Ryder May Novels & Stories

nobody. Ryder was a very handsome, charming twenty-eight-year-old billionaire and the owner of Knight Enterprises, a company he had propelled to success with his sharp business acumen. But it wasn’t just his genius that drew people in; his undeniable charisma made him utterly magnetic. Our dads had been childhood friends, but that’s where the similarities ended. Ryder’s family was wealthy, practically untouchable, while my dad was just a humble serviceman. There was no comparing the grandeur of the Knights to our modest life.

Ryder snatched the file, skimmed it, and was already heading for the door. Without looking back, he ordered, "Ready the jet! We take off now!" "But, Alpha Ryder, the board meeting tomorrow—" "Cancel it! Cancel everything! I'm going to find my mate!" His voice left no room for argument. … 12 hours later, Ryder stood in the coastal town. Sunlight spilled freely, the sea breeze was mild, and vacationers drifted past in an easy, unhurried rhythm. The blue horizon stretched wide. It was a sharp contrast to the storm of agitation and dread twisting inside him.

After that he gave a thousand instructions on how to stay safe and also how to stay away from other men. Ryder left the Black Crest pack in a jeep promising to himself that this was the last he would leave Lyle. With one last look at her, he wore his black shades so that she didn’t see his eyes that were stinging a lot. As he zoomed the jeep away, he continued to watch her in the rear view mirror until she disappeared.

The person held a suitcase in his right hand and had his left arm wrapped in bandages, standing there straight like a board. Wilbur looked at him and was taken aback, asking, "Ryder?" He quickly crossed the bridge and approached Ryder. He looked at his arm and asked, "How did you manage to get here so quickly?" "Ryder Litwing, elite combat personnel of the Department of Paranormal Research and Defense, reporting in," Ryder said as he saluted with a standard military gesture.

"Cordelia, you nearly cut me off the other day. To what do I owe this call?” With a steady but tense voice, she replies, "Ryder, please do me a favor." From the other end comes a low laugh. "Darling, I don't do favors. I'm a businessman. What is it worth to you, and what do you want?" Cordelia closes her eyes for a moment and heaves a sigh. Ryder Lyon is good at uncovering secrets but he is also a dangerous man to owe. "I need information on two people."

Ryder exclaimed. Gary felt embarrassed as Ryder stared at the fifth-ranked top player intently. He thought, 'Would Ryder pass out from excitement if he knew the number one player on the international hacker leaderboard was right beside him? Besides that, he has personally given out topics to her before.' Ryder did not know Gary's thoughts and thought, 'I have to perform well later to get his attention.' Gary coughed dryly and muttered under his breath, "I don't need him to notice me..."

- Ryder hailed a cab and headed to an orphanage on the outskirts of town. This was the same orphanage his parents had supported while they were alive. The director, Alexander Sawyer, had been one of his father's closest friends. As soon as Alexander saw him from afar, he began waving enthusiastically. "Ryder, you're here!" He led Ryder into the orphanage. "What about Laura? Didn't she come with you this time? Aren't you two about to get married?" he asked. Forcing a weak smile, Ryder replied, "There's been... an issue. The wedding might not happen after all."

I want to argue, and I don't, because she's right and the rightness doesn't help. Ryder takes over the Luna duties so gradually as she has decided to spend most of her time at Nightshade helping Gio rebuild. He leads the morning patrols himself, handles the pack conflict mediation, chairs the alliance correspondence meetings. He does it the way he does most things—without announcement, without asking for acknowledgment, just moving into the space and filling it. I watch from the window of our cabin some mornings, seeing the pack organize around him, and feel something complicated: useless and proud in equal measure, the two feelings so closely braided I can't separate one from the other.

It looked fucking promising. “Ryder Investigations — Missing Persons, Crisis Tracking, Off-Record Search.” I clicked without hesitation and the page loaded in full. It wasn’t flashy, just… efficient. It was organized and direct. Testimonials from people with genuine stories, a few newspaper clippings, a picture of the private investigator—a man in his mid-30s with sharp eyes and an expression that made you instantly know he was the type that didn't like to dwell too long on something. He didn't waste time.

But the eyes weren’t Ash’s. Ash looked feral. Wild. This one looked... cool. Dangerous. Like someone who rode through life with no brakes. “Who the hell are you?” I whispered. He stood. Slowly. Like a panther uncoiling. “Name’s Ryder,” he said. His voice was lower than Liam’s. Rougher. Confident. “And you’re lucky I showed up instead of the other guy.” “Where’s Ash?” “Locked out,” he said simply. “He’s unstable. Sloppy. But I’m not.”