Ride Or Remember

CHAPTER 8

LIORA

He shut his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, like he was struggling to keep his temper under control. A deep breath left him slowly before he suddenly stepped closer.

Without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder.

The force of it startled me, his fingers digging painfully into my skin through my clothes, strong enough to hurt, but I didn’t react to the pain because the last thing I wanted was for him to let go.

Behind him, the blond-haired guy let out an irritated sigh. “Ryder,” he muttered impatiently. “We seriously don’t got time for this.”

“My name is Ryder,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t know who the f**k you are, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I definitely don’t know anybody named Evans.”

The tears burning in my eyes finally spilled over.

They rolled helplessly down my cheeks as I stared at him in disbelief, my chest tightening so painfully it became difficult to breathe.

“Don’t do this…” I whispered brokenly, my lips trembling uncontrollably. “Please…”

But his expression didn’t soften.

Not even a little.

And that hurt more than anything else.

Because Evans, my Evans would never stand there unmoved while I cried. He would never look at me like I was nothing. No matter how angry he got, no matter how frustrated he became, he always reacted whenever I cried. Always.

But the man standing in front of me now looked completely untouched by it.

“Now listen carefully,” he continued darkly. “If somebody sent you to do this, then you better stop now and pray I never run into you again. Because next time…”

His fingers tightened against my shoulder.

“I won’t take this lightly. Am I clear?”

I couldn’t answer him.

I simply stood there staring at him, unable to blink as tears continued blurring my vision.

“I… I don’t think she’s okay,” another male voice suddenly spoke up from behind him, sounding far less hostile than the blond-haired one. “Let’s just leave her alone.”

Evans gaze slowly moved across my face, and for one tiny second, I thought I saw hesitation there.

Then it disappeared.

Abruptly, he released my shoulder with a rough shove that forced me a step backward before he turned away and began stomping down the stairs.

I stayed frozen in my corner, unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to stop staring at him.

Then, when he reached the first landing, he suddenly stopped.

His eyes landed on my broken phone lying on the concrete floor.

A curse slipped under his breath as he stared down at it for a second. Irritated, he bent over and picked it up.

My breathing hitched softly.

For some reason, that tiny action hurt almost as much as everything else.

Because it was such an Evans thing to do.

Even angry.

Even pretending not to know me.

Even threatening me.

He still picked up my phone.

Still silent, he climbed the stairs again until he stood in front of me once more.

I couldn’t even look away from him.

Slowly, he grabbed my trembling hand, turned my open palm upward, and dropped the cracked phone into it.

Neither of us spoke.

Not a single word.

Then he pulled away and walked away from me without looking back.

And somehow, watching him leave this time felt far worse than believing he was dead.

The blond-haired guy suddenly turned back to look at me, and the dark expression in his eyes almost made me take an unconscious step backward.

There was something unsettling about him. Something colder than the others.

My gaze instinctively drifted over him for only a second, and that was when I noticed something unusual near the edge of his sleeve. A dark stain smeared across the fabric.

My brows pulled together slightly.

Is that… blood?

Before I could properly focus or confirm what I had seen, he turned away and disappeared down the stairs after the others.

“What the heck is his problem?” I mumbled quietly under my breath, wiping at my damp cheeks with shaky fingers.

Out of all of them, the blond-haired one seemed to hate me the most, and I couldn’t even understand why. I had barely spoken to him, yet the hostility radiating from him felt deeply personal.

Taking a long, unsteady breath, I forced myself to calm down. Crying here wouldn’t solve anything. Standing around replaying the encounter wouldn’t either.

I still had a reason for coming here.

Adjusting my grip on my cracked phone, I slowly continued climbing the stairs toward Mr. Hampson’s office.

By the time I finally reached his office floor, my head was pounding lightly.

I stopped outside his door and stared at it for a moment, before lifting my hand to knock softly twice.

I waited.

Nothing.

No response came from inside.

Frowning slightly, I knocked again, this time a little louder. Still nothing.

Mr. Hampson was usually very punctual and attentive. Even if he was busy, he would normally respond immediately or at least tell me to wait. Silence wasn’t like him at all.

After the fourth unanswered knock, I reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The moment I stepped inside, my frown deepened.

The office was a mess.

Files and papers were scattered all over the floor, one of the chairs near the desk pushed sideways, while another completely tipped over onto the carpet. Even the books stacked neatly on the shelf looked disturbed.

My brows furrowed deeply.

This is completely unlike Mr. Hampson.

He was obsessively organized. The kind of person who adjusted a pen if it wasn’t sitting straight on the desk. There was no way he would willingly leave his office looking like this.

“Mr. Hampson?” I called out cautiously as I stepped further inside the room.

No answer.

I moved toward the desk and bent slightly to straighten one of the fallen chairs.

“Mr. Hampson?” I called again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

After fixing the chairs and pushing them back into place in front of the desk, I dusted my trembling hands against my clothes and glanced around the office one more time.

For a moment, I considered going back downstairs to ask the receptionist if Mr. Hampson had stepped out unexpectedly. Maybe there was a simple explanation for the mess. Maybe I was overthinking things because of everything that had already happened today.

I slowly turned around to leave, but then something caught my attention.

A dark mass partially hidden behind the desk.

My brows furrowed in confusion as I leaned slightly to get a better look.

Hair.

It looked like someone’s hair.

My heartbeat began to pick up as I slowly rounded the desk, my movements cautious.

The moment my eyes landed on the scene in front of me, terror exploded through my entire body so violently that I staggered backward in shock.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere.

My foot slipped before I could regain my balance and a frightened gasp tore from my throat as I lost footing completely and crashed hard onto the floor. My palms landed first, followed by the rest of my body, straight into the sticky pool of blood.

Warm liquid soaked into my clothes immediately.

Onto my hands.

My knees.

My face.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes again and screamed on top of my voice as I stared at the lifeless body of an unfamiliar young woman lying motionless behind the desk, with Mr. Hampson no where in sight.