The Ritual

Jumping back, I scream.

“Hey, Rae,” the guy from earlier tonight says, standing in front of the door, blocking my only way back in.

“You scared me,” I breathe, my hand on my racing heart. “What … what are you doing out here?”

“I’ve been waiting on you.”

I take a step back from him, my back hitting the nasty smelling dumpster. We’ve been closed for over an hour. He’s waited this entire time for me? “You need to go,” I tell him and try to step around him, but he steps to the side, blocking me.

“Come on.” He smirks. “Do you really think I don’t know who you are?”

My stomach drops, but I try to fake it. “I don’t know …”

“You’re Blakely Rae Archer.”

My breath hitches that he knows my full name. My eyes drop to his right hand, but I don’t see the ring that I know Ryat wears with the Lord’s crest on it. Is this guy a member? “Did Ryat send you?” I ask, voice shaking.

His smile grows.

If this is a test, I feel like I just failed. “Just tell him you didn’t find me. Please …”

Grabbing my top, he spins me around. He slams my back into the back door to the bar, stepping into me. “Why would I do that?”

“Please,” I beg. I can’t go back. I’ve thought about it, but it’s been too long now. Ryat would kill me. I have no doubt that I stepped over a line that cannot be undone. And I knew the moment I decided to run that I’d be running for the rest of my life. But it was better than the alternative. Ryat, my mother, father, Matt, everyone made me a fool. A stupid, idiotic woman who thought she might actually be worth something.

“What will you do for me?” he asks.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I have some cash ...”

He throws his head back, laughing. “I don’t want your money, bitch,” he snaps in my face, making me whimper. “No, I want what Ryat has.” Taking a step back from me, he gives me just enough room to bring my knee up, making contact with his balls.

“Fuuuccckkkk.” Doubling over, he grabs himself.

I push off the wall to run down the alleyway. But a hand fisting in my hair yanks me to the ground. “Get off me!” I shout, kicking my feet out, but he drops and straddles me, his weight pinning me down on the uneven, cold ground. It rained earlier this evening, so the water soaks into what little clothes I wear and my hair.

“Not until I get what he owes me,” he growls, wrapping both of his hands around my neck and squeezing.

I arch my back, my hands gripping his forearms and my lips open, trying to suck in a breath, but he’s restricting my air. My shoes kick the concrete, and my face pounds like a drum. Tears fill my eyes, making his figure blurry.

“I’m going to send you back to him in fucking pieces,” he growls, shaking me.

Dots take over my vision, my chest heaves for a breath of air as my body starts to give up the fight. My hands falling to the concrete beside me, and my eyes grow heavy. Just when I think I’m about to die, his head is yanked back, and I watch a knife slide across his throat. Blood squirts out of the open wound, spraying me, and his hands loosen enough for me to get free.

Coughing, I crawl backward before his body falls to the ground where I was just lying.

Trying to catch my breath, now wet and covered in blood, I look up at the man who stands behind him, and my stomach drops. He’s much more terrifying than the man who was just trying to kill me.

Ryat Alexander Archer has found me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

RYAT

I STARE DOWN at her, watching those pretty blue eyes look up at me from her ass in complete and utter shock. She looks just as gorgeous as I remember. Her hair is darker, but other than that, she looks like the blue-eyed, Barbie doll–face woman I became obsessed with. Blood now covers her white crop top, neck, and parts of her face. I like the way it looks on her—really brings out her eyes and red painted lips.

She’s sitting on the ground, and her big tits bounce while she pants, trying to regain her breathing after the motherfucker was choking her to death.

If anyone kills her, it’ll be me. I get that privilege. She’s my wife. I decide when I’m done with her, and my cock stuffed inside my jeans reminds me I’m not quite there just yet.

I lift the knife in my hand and run the blade across my jeans, wiping his blood off both sides on my thigh.

She scrambles backward a little more, getting to her feet. She turns to run, but Prickett and Gunner both stand at the end of the alleyway, blocking her exit. She looks back at me, and then darts inside the bar through the back door.