Chapter 3

Ryker

I hated unnecessary noise.

Arguments are a waste of breath, especially when the outcome was already a mathematical certainty. Downstairs, the girl had screamed until her voice gave out, her rage echoing through the ceilings of the room.

Of course, I had expected resistance.

Anyone dragged from their home would fight. I don't blame her; it was very much expected. But whether she screamed today or tomorrow, it still made no difference to me, and I certainly wasn't going to dwell on it.

What mattered was that I had found her before anyone else did.

I walked into my room, threw the folder on the bed, and, shrugging off my suit jacket, I tossed it onto a leather armchair. I pulled the tie from my neck while moving to the desk. I pressed the button on the intercom.

“Dew. My quarters. Now.” I commanded.

In seconds, while I was unbuttoning my cuffs, the door opened. Dew stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

Dew was my right-hand man, one of the very few people I allowed into my personal space without a formal screening.

“Is my ride prepared?”

“Everything is ready. The arena's already filling up. Reporters have been asking if you'll extend your scoring streak.”

“Bet? Which is higher tonight?” I asked. Because that was what fueled my spirit.

“70-40. The team tops the chart. Many top dogs’ stakes are on you. Good luck on this Ryker game.”

They always did. I was exceptional. Although it only took beyond the eyes of the ordinary to acknowledge that.

However, I ignored the wish. I'm not a fan of good lucks. There were no such things as that. It's just a belief for lazy people when their preparations had failed.

“Is the call to the company finalized?” I asked, changing the subject while rolling my sleeves up to my forearms.

“It is, Ryker,” Dew said. “But we have a problem.”

“What problem?” I asked, not looking at him.

“Dominic refused the proposed deadline.” Dew said while leaning against the edge of my bookshelf. “Since you instructed the legal team that the land agreement would only be signed by Monday, he insists that's unacceptable. He wants the transfer handled immediately. Latest, tomorrow morning.”

Dominic had been my stepbrother for over twenty years, but the title had never meant much. We had spent far more time as rivals than family.

I let out a sharp scoff.

Stupid.

Dominic approached business exactly how he played hockey—reckless, impatient, and too damn loud.

I'm not doing that. I preferred every clause reviewed, every loophole sealed, and every timeline under my strict control.

If Dominic wanted to rush me, he was wasting his time. I answered no one's timetable. I would do things my way or no way.

“If Dominic wants it done urgently,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, “then he can come here himself and drag me out of my house.”

Dew chuckled. “You know he isn't the type to let things go, Ryker. If you push him too far on this, he'll make an issue out of it.”

“I don't give a damn.” I walked past him, heading toward the master closet to change out of my clothes. “I already told them I'll sign it on Monday. If it's too urgent for anyone else, they can sign it themselves.”

“You know that's impossible,” Dew said lightly.

I did. I knew it was impossible. The agreement required two parties’ signatures to be finalized. If I wasn't signing, it wasn't happening.

Reaching into the closet, I pulled out a clean jersey from a hanger and pulled it on, strapping my watch back onto my wrist.

Dew cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “What about the girl?”

I walked back into the main room, picking up the folder from the bed. It contained the purchase documents, and all were legally binding. I tossed it across the room.

Dew caught it against his chest.

“Archive it,” I ordered. “If there's anything else needed to make the purchase airtight, have it processed within the next five hours. I don't want holes.”

Dew nodded, looking briefly at the file. “Understood.”

Then he hesitated, his thumb tracing the edge of the folder. “Should I arrange the room upstairs?” He asked.

“No. There's no need.”

“So she's to remain in the basement?” Dew pressed, his brow furrowing.

“Mnnn… For now.”

Dew paused, looking from the folder to me. “This doesn't seem like your usual way of doing things.”

Now he was asking too much.

I shot him a cold glare. “Have you been drinking?”

Dew quickly raised both hands in surrender, a nervous laugh escaping his throat. “No. I swear. I haven't touched alcohol all week. Not since your last victory celebration.”

I turned away, dismissing him. I wasn't about to explain my motives to him, nor was I about to explain how many months of tracking it had taken to secure the girl. She wasn't just a captive. She was far more.

“She's in the basement,” I repeated, my tone carrying the edge of finality. “Make sure she's given food, water, and whatever else she needs.”

I stopped at the edge of my bed, looking back at him. “I paid a fortune for her. I don't want my investment damaged. She stays healthy until she's done being useful to me.”

Dew nodded in understanding. He didn't ask any further questions. Of course, he knew better than to.

I was already set to leave for the game. My hockey bag sat by the door exactly where I'd left it after yesterday's training. Tonight's game would decide whether the Titans remained top in the league.

“I guess I… will leave now.” Dew said with a short bow. And I nodded shortly.

But just before he could turn to leave, a sharp knock echoed through the room. The door opened immediately.

Without permission.

One of my security guards stepped into the threshold, his breathing shallow and his face completely devoid of color.

I didn't even look up from adjusting my watch. “What is it?”

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting to Dew before landing on the floor. “Sir... he wouldn't wait at the gate.”

My hands stopped moving. I slowly looked up, meeting the guard's terrified gaze.

“Dominic?” I asked.

“Yes sir, Master. Dominic.” He paused. Swallowed hard. “He is already inside the mansion.”