"...the person you are trying to call is unavailable. Please try again later..."

Sighing a little aggravatedly, I ended the call and fell back on the spare twin bed. I looked down at my phone, at the numerous attempts I'd made at calling Ryder, but he hadn't answered. It hadn't even gone to his voicemail. Worry slowly and gradually gnawed at me.

Pushing my phone aside as the screen went dark, I dragged both of my hands up my face and winced at the loud boom of thunder. It had started raining heavily somewhere in between Dad's reassuring murmurs as I'd hugged him for as long as he'd let me (which had been a long time) and him showing me the spare room--a warm cozy, unused room--that he'd assured me wasn't anyone's, just a spare that he hadn't known what to do with when he'd bought the house years ago.

"Stay here for as long as you want, yeah?" He'd told me as I'd taken my time to look around--the vaguely large twin bed, the empty shelf, and the arched windows that looked out to the night sky. It was warm.

He'd brought out a thick, huge blanket for me, asked me if I needed more pillows--how many was too much--and shown me where the bathroom was across the hallway--the spare toothbrush, water, the leftovers in the fridge--and I think he was trying his best, doing everything, because he didn't want me to vanish the moment I woke up in the morning. It was a whiplash of tangled emotions because...because I didn't think I had ever been on the receiving end of this.

If only he knew that I didn't want to leave, not when I'd finally found him, not when he was nothing--nothing like I'd expected. Nothing like Mom.

Something tapped loudly against the window and I jumped, startled, only to turn around fast and notice that it was just a large tree branch.

I looked over at my phone again, and felt this tightening ache in my throat, my fingers itching to call Alyssa--Mom--Andy, anyone. Alyssa wouldn't pick up. But maybe Mom would? Why hadn't I called her yet? What was I so afraid of?

Everything.

I squeezed my eyes close and shook my head. No, I told myself, no, I will only worry about Ryder right now. I wouldn't think of anything--anyone else right now. Because I was here, at Dad's house. Ryder had brought me here. He was the one who'd found Dad.

Wincing, I got up from the bed and started pacing again, a floorboard creaking loudly beneath my feet. I stopped and wondered if Dad was asleep or still awake. Judging from the utter quiet of the house, it was likely he'd called it a night. And it was nearly midnight by now.

I walked back towards the windows and stared outside. Raindrops washed down the glass--a touch so cold that I shivered. I blinked, leaned closer and pressed my nose against the cool glass, and watched a shadowed silhouette moving across the small yard and towards the--towards the back door.

I tried to look where the figure went but it wasn't easy, and also the glass was too cold. Alarmed, I pulled away and walked towards the door, pulled it open, and walked out into the hallway.

There was a rattle, a creak, and what felt like an opening of a door. The backdoor.

I walked downstairs, trying not to make any noise, and only had just reached the door, bare feet curling against the cool floor, when I saw a figure slipping past the back door and stepping inside the house.

I stiffened in alarm, recognition, relief--and a relieved noise left my lips. "Ryder!"

He stiffened, fingers curled around the door, and carefully closed it shut behind him.

I neared him, hesitated, and only then noticed his drenched state, which should've been obvious from the loud slashing rain and thunder outside. A flash of thunder and I saw the dark blue of his eyes, hair matted to his forehead and dripping rainwater--

"Come inside, come inside!" I spoke worriedly, trying to keep my voice low, and tried to reach for him but he stepped aside at the very last moment. "What..." I stopped, confused. "What took you so long? You said you'd be here soon."

"I didn't say when." His voice came out flat. "Where's your father."

Something was wrong. "Why?" I asked him slowly.

"Because I need to fucking punch him in the face for letting you almost get shot," he gritted out.

There was an air of alarm, thunder, anger around him, his face coming out of the shadows as I took a step near him. He looked so strung tight with rage--deadly rage--an almost manic look in his eyes.

"No. Please don't do that." I whispered, cleared my throat, and said, "He didn't do anything. He wasn't...I came in front of him. What happened to Santiago?" Is he dead? Is he gone? Did he run away?

You owe me, he'd said right before aiming his pistol in the air and pulling the trigger. A bullet that had been so close to my head just a few seconds before.

I gritted my teeth to control the shudder wracking my frame.

"You came in front of him."

I blinked. "What? Yes."

"Why would you do that?" He held himself so still even though I could see--feel his anger, the thickening of his words, the grit of his jaw.

"Because...he's my dad."

"Who didn't even fucking care you existed a day ago." He snarled, took another step away from me, and my eyes widened when I realized he seemed to be searching for--for Dad. "I will kill him with my bare hands--"

"Ryder!" I stepped in front of him, reaching out, fingers splaying over his chest. "Stop, what are you--"

He stopped, but only momentarily. "Get away from me, Alice."

My heart stuttered in alarm. I pressed closer, shaking my head. "No, don't. He's asleep."

"I will fucking wake him up then!"

"No, Ryder." I gripped his rain-drenched shirt with my fingers. "He's--he's good. We talked. You can't."

He stilled again. "Why."

"Because he's my dad!" I added hysterically. "And we talked and he explained stuff to me. Please don't do this. It wasn't his fault--wasn't his fault that Santiago tried shooting me in the head."

The moment those words left my lips, I knew they weren't the best choice of words to say right then. He tensed all over again, as if a moment away from exploding in rage, and I winced.

"Sorry! Sorry, not the right words." I hastily tried to push him back, which wasn't an easy thing when he was all tense muscles and restrained anger on top of it all. "What I meant to say was, it wasn't him. It wasn't Dad. He's good, Ryder. I promise. He's...I can't let you go off in a raging fit. It's his house."

"He almost got you killed."

"He didn't. Santiago did."

At that name alone, he pulled back from me as if struck with a sharp arrow, turning around and dragging his hands roughly through his hair. "I can't fucking be here." He gritted out. "I will break something and then your fucking father will not be happy, would he?"

I looked around anxiously, afraid Dad was going to come out of his room any second. What would he say, what would he think?

"Will you calm down, please?" I pleaded.

"I won't," he growled out, eyes filled with deadly rage and fists all red-knuckled. "I can't."

A thin shiver of fear crawled up my spine. "Why?" I asked him worriedly.

"I keep fucking seeing that bastard almost about to shoot you!"

I didn't know what to say, how to stop him from doing something awful--something to Dad. I didn't know how to restrain all that unadulterated fury in his eyes, in his fists.

"I'm all right," I told him, felt my breath hitch, and looked up at him. "I really am. Promise."

He stared back at me, brows pulled together in a deadly scowl, and looked like he had a few choice words to say--ones I knew would only escalate the situation and not tone it down.

A loud boom of thunder was followed by a flash of lightning and I looked outside, then back at him. Locks of his hair were matted to his forehead and I couldn't make out the tiny gash near the corner of his brow where I'd last seen a trickle of blood. Was he hurt anywhere else? Where'd he been this whole time I was waiting for him?

He muttered a low, growly curse and reached for me, tugged me close by my arms, and glared. "No, you're lying."

"I--"

"What the fuck is this?" He held up my hand, my right hand, and I stared at the slightly red skin near the edge of my palm.

"That's just--I dropped the mug of hot chocolate Dad made for me." I blurted out, stepped closer to him, and felt his grip tightening on my elbow. My voice dropped to a low, soft tone, "It doesn't hurt anymore. It didn't then either but he still took care of it. He...gave me the ointment too."

He traced his thumb over the skin--a gentle, bewildering contradiction to the fury in his eyes. "Why did you drop it."

I opened my mouth, confused if that had been a question he wanted me to answer or just a question for the sake of restraining his anger. Instead, I asked him again, "What happened?"

His eyes found mine, staring. I didn't look away. Ryder seemed to know what I'd been asking.

"I killed five of them, five of my men, and none of them was Santiago." He told me, jaw working, still so furious. "He escaped."

I blinked, frowning worriedly. "That's...Will your Dad be angry? Was it--I'm hoping you're just exaggerating and only injured five men, not killed them."

His scowl intensified. "I had the kid's dagger. I used it to slit three of their throats."

My eyes widened as I (mostly) absentmindedly glanced down and noticed the dark splatters on his shirt. My hand found his shoulder, curling around his neck when he leaned closer almost threateningly. "The fourth one swallowed his own tongue when I cracked his fucking skull on the nearest concrete. And the last--I let him go. Because he knows I'll find him, just like I'll find all of my father's men, fucking ask them why they thought siding up with Santiago of all people would be a good thing."

The way he said ask--I had a feeling he only said it on my behalf. Maybe because he could see I'd gone pale hearing him.

"What--What about your Dad?" I asked him, feeling the rain in his shirt seeping into my own.

I watched his jaw tick and that was the only warning--the only hint I got before my back hit the wall--softly--with his hands on me, his face so close, his voice lowering as he gritted out, "I will rip the skin off his face if he so much as even thinks of interfering."

I blinked, looked up at him, and felt a thin, blatant strand of fear curling up my spine. I swallowed, feeling the wall behind me, feeling--knowing the trapped feeling that I couldn't move from--

"I...okay," I said, voice shaky, even though that wasn't exactly what I wanted to say right then. I wanted to tell him not to say that, not when he'd told me that those scars, so many of them, were because of his Dad. But I couldn't get the words out.

It's just Ryder, I thought, repeating it in my head, just him and no one else.

I closed my eyes briefly, pressed a little more against him and a little more away from the wall, and let a trembling exhale leave my lips. Since I was practically plastered to him, I felt him stiffen.

"Look at me." I heard him, felt his fingers tightening on my waist, slipping under the hem of my shirt, cold and warm and burning. "Fucking open your eyes and look at me, querida."

Warm brush of heated air near my jaw, my ear, and I couldn't not--I did open my eyes and looked up at him.

His hand slid higher up my waist, under my shirt, cool air brushing my bare skin. "Why are you afraid," he asked--questioned--stated as his lips nudged my jaw, fierce and insistent, tipping my head up, pressing a slow, lingering kiss there. And it was so different than the confusing fear inside me. A soft kiss and the feeling of being trapped--one pushed and the other pulled me to him.

When I realized he was waiting for me to answer, I tried working my tongue past the numbing dryness in my mouth. "Because," I said, inhaling sharply. "Because I'm trapped. There. And here." There they were--the hot burning tendrils of fear and horror spiraling all around me, holding me in a deadly grip and not letting me go. But here he was--cold grounding touch on my waist, my skin, and the soft touch of his lips lingering right there.

"Are you?" He asked.

I blinked at the darkness, felt the scrape of his teeth beneath my ear, fingers sliding low down my waist and slipping just an inch past the hem of my jeans. I trembled.

"Y-Yes?" I didn't mean to sound so unsure, so uncertain. I just--I gripped him close, trembling at the feel of him, because I knew him, and this was Ryder. I knew him, but why was I afraid?

All of a sudden, his touch, his feel, his heat, all of it pulled away, leaving me dazed and blinking and feeling at such an utter loss. I watched him step away from me, and I watched the distance between us. There was this hot, burning despair in my chest--loathing--hatred--because I didn't want it. I didn't want that distance.

"Are you?" He asked me again, only this time his scowl was more calculating and his stance wasn't so stiff and tense anymore. Are you trapped?

I inhaled shakily, felt my fingers that earlier had been clinging to him, to his shirt--that I hadn't realized, not then--go limp by my side. God, I needed him.

I shook my head because the answer hadn't ever been this easy. "No." I whispered and then, "Please." And then he was there or maybe I'd gone to him because he was the air I needed to breathe or it felt like I'd die.

My hands scrambled up his shoulders, him, gripped his shirt, and pulled him to me, because why was he torturing me? Why, when he'd told me he found it hard to say no to me? Why, when I wanted him?

"Upstairs," I murmured against his lips, chest heaving in agony, in an ache for him to touch me, hold me, just kiss all of it away--everything that he'd promised. "You...You promised."

"I did." He gritted out, gripped my chin, and tilted my face up to kiss me--kiss me in a way that made my mind go blank. Tongue sweeping the roof of my mouth and I shuddered, a quiet whimper escaping my lips, fingers holding me closecloseclose and I breathed him in. "What did I promise?"

"You--" my voice broke into a gasp when he pulled me into another toe-curling kiss by my neck--bit my lip and soothed it with a lick. "Y-You said..." I breathed out, but I couldn't think then what exactly he'd said. I couldn't. "...please. Ryder."

"I didn't say please." His hand slid into my hair, tilting my head up to his. "Did I."

I shook my head, felt the tug on my hair burning right through me, yearned for him to--there were too many clothes between us, too cold, I needed--

"Upstairs?"

A hot whisper of breath, his touch trailing down my waist, hands teasing my sides, leaning down and "Yes, I'll take you." And then he grabbed me by the hips, lifted me swiftly, and I barely had time to grasp his shoulders, a small needy noise escaping my lips, before he nudged his lips against my jaw. "Quiet, Alice, because if your father wakes up now, I will kill him this time."

A soft, hysterical laugh bubbled out of me and I muffled it into his shoulder, legs around his waist as I clung to him, and he headed for the stairs.

Fuck, I thought dizzily.

---------
...to be continued, lads.