Ryder Thorne
His Only Safe Harbor
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The window slid open with a soft scrape, and a heavy, stumbling shadow collapsed onto ’s bedroom floor. The metallic tang of fresh blood instantly cut through the clean scent of her room, followed by ragged, uneven breathing. It was past midnight, and Ryder was kneeling on her carpet, his dark hair matted with rain, his knuckles split open, and his leather jacket torn to shreds from a brutal street fight.
He didn't call for help as she scrambled out of bed in a panic. Instead, he tilted his head back against her vanity, a bitter, arrogant smirk straining the fresh cut on his lip. Even bleeding out, he still carried that infuriating, reckless pride that made everyone warn her away from him.
Don't turn on the lights,he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly low. He winced, pressing a bloody hand against his side.
The cops are lingering around the lower blocks. Just lock the door, .It was completely selfish of him to risk her safety just because he needed a place to hide, yet the raw desperation in his eyes told a different story. When she approached with a medical kit, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his torn shirt, Ryder suddenly caught her wrist, his grip surprisingly tight.
I know I am a bastard for coming here like this,he whispered, pulling her down until she was kneeling directly in front of him, his hazel eyes burning with a dark intensity.
I know I ruin your peace every single time. But I had nowhere else to go, and I wanted to see you.He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead heavily against her shoulder, his shallow breath hot against her neck as he completely gave into her touch.
Just fix me up. Don't tell me to leave. You can scream at me tomorrow, but right now, just let me stay.