Novels by Alexander Pappoe

~RYDER~ Her voice wouldn’t stop replaying in my head. I never loved you… I’m back where I belong… with Marcus. The words cut deeper than any blade ever could. I sat in the garage, surrounded by bikes, engines, tools... the smell of grease and oil. My sanctuary. But now it felt hollow. Empty. I’d built my life around her. Every turn of a wrench, every plan for the future... Tessa was at the center of it. And in one phone call, it was gone. I’d thought I knew pain. Losing my dad. My little sister. Nights in prison. The fights, the blood. None of that compared to this. I slammed a fist into the workbench, the metal rattling under the force. My knuckles split, blood dripping, but I didn’t stop. “Goddamn it!” My roar echoed. Debbie rushed in, wide-eyed. “Ryder!” I turned on her, chest heaving. “She said she never loved me. That she’s with him.” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it. Debbie froze. I saw the pity in her eyes, the disbelief. “No. No, she wouldn’t say tha

~TESSA~ (THE NEXT DAY 📍 REYNOLDS MANSION) I was back. Back in hell. Marcus Reynold's mansion. A place I never dreamt of coming back to. But here I was. Trapped again. By none other than the devil himself. He brought me here because I had agreed to all his stupid terms. But I had to follow. Really had to. For my Ryder and Sarah. They were dear to my heart, and I couldn't afford to see any of them in pain. ~ The dining room looked more like a museum than a place for food. Marble floors, gold chandeliers, and a polished table so long it could seat twenty people. But it was just the two of us—me and Marcus. I sat stiff in the velvet chair, the silver fork in my hand shaking with every move I made. I wasn’t hungry. The roast in front of me smelled rich, heavy, suffocating. But Marcus was watching, his cold eyes narrowed, daring me not to eat. “Better get used to it again, babe,” he said, slicing into his steak like it was nothing. “Back where you belong. Right here.”

~TESSA~ The van smelled like sweat, oil, and stale cigarettes. The air was suffocating, hot, and thick with fear. Mine. A strip of duct tape silenced me before I could scream again, my wrists bound tight with rough zip ties that bit into my skin. I was wedged between the two men like cargo, their heavy shoulders pinning me to the seat. Every bump in the road jolted me... made the plastic bite deeper. Oh God!! Why me? Why was this happening to me? My chest heaved, lungs burning, eyes fixed on the dirty floor where a wrench rolled with each turn. Ryder. Debbie. Please… One of the men, the driver, chuckled low. “That biker boyfriend of yours? He looked ready to rip us apart. Too bad he was too slow.” The other leaned closer, his breath sour in my ear. “Boss is gonna be real happy to see you. Says you’re coming home where you belong.” My stomach turned. Marcus. Home. The word made bile rise in my throat. I shook my head hard, fighting against the tape. My muff

~TESSA~ (The following day) It was 8:30pm. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and butter. Debbie had somehow convinced me to help her bake a pie. She was at the counter, fussing with her pie crust, humming something cheerful. I stood at the sink, rinsing apples, sneaking bites when she wasn’t looking. “You’re a menace,” Debbie teased, smacking my hand with the wooden spoon as I reached for another slice. I laughed, a real laugh that loosened something tight in my chest. “Hey, I’m quality-checking. You should be grateful.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Sure. Remind me not to hire you if I ever open a bakery. You’d eat the profits before we even opened the doors.” I grinned, tossing another piece into my mouth, and for just a heartbeat, I felt… normal. Like a girl hanging out with her sister-in-law, not someone with a target on her back. The back door creaked in the wind. I barely noticed at first. Debbie was talking about Ryder’s wild teenage years, and I leaned in

~TESSA~ We were finally back. The Bishop mansion caught the late-afternoon light like something out of a painting. You know.... warm, golden, perfect. The kind of scene you’d think only existed in memory or probably in movies. I stepped out of Debbie’s sleek little coupe with shopping bags dangling from both arms and a half-smirk still lingering on my face. Today had been… wild. Therapeutic, really. I’d stood my ground, again. Against Marcus. Against Clara. Against the version of myself that used to flinch and fold at the first sign of conflict. And now? I was floating. Not because of the designer dress I’d bought. Or the expensive price tags. But because of how I felt so strong for once. I rounded the corner toward the backyard, and there he was... My man... Ryder Bishop. Boots kicked up on the edge of a low brick wall. Shirt sleeves rolled. One hand nursing a beer. The other resting lazily behind his head. Watching the sunset like it owed him somethi

SATURDAY... (MARCUS REYNOLDS) Marcus sat in his penthouse apartment, lights off, curtains wide, cigarette burning slow between two fingers he didn’t realize were trembling. On the coffee table in front of him sat three phones... two dead burners and one sleek black one with a single number dialed. He stared at it. His jaw twitched. He pressed call. It rang twice before her voice came through. “...Hello?” That voice. He closed his eyes and grinned. “Well, well. The runaway answers.” Silence. “Don’t tell me you thought I’d forget you that easily.” Still no response. But he could hear it... her breathing, the stiffness in it. Still scared. That made him smile. “You’ve been running around like some sweet little trophy girl. But we both know the truth, don’t we, Tess?” His voice dropped. “You weren’t made for people like him.” Another pause. Then finally, she spoke. And her voice wasn’t shaking. “I’m not yours, Marcus. I never was. You just made