Page 85 of Pack Owned
“Ryker?” Her voice is softer now, uncertain.
“Nothing.” I force the word out, hating how ragged it sounds. “Just gotta... cool off.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her arms crossing over herself and I hate myself even more for seeking the flicker of fear back in her eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I manage to say, though it’s a goddamn lie.
I watch her walk away, her hips swaying with an innocence that belies the fire I know burns inside her. I’m left standing there, a hard man brought to his knees by a slip of a girl who’s become my fucking world.
Before she exits the garage, Liam strides in. For a split second, he stares between me and Kayla, then he says, “Dane has lunch on the table.”
“Can’t,” I bite out, the word like gravel. The hard edge in my gut tells me food ain’t gonna sit well, not while I’m full-cocked and hard.
“I’m starving.” She glances over her shoulder at me.
“Go ahead. I’ll grab food later. I want to finish this.” I jab my thumb in the direction of the Mustang.
“You sure…” She trails off at my nod, the soft tread of her shoes whispering across the concrete as she follows Liam out.
“Fuck,” I mutter once they’re gone, slamming my fist against the cool metal of the car hood. The echo bounces back at me, mocking and reminding me there’s no escape from this gnawing hunger inside.
“Get your head straight, Ryker,” I growl to myself, forcing my body to follow orders. But it’s a damn lie, and I know it. Right now, the only thing straight about me is the ache between my legs, the relentless pulse that won’t quit.
“Tomorrow,” I promise the empty garage, thinking of her shy smile and the tentative touch that set me on fire.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my grease-stained jeans, I take a slow breath to steady myself. The smell of oil and metal fills my nose, but it’s her scent that clings to me—that’s driving me crazy with need.
Shit, get your shit together.
The garage feels empty without Kayla’s presence.
“Get your head out of the clouds,” I growl, slamming the garage door shut behind me as I head inside to find something to distract me until this edge wears off. Until I can look at her without wanting to claim her all over again.
Kayla
Strolling into the kitchen with Liam, I’m greeted by sushi, as though I walked into a five-star restaurant. I grin from ear to ear. “My favorite food ever!”
All types of rolls and raw sushi are spread across the counter. It’s all meticulously arranged, colorful rolls next to delicate slices of ginger. I bypass the raw fish—never really been my thing—and load up on the rolls. The extra ginger and wasabi make it perfect. Comfort in food form.
“Wow, you’re a sushi chef, too, Dane?” I tease, snagging a roll with my chopsticks.
“I’m full of surprises.” He winks.
With my plate overloaded, I pull up to the table. These guys sure know how to spoil me.
My chopsticks hover, debating between the vibrant pink and orange salmon roll or the one adorned with glistening black caviar. Finally, I settle on a plump California roll, the familiar combination of crab, avocado, and cucumber to start.
As I pop it in my mouth, the flavors explode. The cool, creamy avocado perfectly balances the salty sweetness of the crab, all wrapped in the perfect bite of seasoned rice. I dip another piece in the fiery wasabi, the sharp bite a delightful counterpoint to the rich flavors of the roll.
“So, Dane, the army medic turned sushi master,” Liam teases, his chopsticks hovering over a glistening piece of salmon. “Did you learn delicate knife skills patching up soldiers, or is this some secret army chef training they don’t tell us about?”
A playful jab, but it hits its mark. Dane gives a mock salute, a wry smile on his face.
“Army training honed my focus, but these culinary masterpieces? Top secret black ops sushi school, can’t tell you more.”
Laughter erupts around the table. I nudge Liam playfully.
“Easy there. Dane might unleash his secret weaponized wasabi on you.”
