in her performance, the slight stiffness in her posture, the way her eyes dart around the room, cataloging every face. She’s not as relaxed as she wants everyone to believe.

I step out of the elevator and into the crowd, plastering on my most charming smile .

Time to get to work.

I don’t rush, don’t make a direct line for anyone. Instead, I let my presence speak for itself. Heads turn, eyes flicker my way, and I catch a few curious glances as I take my time surveying the room.

I hate to admit it, but it's a trick I learned from watching my father in his senator days. They can't think I'm desperate. I have to wait for one of them to show interest, curiosity—something I can work with.

Before I get too comfortable, I search the room for Lila, finding she's still trying to find her target. I'm not exactly sure how she works her charm, but I'm sure the way she's dressed has something to do with it.

I stop near a group of investors standing in a loose circle, their conversation a muddled mix of buzzwords. One of them, a man with slicked-back hair and a watch that probably costs more than my bike, glances at me, his expression polite but guarded.

“Evening,” I say smoothly, my voice just loud enough to catch the attention of the others without interrupting. “Hope I’m not late to the party.”

Slicked-back raises an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Ryder Hayes, and you?” The question catches him off-guard, as if I should know who he is, or at the very least know not to bother him.

You're my big tuna.

Target acquired.

The man straightens his posture, his ego inflating with the smallest puff of my attention. “Anthony Marston,” he says, offering a hand. His grip is firm, practiced—the kind of handshake meant to dominate a room. I let my lips tilt into something faintly amused as I shake his hand, holding his gaze just long enough to flip the balance back in my favor .

“Pleasure, Marston,” I say, letting his name roll off my tongue like I’ve heard it a hundred times before. “I’ve been hearing about you for years. It’s good to finally put a face to the reputation.”

Total lie.

Marston's chest swells, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “And what reputation is that?”

“That you know how to make the best kind of deals,” I reply, my tone easy, almost conversational. “Always in your favor. That’s rare these days.”

Gotta make you think you're in charge, but really I'll be feeding you the terms of the deal you don't even know we're about to make.

I catch a glimpse of Lila across the room, her lips curving into a faint smile as she schmoozes with some small-time in the corner.

Game on.

“Well, I do aim to be efficient,” Marston says, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

“That's great, because cutting a deal with Diablo seems a daunting task, but at 5% revenue of his weapons dealings,” I shrug, letting them mull over my words, filling in the blanks with what they want.

The others in the circle lean in subtly, curiosity lighting up their expressions. Marston preens under the attention, his ego inflating even more with every passing second. I keep my posture relaxed, as though I couldn’t care less if they sign or not— because that’s how you reel them in.

“Five percent may seem small,” I say casually, “but when you consider Diablo’s operations are expanding, it’s less a percentage and more a golden ticket. Of course, it’s not for everyone. Some people just don’t have the stomach for this kind of business.”

Marston’s eyes narrow a bit, and I see the flicker of a challenge in them.

Just take the bait, man. You know you want to .

Marston glances around the circle, gauging the reactions of the others. Their silence is all the confirmation he needs. “Fine,” he says, extending his hand. “Let’s see what Diablo has to offer.”

Gotcha.

It doesn’t take long to move through the room after that. My eyes drift to Lila every time I do, seeing her speaking with the same man.

I've got this bitch in the bag.

The others in the room fall like dominoes, each conversation easier than the last as they sense the momentum building. By the time I’m done, nearly every investor Diablo sent me to charm is locked in. Nearly.

Because the only one missing is the old geezer Lila had been with the entire time.

Lila is tucked into a corner—alone—looking...bored? Her gaze meets mine, and she lifts a signed contract just enough for me to see it, a triumphant look on her face.

Fuck.

When?

I stroll over, keeping my expression neutral, but by her smug look I know she got a contract signed before me. She’s all confidence as I approach, her posture relaxed and her smile sharp.

“Well, that was fast,” I say, my tone light but laced with meaning.

“I’m not in the business of losing my bets,” she replies, her voice smooth. She crosses her arms, tucking them beneath her breasts in a way that lifts them, then flexes her muscles so that she's squeezing them together, showing more through the blazer.

This is how she closed the deal so fast. She distracted that man so much with her body, she had him the moment he looked her way.

I glance at the paper in her hand, doing my best to school my features. “I see you, Lila.”

She leans in just a fraction, her green eyes sparkling. “And here I thought you’d be happy for me. ”

I chuckle, though it’s more for show. “Happy isn’t the word I’d use.”

She grins, lording around the fact I lost. “I guess that means I win our wager.”

“Looks like it,” I admit, keeping my tone steady. “Too bad it wasn't about anything worthwhile, like quality or quantity.”

She tilts her head, her gaze flirtatious. “Don’t worry, Ryder. There’s always next time.”

She smiles, leaving me with the bitter taste of defeat.

She played me, no question about it.

I'm so getting the shit beat out of me by Thorne and Blaze for this.

My mind flashes to Tori, picturing the hurt in her eyes when I tell her about my shenanigans. I wonder how upset she'll be, exactly.

Dammit! I shouldn't have taken the bait.

I should have known.

I let the guilt weigh heavy on me for a moment, but I don't show it. I don't want Lila to see how much this will actually affect me. But maybe that was the point, wasn't it? For her, I mean. She wants to see me rattled, or maybe she wants to see Tori hurt?

I'll kill her.

Lila steps closer, placing her hand on my chest with a tap of each finger. Her eyes flick up to mine with a confidence I don't need her to have. “Can't wait for dinner.” She laughs as she walks off, leading the way to the elevator. We're done here, after all. And even though I passed Diablo’s test with his business, I failed the test with his daughter.

Wait! Loophole.

Lila said I had to make her dinner. She didn't say we had to be alone, or that I had to stay and eat it with her. I'll have Tori by my side the entire time I make a poorly constructed sandwich. Then I'll throw said sandwich at Lila, tell her bon appétit and carry my dinner—a KitKat—to my room .

Sounds delicious.

The confidence is back in my stride as I head for the SUV Diablo is having us all drive. Blaze lost his sports car, Thorne his truck, and I my bike. But when business isn't involved, you can bet your ass Tori will be riding on the back of my bike soon.

“For someone who just lost a bet, you seem a little too happy,” Lila es, entirely misinterprets my good mood. “Are you just excited to cook me dinner?”

I chuckle, leaning back against the elevator wall as the doors close, crossing my arms and letting my inner demon peek through my eyes. “I'm excited for something, that's for sure. But cooking you dinner is definitely not it.”

She's smug, her shoulders pushed back to press her breasts out further, her eyes dancing with lust as she watches me. I'm not bothered by it, keeping my gaze straight on the doors until they open again.

I take the lead this time, being the first to step out into the attached parking garage. We're almost to the SUV when I spot a silver Dodge Tomahawk.

It's illegal on the streets, so what are the chances they'll report it stolen?

My lips twitch, stretching into a wicked grin as I eye the bike. The suit feels more constrictive now, like staring at this beautiful metal has reminded me of how binding this fabric is. I take the blazer off and toss it at Lila's head.

“I'll meet you at the estate. The keys are in the right pocket.” I point to what I just threw at her. Taking my tie off and shoving it in my pocket, I slowly roll my sleeves up and unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt before I straddle the bike.

“What?” Lila whisper shouts at me, finally snapping out of the shock. She marches toward me, her eyes wide like she's about to scold me, but my mind's focused on how to get this thing started.

Can you hot-wire a bike ?

I'm searching around, sleek metal beneath my fingers as I feel around. My fingers snag on a small compartment, sliding it open to find the keys.

I don't know who owns this bike, but I both want to laugh in their face and stick my tongue down their throat.

If I wasn't already on edge, if I wasn't already feeling so wound up and ready to explode, I might think my actions through. But right now I just need out. I need away from Lila, away from the suits and ass-kissing.

Lila is still spouting something, but I've tuned her out so much I don’t even notice her when I take off. The bike is a fucking dream, faster than anything I've ever ridden before. It's intimidating, which means I love it even more.

I'm racing through the streets, weaving through the traffic as I make my way to the estate. My mind is focused on my KitKat, ready to wrap her in my arms and make her mine. Ready to show her that she matters most to me.

She needs to know that even though I like to be in control in the bedroom, she's the one who owns me.

The estate looms ahead, not exactly homey, but as long as I have Tori and the guys, it's enough. I park in the front, kicking the stand out with more force than necessary.

I note there are two SUVs, so I begin to wonder who's missing. With a nagging worry, I trudge my way to the front door, knowing I’m about to get a lecture from whichever guy is home. But when I open the door, I'm greeted by two dogs—at least it feels that way. Thorne stands up so fast, if he had a tail it'd be going a mile a minute. Blaze, on the other hand, comes running out of the kitchen into the hall.

That answers the question of who's missing .

Almost at the same time, all of our faces fall. “Not that I'm not happy to see you guys, but where the fuck is our girl?” I ask, closing the door behind me and stepping in.

“I thought you were her,” Blaze mutters through gritted teeth, turning back and making his way to the kitchen. It smells good, so he's gotta be cooking.

I nod at Thorne and we follow the grumpy Blaze. He immediately takes his spot at the stove, stirring whatever heavenly stir fry he's got going on in the pot. Thorne and I crowd the island, leaning over it in silence. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what we're all thinking.

Is Tori okay?

“Has anyone texted her?”

“I did earlier. Everything seemed fine then,” Blaze responds, keeping his attention on the food.

“Let's try to call her.” I pull my phone out, and dial her number but get nothing in response.

We're all starting to worry now.

Blaze slams the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot, his jaw clenched so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding. “If Gabriel screwed up—”

“Relax,” I interrupt, though my chest feels as tight as his tone. “Tori’s smart. If there was trouble, she’d handle it—or let us know.”

“That’s not the point,” Thorne snaps, his voice sharp. “She shouldn’t be in this position. What the hell is taking so long?”

My fingers twitch against the counter as I set my phone down. No answer. My thumb hovers over her contact again, but I don’t press it. Instead, I force myself to keep my voice even. “She’s with Gabe. He’s...capable.”

I think.

Surely Diablo wouldn’t have him as her bodyguard if was total shit at doing his job .

Blaze snorts, his head snapping toward me. “Capable? That’s the bar we’re setting now? Because capable doesn’t cut it if she’s not home in five minutes.”

“She’s not a kid, Blaze,” I remind him, even though my stomach twists at my own words. “She’s more than able to take care of herself.”

Right?

“Still not the point,” Thorne mutters darkly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter, his expression hard. “If she’s hurt—”

“She’s not hurt,” I cut in quickly, trying to defuse the growing storm. “And if she is, we’ll deal with it. Starting with Gabriel.”

Blaze huffs, turning back to the stove and stirring with more force than necessary. “I don’t like this.”

“None of us do,” I admit, though the words feel sour in my mouth. I glance between them, their frustration mirrored in my own chest. “But blowing up before we know anything doesn’t help.”

Thorne narrows his eyes at me, like he wants to argue but can’t find the words. So, I gesture to the stool next to me. “Sit down and talk.”

“About?” he raises an eyebrow in suspicion.

Blaze glances over his shoulder, clearly interested despite his attention being on the food. I drag a hand through my hair, knowing I need to tell them the stupidity of me.

“I, uh...lost a bet,” I admit, keeping my voice light.

Blaze pauses, his spoon hovering mid-air. “With Lila?”

“Yeah.”

Thorne’s eyebrows shoot up, and Blaze mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Idiot.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say dryly, leaning against the counter. “It’s not a big deal.”

“ You lost a bet? You? ” Thorne’s disbelief is almost comical, but I don’t laugh .

“Technically, yeah. She closed a deal before I could. A sneaky one.” I shrug, playing it off even as my muscles coil. “Now I have to make her dinner.”

“Dinner,” Blaze repeats, his voice flat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, but I’m not.” I grin, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “But I’ve got a plan. She said I had to make her dinner, not that I had to eat it with her.”

Thorne groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got to stop thinking with your ego.”

“It’s not ego,” I counter, though I know it’s a lie. “It’s strategy. She wants to play games? Fine. I’ll play. But I’m not losing twice.”

Blaze shakes his head, returning his attention to the stove. “This is going to backfire.”

“Maybe.” I shrug, though the nagging worry about Tori undercuts the bravado. “But tell me you don't have plans of your own to get Eve to talk.”

Before Blaze can respond, the sound of tires crunching on gravel drifts through the open window. Blaze’s head snaps up and Thorne straightens, both of them moving toward the front door like bloodhounds on a scent. I trail behind, my pulse spiking.

The SUV rolls to a stop, but it's not Tori—it's stupid fucking Lila. She steps out, looking annoyingly composed. Her sharp eyes sweep the driveway, and when they land on us, she looks smug as fuck.

Great. Just what I needed.

KitKat, I need you to hurry home—but also not be pissed when you get here and see her. Please.