Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1) (25 page)

The second: I know that, if given the opportunity, we’d rip our clothes off and fuck until there was no more sexual hostility left in either of us.

“You’re a bicycle!” I exclaim breathlessly, ripping off my headband. I get to my feet, aware I’ve officially lost my goddamn mind, my head cracking like an egg against a sizzling frying pan. “You can be ridden hard, fast, soft, or slow. Either way, no matter how one would
choose
to ride you, I’m sure your building would bring them copious amounts of mind-numbing pleasure. Happy?”

Ryder lifts a single dark brow. “In more ways than you could
ever
imagine, especially since you can dish it but can’t handle when it’s tossed back at ya.” He rises, a triumphant smile cushioning his lips as he yanks off his headband. “And you were a snail, by the way.”

I blink, wondering how the hell I went from wanting to kill him,
to playing a board game with him, right down to mind-raping him in the span of thirty minutes.

“Cheaters!” Casey jumps up, beaming. “I win! What’s my prize, Ryder?”

“You, my beautiful sister, win a visit to Toys-R-Us.”

Casey squeals in delight and runs across the room to grab her sneaks.

Ryder plucks a T-shirt from the top of a subwoofer, a smirk reaching his eyes. “You ready, peach?”

“I can’t.” I feel disturbingly bereft as he tosses the T-shirt over his head and shoves on a pair of Vans. “I have to study.”

“
Surely
you’re not gonna miss out on her going toy shopping, are you?”

“Uh-uh, Ashcroft, you’re not using her again to make me feel guilty,” I whisper, firm on not letting him win. “I’m sorry, guys, but I have some things I have to finish.”

“
Please
, Amber?” Casey begs, her face turning all kinds of desperate. “You can help me pick out a new Barbie.”

“Looks like I don’t have to make ya feel guilty.” Ryder ducks his head to conceal his smirk-gone-wild as he undoubtedly notices my willpower blow to shit.

“I do love me some Barbie,” I concede with a smile, knowing that’s a complete lie. Since I never owned one—well, one that wasn’t a disheveled hand-me-down that closely resembled our neighborhood hooker—I grew to hate the very fact that the bitch was ever invented. Hate or not, the joy in Casey’s eyes has me temporarily abandoning both studying and my childhood issues. “Let’s go make your brother spend insane amounts of money on some Barbies.”

Casey wraps her arms around my waist, buries her cheek against my stomach, and gives me a hug, a small sigh of contentment pushing from her mouth as she squeezes me tighter. I freeze, my mind locking up against her affection. Against what’s supposed to come naturally
to a child. Love, trust, and security are pure emotions, a child’s God-given right before adulthood swallows them up into a stomach churning with nothing but evil shit. Once we get to a certain age, the devil is around every corner we turn, silently waiting to make us a part of his exclusive club.

For me—at Casey’s age—he was hiding under my bed, stripping me bare of feeling any of the emotions I was entitled to.

I catch Ryder watching us, his expression a mixture of pain and understanding. On a shaky breath, I rest my palms on either side of Casey’s head, tilting her tiny face up to mine. She smiles, and so do I, my heart falling in what I’m sure is the closest thing to love.

“Casey,” Ryder says, struggle thickening his voice. “You have to take your medicine before we leave, kiddo.”

Still staring into my eyes, Casey nods and crooks her finger at me.

I hunch over, my face inches from hers as she cups my jaw and whispers, “I like you, and I think my brother does too,” she singsongs, but sobers quickly, fear dotting her innocent features. “Do you ever have to take medicine?”

“Sometimes,” I answer, feigning a calming tone. Unease coats my stomach as I touch her cheek, hoping to settle her some. “Your brother told me you’re the best medicine-taker in the whole wide world.”

“He
did
?” she questions, her smile resurfacing.

“Yes, he did. Are you gonna show me how good you take it?”

She nods and reaches for my hand, leading me toward the kitchen. My own fear blisters along my skin as she hops up onto the kitchen table and snaps open the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a small portion of her chest just below her collarbone.

Casey points at a paper-thin scar on her chest, the delicate skin slightly raised as though a small stack of quarters is beneath it. “This is called a port. There’s tubes under here that helps the medicine go into my body. The doctor said this was the best thing so I don’t always have to get stuck with needles in my arms.”

I drop into a chair next to her, completely disturbed that she knows any of this. My pulse ping-pongs as Ryder pulls a medical kit from the cabinet, sets it on the table, and opens it, a calming smile on his face with each movement he makes.

“That’s a tropical antisep—” Casey’s nose scrunches in confusion. “How do I say that, Ry?”

Ryder grins, popping a soft kiss onto her forehead. “Topical anesthetic.”

Casey tries the word again, failing to pronounce it correctly. She giggles. “Whatever that is, it helps numb my skin so when Ryder puts the needle in my chest, it doesn’t hurt as much.”

As much . . .

My breath snags. Her statement—the bravery in her tone—seeps dawning through my gut.

Though death stared me in the face when I was Casey’s age, it wasn’t aimed at me. I spent my days alone while my parents slept, and my nights as equally alone and scared while they ran around town doing whatever they had to do to get their next fix. Concerned neighbors eventually called the authorities. I think the day they died was the morning they were supposed to go to court to prove they were fit enough to take care of me, because it was the first time I’d seen my father in a suit and tie.

I remember staring at him, not sure who he was. His hair wasn’t a mess, and his eyes didn’t look tired. I remember smiling at him. He smiled back and walked into his bedroom. For a minute I felt calm, like maybe things were about to change for the better. That
they
were about to change. I swallow, knowing I couldn’t have been more wrong. He came out of the bedroom, his eyes soulless, empty, and cold. He shook when he told me he loved me. It was then I felt confused. He’d never once said those words to me. Come to think about it, neither did my mother.

Ever.

Numbness rolls through me as I think of our final moments together. The exact moment my father told my mother he was sorry for fucking all of us up. The exact moment he cried, telling her he’d love her forever. The exact second the first bullet rang through the air, followed by the bloodcurdling sound of my mother gasping for a full breath as she looked at me one last time. I saw the demented hollowness in my father’s eyes before he shoved the gun into his mouth, blowing his brain straight out the back of his head. In the middle of our living room, where I used to watch cartoons before school, my father’s six-foot-two, husky frame landed on top of my mother’s tiny body, crushing it.

A thud . . .

My screams . . .

And then nothing . . . nothing but deafening silence.

The memory splinters my soul, but before I know it, it’s gone. The splash of running water snaps me back into the present, my past evaporating into the casket of my heart.

“What are you, Casey?” Ryder asks over his shoulder as he scrubs his hands with antibacterial soap.

“Your little cancer warrior,” she answers with a small smile.

“That’s right.” He dries his hands and turns, a proud grin cracking his mouth. “The bravest one ever.”

I grab Casey’s hand and hold it tight, knowing nothing I’ve ever seen, heard, or felt compares to what she’s facing. This child’s living with a fear I can’t comprehend. One that’d slay all of my fears put together.

“Ready?” Ryder asks, his tone soft and caring, everything it should be.

Casey nods, clenching my hand. My heart swells, anxiety building thick in my throat as Ryder slips on a pair of medical gloves and cleans the area around her port with Betadine swabs.

Casey looks at me, the cool blue of her eyes misting over. “Are you scared of needles?”

“No,” I say, running my free hand along the back of her neck. “Are you?”

“I used to be.” She sighs, a single tear slipping down her face. “But not so much anymore.”

It takes everything in me not to drag her little body off the table and run out of the apartment with her. I wipe the tear from her cheek, my need to hide her away, sheltering her from the sinister storm she’s in the middle of, growing with each unsteady breath.

“A little cold,” Ryder warns before spraying the anesthetic on her skin.

“Hurry, Ry,” Casey pleads, her voice weak yet panicked. “It doesn’t last that long.”

“I have to make sure you’re numb, Case.” Ryder ducks his head and stares into her eyes, trying to keep her focused on the silly faces he’s making. His tactic works.

Casey’s tiny giggles bounce around the kitchen, their musical notes blocking out the sound of Ryder popping the cap off a weird- looking needle. With a small, clear tube like a tail—and plastic wings stretched out on either side—it reminds me of a dragonfly. Ryder presses his gloved finger against Casey’s port a few times, his attention honed in on her face as he says, “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” Casey smiles at me, completely unaware that Ryder’s pricked her skin with the needle.

“Aardvark.” Ryder pushes the medicine through the syringe, his attention cutting between Casey’s face and the needle.

“Aardvark who?” she manages, a thin sheen of sweat dotting her upper lip.

“Aardvark a hundred miles for one of your pretty smiles.” Ryder pulls the needle from her chest, and before she can blink, he rests his lips against her forehead, kissing away her remaining fear.

Close to immobile, my heart tugs, the magnitude of what this man means to this little girl—what they mean to
each other
—scraping
tears up my dry throat. I swallow the sound before it can leave me, warmth pinching my stomach into a beautiful knot as I observe them.

“It’s over?” Casey asks, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s over,” Ryder answers, his voice heavy with relief as he applies a small piece of gauze over her port. “You’re all set, warrior. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll get ready to leave.”

With Ryder’s aid, Casey slides off the table and heads for the bathroom, the bounce in her step less tangible as she slips around the corner. Quiet reigns, the events from the last few minutes whispering across my mind as Ryder looks at me with exhausted eyes. Stress lines cut across his forehead, wariness drowning his beautiful features. Overcome, I watch him swipe a tired hand over his face and turn, resting his palms against the counter. As though having no control over my body—a magnet pulling in my gut—I stand and move toward him, each tentative step I take carried out with shallow, quick breaths. I come up behind him, lift a shaky hand and tap his shoulder, my pulse lurching as he turns and meets my gaze. Our connection strikes, a bolt of emotions paralyzing us as we stare at each other.

I touch my fingers to his stubbled cheek, my conscience crying out that my actions are wrong, so very wrong, but my heart mutes the warning as I move my palm to the back of his neck.

His muscles go taut, restraint lighting the fiery blue of his eyes. “Amber, don’t.” The words come out not as a rough warning but a soft plea. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” I whisper, trembling. “You’re . . . amazing, Ryder. What you did for her, everything you
do
for her . . . I just . . .” I drop my eyes to his chest, my heart galloping as I register his hands gripping my waist. Their heat sears through me, a thrill jumping from cell to cell. “You’re tender, cocky, gentle, and an asshole all at the same time. You’re kind, giving, nurturing. You’re . . . everything.”

My lips find his, testing, teasing, barely touching. Our breathing comes faster, harder as I pull him down, our foreheads pressed to
gether as we stare into each other’s eyes. “Please . . . I just . . . Just once more. That’s all I need.”

I think . . . hope.

With hunger demolishing all traces of restraint from his gaze, Ryder buries his hands in my wavy curls and looks at me a beat before capturing my lips in a slow, passionate kiss. I sigh into his mouth, my senses drowning in his familiar flavor as I fall in step with his calculated strokes. On a deep groan, he draws me closer, his tongue dipping in and out, out and in. Still, nothing about his touch is rough, yet everything in it screams that he needs me in this moment.

In this wicked space and time of his life.

Every lick and nip is a soft caress, like he’s trying to burn the sensation of my lips into his memory. My pulse hammers in staccato mode as I melt the full weight of my body into his. With my blood swimming through my veins, and sinking further into everything that
is
Ryder, I feel the emptiness of his soul slice through me. A dull ache pinches my heart, spreading its misery through my muscles as he cups my cheeks and deepens the kiss with a gentleness I never knew he possessed. My breath catches, wiped from my lungs as he glides his lips along my jaw, down the base of my throat. The cadence of his exotic growl slips through my ears, dizzying my head in the sweetest way.

“Christ, I fucking want you so bad,” Ryder whispers hoarsely. He drags his lips back to mine, his kiss urgent, greedy. However, he brings it down a notch, his movements revisiting slow, sensual, worshipping this moment for everything it is. Worshipping
me
for all I am. “So badly, peach. More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. You drive me crazy. Your smell, skin, eyes.” He sucks my lip between his teeth, a groan punching from his chest as he runs his fingertips along my bare arms.

Goose bumps pop, deliciously pricking my skin as I tighten my grip in his hair.

“Your little giggles, pouts, personality. Every single fucked-up scar you own in and out. All of it. All of
you
.” He licks into my mouth, his tongue exploring mine with precision as his hands find my nape, their hold possessive. “Fuck. It should’ve been me. Not him. Me.”